Up Periscope

Another celebrity kid’s a DJ

Public schoolboy skaters

Gold-toothed alligators

Woad-covered suburban warriors

External tattood art

Masking the grey interior

Devoid of personality

Purveyors of banality

Yet searching for identity

Without Facebook indemnity

Cult of no originality

Is this our reality?

 

Old men rant

A Buddhist chants

The piper’s tune

Now plays High Noon

Don’t forsake me, oh! my darling

Like a flock of starlings

You follow the man playing spoons

Feeding you corn without question

Brains like foie gras

To be served upon oval platters

As a cat that pigeons scatter

 

Some see the truth in tatters…

Nailing our colours to its mast

So free, so free at last

Devoid of this illusion

Opaque the herd’s delusion 

Clarity in this world’s confusion

On this rock we stand

Stick writing in the sand

The words of Liberty

 

 

M.C. Bolton, October 2017

 

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