Hear me now, for this is wisdom, Handed down the generations: This is where the rule is from That founds all laws and inspirations. Thrice they spake a noble precept, Thus salvation’s road is three-stepped.
Firsly: be a better neighbour Loving all the world as brothers. Second: we must welcome labour – Work is virtue like no others. Thirdly comes a code most shapely (Though just what, I own, escapes me.)
Therefore, speak unto all fellows Honest words – no slanders mutter. Never shirk to work the bellows, Turn the earth, or churn the butter. And that other thing: pursue it – (What it says to do . . . well, do it.)
So behold: three schemes for living – Three the ways to languor foil. First there’s love, respect, forgiving – Next there’s graft, provision, toil. Third comes…what ? Oh, saints preserve me ! (But I’m sure it’s mighty worthy.)
Do not hunt out conspiracies, my friends – There’s no-one out to get us, For we do not greatly matter. There’s no-one’s jailed for heresies, my friends – Though they sometimes read our letters, They will find there only chatter. Yes, corruption still exists, We can be sure, And lord, its presence in our midst Is not a thing we should ignore – But none of it is organised By an elite beneath a gorgan (Or a lizard), plotting dooms In panelled dark and smoky rooms.
My friends, I know ! It feels so wrong To only shrug and move along – What answer is coincidence ? It makes no sense To pattern-seeking minds. If there is any agency (of either kind) Within the noise of daily life, We’d barely know amidst the strife Of multiple false-positives. I urge, there’s nothing causative In most of what we’d swear is true – I know, because I’d swear it too.
But do not hunt conspiracies, my friends – When cock-ups happen all the time, And secrets are so rarely kept. The thing about most tyrannies, my friends, Is just how public is their crime – To rule by fear, your subjects must be prepped. Their heavy-handed propaganda Never gets mistook for candour, And their unofficial action is their very public policy. See, evolution gifted us An urge to talk and share, and thus The covert are the daily news, and secrets know no modesty. For ev’ry extra spy who lurks behind the scenes Is just another pair of lips to spill the beans.
My friends – beware conspiracies. Beware their never-sated thirst – For surely it is better yet to hope the best than fear the worst. And if sometimes we’re taken in, At least we don’t let fear win ! And be prepared to be surprised By happenstance in patterned guise – The tin-foil cannot block it, Nor computers plot its dance – So keep your Occam in your pocket For the vagaries of chance.
Larry, the incumbent. I wonder what his collar tag says ?
Chief Mousers to the Cabinet Office
Since days of Wolsey, there we’ve been, Lurking beneath the throne – The éminence grise, or tabby, or brown, The whiskered presence behind the crown. Each light-footed tom and dagger-clawed queen Has worked their paws to the bone, Keeping our ministers free from vermin, Keeping the rodents from nesting in ermine.
For we are civil servants too, Patrolling halls of power – Wherever the traitors skulk and plot, We’re here to pounce upon the lot. For mouse or magpie, rat or shrew, We’ll make those riff-raff cower ! While members jeer and speakers spout, We’ll keep the rebel squeakers out.
So much emotion invested In teams over which we have little control – So many loyalties tested, Where happiness hangs on a single damn goal. We buy into brands and we swear that we’re theirs, But we’ve nothing to offer ’cept hoping and prayers – So they win or they lose – and at least someone cares, Though we act like it cost us our soul.
But all of that devotion For an empty sporting rite Must leaves no spare emotion To our fellow humans’ plight – There’s torture to be ending, and forests to be saving, There’s justice to be tending, and freedom to be braving – There’s too much needs defending to waste our flags with waving, Let’s get our passions working here instead. We need to get ignited for the good of all the blighted, Regardless if they’re wearing blue or red.
The king awoke one morning And he couldn’t find his crown, So he rang out for his footman To bring forth his ermine gown, Then ordered for the palace To be hunted upside down – And if it were still missing, To send men upon the town.
