The Jawbone of an Ass

October 22, 2020

The more I say, the more my words reveal

Of rope enough to hang myself by; indiscretions reel

Off, soil integrity: I am a seasoned speaker

Abundant in good reasons; none that cut the mustard

I am a man, a woman, pays out cable, liberal sort,

Raps patter like a parrot, echo to events I squawk

Nothing too fancy-novel, cheap ado for general wearing

Nor do I serve, observe, an exegete’s analyses

The order of my day allows, kowtows in obsequy

My job a peroration round a status quo

No busy infidelities, for that the truth should flow,

A quarantine preventive fences brains I talk to

Where lies levy thought-taxes, import, export, clandestine

Olfactory goods, encomiastic party games

Power’s ins and outs, as empathies and entropies demand

A stockpile of a turpitude disfiguring minds

Useful diffuse blackboard and easel stuff

Acting as leaders’ levers, teaching, speaking sh*t

Greater the mass of words disbursed, greater the muddle

Of confused views, thrown judgements, fertile vagaries

My cacophony of allegations deadly potions smoke

A brawl, a rout, inevitable with contradiction

Adverse the colloquies in tangles trott to tangoes;

No single place of ambit, swarms at you in all directions

The tune, a one-note mantra melodrama, sets a-clacking

Its pendulum perpetuum from halo-hunters bashing

Up, on and on - give issues waterboarding

Stews views; you take your choice; go on and do your shopping

Intentional or accident; who knows – however -

The same effects; around within the pound we go, polemic

That paralyses, like a fear of Sartrean mauve faure

Freezes decision, makes division in the commonweal

Your guess the best guess; good as any Law Lord’s

...the self-confessed discomfiture of tests for verity…

...and consequent on privileged diversity

And opulence in equal opportunity

These counterfeits jump sideways, land to stand akimbo

Are branded-under-license primrose prospects

Prospectors open doors preferred, but on top floors

The concierge in serge subserves as drudge forever

These freeloading excuses are the clowns in comfy chairs

Administrators, supervisors, manicuring minds,

All predicates for parliament, and connoisseurs of wines;

This camouflage of class an unattended issue

They make debate debateable, and vision undesigned

Find foolish fond criteria in exigencies to-hand

These are the stuffed men, straw men, Eliot catechises

Of self-regards that mangle all the verities of name

An oaf, an anybody giving vice a voice onboarded

That truth will out, I doubt, but suffer loss, discarded

For me no news is good news; nothing’s preferable to crass

Verbal infighting, on, and oftener off, the task in hand

How easy for a vocative performer to rehearse a faction

The washing blowing aired, the clothes to fit the family fictions

There hung out crumpled, ragged, in a regal row

And who might take them in – what purpose – they’re for show

That washing is being done; ah well, bring on the blow!

Great grabbing energies in worsted wasted; all’s misprision

Deliberately, unluckily? - no need decision

Just pour more petrol higher octane make it universal

The conflagration’s ‘state of chassis’, as O’Casey says it

Some seventy years ago; and crazy now moreso

If not; when worse; these dudes are no folk heroes.

Then are fingers of technology, the twofold digits

Proliferating, advocating, men’s masque’s imbecile

Of global reach which breached the Yellow River Dam

In every household access to our corporate panjam

Compounded and compounded as an exponential hash

Heaped higher a little braver day on day; its trash on trash

Not only lost the plot but we have given away the farm

As much to do to keep those close to you from suffering harm

And into the ether goes the throes, the pleas knees make to surface

I leave my paper scribblings here, so to disturb the nervous

But lo, at bottom, a sine qua non rests unattended

A consonance, necessity; a sanctuary not listed

On FTSE or on bucket lists of mercenary recidivists

A Provider of a gauge; a measurer permanent, no swings

A silencer and renderer of reckonings

A person placed to centre you in answers’ ambit

A silvered face too good to look upon

A watering place for law which beggars mighty Solon

A company for conscience; arbiter of ruth

Of predilection gracious to the primal root

A Saviour and approver of the tested life

A Person whom to coalesce one’s scattered scraps about

Who turns to good use footloose fancy schemes; debris abounding

Too pure to ocular survey to see; oracular, astounding

He needs some trust, some wait-and-see – you’ll be dumbfounded

But that is faith and hope – the things that are heavenly granted