Too, Too Much

September 26, 2019

Too much talk; to much take

Too much fear of silence; of being spoken as

The victim of the figures on the social balance sheet

Of combatant convention’s credibility


The Scotch call it all blether; me, much heavy weather

The shows’ egos go 24 times 7 talkathons

Vying at trying to trump vested ideas

Guested to thump the troublous tub between the ears


Inaction’s attraction it serves to pay the café bills

On Baker Street and Piccadilly; all the frills

Imbursements forth from pipe-dream living-daylights thrills

On paper


By appointment to pornographers of what they-want-to-hear

Delusion sending firecrackers effusive semaphore

The adding-up of exemplary non-sequiturs

Setting alight a Google wave of raconteurs


The chattering-classes effuse draw out keenly seamy ways

The dudes who grasp at clues able to hold the sway

As court advisors, temporisers, offer either face

Able to cross and cross again evade a sticking place


Just as those failures beholden to and by savvy behaviours

Exemplary again, are only plaster saviours

Whose vaunty antics fetch the wretched subject matter

Of daily bread for the salad days of nose-led chatter


The very airwaves must be palled of overmuch by now

And is there room here other-where for other row?

Than intra-skull rough musicks’ passage dunning brows

It skins the ear, the temporal lobe contuses  

These times are visitation, vivisection, of the soul

Its rude induction ushers in calamity

Its cursory tattoos halloo and germinate traduction

Until the shores dividing bring furore enough  

The final wave tsunami lours the milder latitudes

With golden globe awards for an abusive lassitude

Talk, talk; will we be talking for our livings then?

Like captains on their ships when sinking; women and men  

Will disquisitions, docudramas, parlour-talk help then

A nation of talkshop-keepers, marshalling avid ants

Tap serried microphones; stake claims, imprint think-tanks  

Oh, precious pompous confidence your brain’s a wizard deemed

Articulate enough to warrant guaranteed esteem

The original, the paragon, the genuine Bailey’s Cream

Of all the porrage oats in Aberdeenshire  

Lather and sunglasses and sanctimonious selves

Nonetheless working servitors to ever-greater wealths

Indentured as are viewers, intercessors, speakers all

To this cataract hectic habit and its emblematic squall  

A life clung to a running board; concentric circles hurl

About as like a shirtsleeved workman tumbles on

And ranging rides, denims astride, seaside amusements  

Or as pondskaters catch aphids, sliding the surface pool

Chase, hasting, plane one direction, to obtain their meal

Sounding and navigating trusting only touch and feel  

Here then are mountainsides of words to climb (because they’re there)

Erupting out of earth come up, bar highways true and fair

Impedances and obstacles redactive of all making

To first-base, a tabled staging point: their undertaking