Daisies and thistles are blooms fit for socialists, Sharing a flowerhead as a co-op’rative – Pooling their pollen with petals in common, A composite commune where sharecroppers live. From grounsel to ragwort, these working-class blossoms Are seed-making factories, union towns – They all get to share in the dew and the nectar, And all get to put on the sunflower’s crown.
Must not lie back on the poems I’ve written, Those sonnets and couplets are all in the past – Thoughts from a week ago, month ago, years, Thoughts of their moment, but never my last. Haven’t I changed since, even a little bit ? Diff’rently conscious, evolving, hard-won. Got to keep writing, keep feeling, keep living, For what good’s a poet who thinks their work done ?
The race ain’t always to the swift, Nor the fight a cinch for the strong – Though underdogs lose out nine in ten, And the weak last half as long. The race is won by the winner, And the winner is usually fast – The Hare can snooze all the afternoon, But the Tortoise still comes last.
The point ain’t always with the smug, Nor the sting a prod from the sharp – And morals will lose us nine in ten Whenever the pious harp. The ears are won by the joker, Who flatters more than he smarts – The North Wind can bluster all he likes, But the Sun will warm our hearts.
I sit upon this rock to warn the sailors all to keep away, I even sing to them a warning sound – But guaranteed, there’s always some who cannot help but stray, Just to get a better gawp at what they’ve found. They could have sailed on by, as many do, onto a safer bay – Not got distracted till they ran aground. Yet once back in the tavern, you should hear the traps I lay ! It was never fault of theirs they nearly drowned !
Loving and laughing are nothing but tricks – Just social conventions we do for the kicks. We desp’rately want to be one of the crowd, And if we suspect, then we do them too loud. We’re unsure and frightened, we’re playing our parts – We want to believe, but we know in our hearts… But sod it, who cares if it’s all in the head ?, We’re gullible fools who are easily led. If love is elusive, it don’t mean it’s broke – For even the cynical like a good joke.
‘Yesterday’ is spoken ev’ry day, It’s just another word we say, It’s not pretentious, trite or queer. So it’s a yes to ‘yesterday’ – But very much a no-damn-way To ear-and-bile-molesting ‘yesteryear’ !
Thanks, Dick Turpin – what a guy ! Killed a few, but by-the-by. Thank you Ripper, Jack the Flash – Take the tour and rake the cash. Thank you Crippen, bask in fame; – Morse was made through your good name. Thank you Shipman, take my breath – Waxworks beckon, Doctor Death.