His reason for such urgency Was really very plain, That if the king is crownless, Then he rule goes down the drain – For if he stands bareheaded How will peasants know his reign ? A king without a coronet Is thoroughly mundane.
Fetch it ! Find it ! Capture it and mind it ! All your heads are bloody shreds If someone has maligned it !
The soldiers rummaged ev’ry house, And prodded ev’ry nook. They barged upon the merchantfolk, And half their wares they shook Incase the prize was hid within, Exposing crown and crook. And if it weren’t, the goods were wrecked, So clumsy was their look.
They burst upon the womenfolk In most ungentle ways – Their conduct was improper, And their language coarse of phrase. They entered ev’ry schoolroom, Ev’ry salon, mill and maze. But still it was not gainedfast, And the town was all ablaze.
Search it ! Seek it ! Plunder it and wreak it ! All your eyes are filling pies If somebody should sneak it !
The aldermen and dowagers Were startled and incensed. These worthies sought an audience, Their grievances dispensed – But found the King uncaring Of the tumult he’d commenced. They left with bitter passion For the town to stand against –
“His majesty can issue Any ruling or decree, But that is all as naught to us Who choose to disagree. It’s time for him to realise He’s just our employee, And if we are unsatisfied, It’s time to set him free.”
Pounce him ! Pry him ! Prison him and try him ! All our souls regain controls If ev’ryone deny him !
The king awoke one morning With his royal head uncrowned. He spent that very evening In cells of harsh surround. He never understood it, How his luck could so confound. His coronet, in passing, Was to never be refound.
In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat of thy bread For here all the days of thy life, And this is thy price when thou hearken instead Now unto the voice of thy wife. And the wheat thou shalt grow and shalt harvest and mill, Where’erso the oak-tree may thrive, Is fruit of the labours of farmers who till To better the grains they shall scythe. In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat of thy bread, But sweet grow the grains in their ears – For whilst thou lay pampered, they fattened each head Since thousands and thousands of years.
This looks like it came from a Jeckyll & Hyde graphic novel, but alas I cannot track down which one.
Human Nature of the Beast
We know that it isn’t correct these days To dwell upon appearance. We know we’re supposed to all scorn the gaze Of probing and interference. It’s what’s on the inside that’s worth all the praise, If mutual respect’s to be more than a phase – The package should never set eyeballs ablaze. But have we the perseverance ?
We know this, we know this, we know it’s correct That judgement should always be saved. But on that first sighting, the verdict’s direct – So tell our subconscious it’s badly behaved. But in our defence, well, we must interject That lust is a body that flexes unchecked – So call it perverted, or lewd, or erect, But still it comes grunting when craved.
We know that it isn’t correct at all To dwell upon their beauties, We know we’re supposed to quell the call And concentrate on duties. We know it’s absurd, but the order is tall, And even the gentle and noble‘est fall, And find themselves sweated and slavered of maul At the hint of a glimpse of such cuties.
We know this, we know this, we know to our soul: We’ve all of us bile and phlegm. But don’t be ashamed, they’re a part of the whole, A hangover from our primordial stem. The things that’s important, to keep in our mind Is that any such thoughts must be kept in our mind, And to never be let out to leer or grind – There’s more to our beings than them.
The accusations may be true, Although we know we’ll never really know, Because they’ll never come to court – So round and round the rumours flow. Is it slander ? Is it exposé ? We guess, but cannot know for sure, Though plenty tell us yes or no, And brand the sinners from the pure. Some will castigate victims, Sniffing lies or madness in their act – But others join the critical mass, Until the fatally-named are publicly sacked.
But us ? We must decide – To believe or to ignore ? There’s plenty point the finger, And there’s plenty keep the score. But are they not still innocent Until beyond a reasoned doubt ? Or are we so convinced That unproved testimony carries clout ? Is this then justice by the mob That surely always ends in tears ? Or are we now, collectively, The jury of their peers ?
Either we’re waking up to reason, Or else witches are in season.
Rhyming Couplets 