They’re coming ! Raise the alarm on the dockside ! They’re swarming, and pushing us out of the sea ! Their billowing sails, from Pembroke to Leigh, Are storming our beaches, invading our sands ! Their cargo is toxic, their ballast monoxide – These by-the-wind sailors, these rafts of medusa. Mohican’d above, while their dreadlocks hang looser – All laces and ruffles, and hooks ’stead of hands ! On the hottest of days, when the skies are clear blue, And the southerlies breeze off the sea to the shore, This deadly armada with venomous crew Are planting their colonies right at our door… These silent bluejackets are coming for you – These unthinking killers, these seamen o’ war.
I almost feel bad in how I’ve deliberately conflated the Spanish Armada with its neighbour (with whom Britain has had a continuous peace treaty since 1386), but good puns must be seized with both hands (unlike the creatures themselves, of course).
Incidentally, according to Wiktionary the nationality of the metaphorical warship remains consistent through most European languages: portugisisk örlogsman (Swedish), żeglarz portugalski (Polish), portugál gálya (Hungarian), and even caravela-portuguesa (Portugeuse).
All the stages came through Hounslow, All the coaches heading West: Driving on to Staines and Windsor, Bristol, Plymouth, and the rest. All the coaches came through Hounslow, From each Western vale and down, Stretching legs and changing horses For the final push to town.
They all knew Hounslow then: The drovers, grooms and highwaymen. But nothing stays the same – And so one day the railway came.
Only three miles north of Hounslow, Yet those three miles meant a lot: Steaming on to Slough and Reading, Faster than a horse can trot. All the West once came through Hounslow, Then the bypass passed you by – And little mark is left to show From when this High Street lived so high.
We all know Hounslow now – A long way from a horse or cow, Beneath where aircraft fly – And like the trains, they pass you by.
To Anacr’on in Heaven, in bounty and might, All night have we drunk from your wellspring of plenty. But come, can you see by the dawn’s early light How the cast-offs the shut-outs are bribing the sentry ? With wearisome head, must quell this new dread And face down the upstarts who’d stand in our stead, Yet oft they look on’t us and find us supine – They’ve come and they’ve seen us, much less than divine.
From mathematics to evolution, Thermodynamics to climate change, Electric potential to air pollution – Anything new and clever and strange !
But when we get home, then what do we read ? Fantasy, dragons, and wizards, and war ! Our only science is fiction, indeed – From laws of physics to psychics of lore !
We like to pretend that we’re Roundheads or Yorks, Or X-Men, or cyborgs, or zombies, or Gauls. So plug in the console and slay a few orcs, Then back to the lab when reality calls…
Breathless. Say slowly. Breathless. Again. Breathless. Now say it once more. Breathless is beautiful, Breathless is pain, Breathless too long we ignore. For the word, for the sound Has lost all her wow – We’ve said her too often, for sure. But breathless – just say it – For once, let’s allow Our ears to hear her soft roar. Breathless. Say slowly, Breathless. Say now – Breathless. As if we had never said it before.
Once a time, horses were ev’rywhere: Carrying knights on their scoutings and charges, Galloping messengers, lancers in battle, Winding our winches and towing our barges, Trekking our caravans, herding our cattle, Ploughing our fields and pulling our drays, Hauling our minecarts, waggons and hearses, The Hansom and omnibus, stagecoach and chaise Were drawn with a mixture of carrots and curses. Chestnuts and roans and brindles and bays, Black beauties, piebalds and fleabitten greys. Rocking our children and hobbying fairs, Stuffing our cushions and gluing our chairs.
So where are they now ? They all got replaced by machines in the end, That can do their jobs better and do their jobs faster – They’re cheaper to build and are quicker to mend, And don’t need reminding just who is their master. The horses can only be worked to the bone, They try hard, but haven’t the means. They’ve all been replaced, through no fault of their own – For who can compete with machines ? In hindsight, of course, it is always the case: When a horse must compete with the new iron horse, Then it’s always a one-horse race.
These day, humans are ev’rywhere – Building our furniture, stitching our clothes, Driving our buses and stacking our shelves. Doing the jobs the majority loathes, For who else could do it for us but ourselves ? Builders and farmers and doctors and tutors – Of course they need humans ! Whyever d’you ask ? You can’t leave the it down to machines and computers – It’s not like there’s robots for every task. We’ll be here for donkey’s years, my dears, Despite such market forces – So close up the stable door once more, We’re all safe as horses !
I was walking Underneath the lindens, Walking with my true love, With Summer on the breeze. We were walking Walking in Berlin, then, Walking two-by-two, love, Underneath the trees.
I was walking Underneath the lindens, Walking with my true love, Past the other fraus. We were walking In our finest linens Walking two-by-two, love, Underneath the boughs.
I was talking Underneath the lindens, Talking with my true love About my life and times. We were talking Of how back in Swindon, When walking two-by-two, love, We’d be walking under limes.
When I was young and fair as fair, My mother sat me down And warned me as she brushed my hair To never pout or frown – “It draws the sun from curl and frond And clouds your golden crown.” And lo ! I once was blond as blond, But now I’m brown as brown.
Rhyming Couplets 