Skip to content

Beware gratitude!

March 8, 2019

Give us a prophet


The cosmos is a battlefield

a prophet will be king

The dark hills harbour villages

where none but the downs boy sings


The southerly it comes and goes

shivering the mountain spine

we hold our hats and turn away

to catch the five past nine


the wind embraces trees in sway,

the wandering wounded wait

a Dick Smith pamphlet passes by

takes flight to heaven’s gate.


If we can’t find the bugger soon

the rumours might attack

and pierce our burdened barricades

when no one has our back


Defend us now from kindness

let the trumpet pierce the grey

for the angels have been sleeping

at the heating of the day


If the prophet is not willing

give us hoods and let us brood

lest the smell of bread unleash for us

a flood of gratitude

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: