of ounces, pints and pounds
dreams the Eaton schoolboy
who rules UK's surrounds
self-belief in charm uncoy,

rotund in thigh and tum
bloviates ad absurdum
secure in his plush income
lies 'til kingdom come

in conclave o' best o' chums
distorts the figures 'n sums
indoctrinates, lies propagates,
regardless of outcomes

oh, governed by repartee
land of glory and hope
what epithet befits thee?
which clever literary trope?

canvas black, as black can be,
he tries to make it blacker,
like wolf skilled in lycanthropy
like corpses for hijacker

not enough of world starvation
too few souls in deprivation
not enough pain and hurt and hunger
the world it needs a new war-monger

the evil itself will self-consume
but first consumes the others
but 'til the sun its shine resumes
he'll **** off his own brothers

so huddle close humanity
take shelter while you can
and watch as lurid insanity
turns world to dust 'n pan

early one morning
just as the sun was rising
i heard a voice a-calling
from the valley down below

it was my voice
my inner cry
as i face choice
to live or die

daren't venture
on adventure
dare not step
or show my pep

from every person
i quake and quiver
hide behind curtain
with lily-liver

Thus, song from Eden,
in long for freedom,
sings divine beau
in valley below

Oh, don't deceive me,
Oh, never leave me,
How could you use
A poor maiden so?

absence makes heart grow fonder
as void creates the want,
as distance creates the wonder
as lack provides a taunt

as two magnets separated
from each other liberated
yet forever tied
as a groom to bride

by invisible bond
as from world beyond
as tangled quantum particle
o' synchronicity incredible

but when something's gone
'n utterly unattainable
then disappears attraction
enchantment unexplainable

Nostalgic, elegiac sentiment,
the undertones of mourning,
suggest there's still a fragment
of the loss that's calling

the energy of the parent
though from this world gone
echoes as if apparent
as if they'd not passed on

The sigh of Divine
and ecstasy
a river of light
of endless sea

its ripples are heard
in hedgehog and bird
in mournful word
of canine herd

in pitter-patter
of rain a-smatter
in heavenly shatter
of lightning clatter

in call of the wild
the wolf and its child
the roar of the pride
over male that's died

in markings vivid
of leopard that's livid
the terror of timid
the weak and insipid

but, way above all,
that murmur'd exhale
that flutters and falls
in man, of form frail,

mouth agape
in song and call,
his soul escapes
and from its fall
in ecstasy
ascends to All
in Endless Sea
is one with all.

Sigh of Divine
ecstasy
rivers of light
endless sea

ripples are heard
in hedgehog and bird
in mournful word
of canine herd

but above all
loving exhale
flutters and falls
in firm man or frail,

mouth agape,
in song and call,
souls escape
as from the fall

he yearns the All
uniting ecstasy
to be as one
with Endless Sea

I am the monarch of my tea --
which I drink at ten-past-three --
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants,
As they lose themselves in caffein'd trance,
As they lose themselves in caffein'd trance,
(Of Loose Leafed Tea that's sourced in Ceylon,)
And clap their batons,
in breeches and ribbons,
in a dance!

When the amber brew is spied,
My ***** swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers in the tea-house haunt,
In the estaminets and the restaurant,
In the estaminets and the restaurant,
(Of Loose Leafed Tea that's sourced in Ceylon,)
To get my quota,
of ice-tea soda,
as my want!

But when the brew is cold,
I generally arms mine fold,
And seek my rights with an English rant!
And demand my due of this G-d-blest plant
And demand my due of this G-d-blest plant
(Of Loose Leafed Tea that's sourced in Ceylon,)
of hot English tea,
with milk 'n honey,
to decant!

Alternative:

I am the monarch of my tea --
which I drink at ten-past-three --
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants,
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
Its critics and its pundits,
especially its pundits,
and savants!

When the amber brew is spied,
My ***** swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers in the tea-house haunts,
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
Its critics and its pundits,
especially its pundits,
and savants!

But when the brew is cold,
I generally arms mine fold,
And seek my rights with an English rant!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
Its critics and its pundits
[some of whom are bandits],
and savants!

let me whisper into your ear
for only you can hear
the sweetest love i am for ye
so help me disappear

into your embrace
eyes - pools of grace
and in your self, your self-efface
my iniquity and self erase

number, tell and scribe
secret of universe vibe
everything ruled by mathematic
from esoteric to pragmatic

vibration of the sonant,
consonant, vowel, 'n sonerant,
the hidden song and current
of existence and occurrent

history guided by Hand
hidden in purpose grand
Thought laid out 'n planned
to play out in sea and land

written in every living cell
from heart tissue to fontanelle
from jubilant birth to distant knell
Face of Divine hides to dwell.

i saw the willow's dripping branches
crying into the blue-black deep
its golden-yellow avalanches
falling where the monsters sleep

locks of green and silky hair
turn auburn as the dusky sky
brown and russet as the air
moist like blood b'neath battle-cry

i looked into the inky waters,
stirred them with my phantom foot,
still, dark carrion, freshly slaughtered,
murky, raven, black like soot.

all around the laughter echoes
in the places of the void
once i saw a bright green meadow,
once i saw a world destroyed.

"i know him not, nor ever seen him
therefore he cannot be"
so speak those whose lights are dim
whose eyes are blind to see

the iconoclast proclaims unasked
"i find no key to fit this door"
thus in haste will ever-lambaste
the spirit with mentor

us accusing o' being credulous
naive and overtrusting,
yet our fruits, sedate and sedulous,
are fresh and ne'er rusting

from the humble acorn nut
as sure as sure can be
- if it's not 'fore its time down-cut -
will grow a grand oak-tree

a glorious case of G-d's topiary,
deciduous and fulsome,
you do not need a seer to be
to be prescient of the outcome

likewise from the thorny bramble,
in spirit of jingoism,
will from its forth another amble
with similar egotism!

the cantankerous mule will likely beget
a finicky, surly colt,
apropos of its type and sect,
'twill bound, jolt and bolt

the inscrutable sheep,
timid 'n meek,
chewing with jaw
grass 'n straw,
will not create
in natural state
a brouhaha
or furore state

we do not need to postulate
or debunk scientific theory
to know that female with its mate
breeds apposite fruit alveary

thus should you really want to know
the strength of parent belief
look to its fruit for they will show
through texture, taste and leaf

the nuanced truth of hope-filled faith
breathing pathos, empathy and feeling,
not like some new-age wraith
hooey vibes of reiki healing

compare that to the stuffy hall
of gown'd caps of PhDs
from their trees the fruit that fall
beget atheists, drugs, disease

The whilom thesaurus of mind,
affluent with ideas, all aligned
as soldiers alert, each assigned
to whither genius inclined.

arrows shot hither 'n thither,
faster than lightning splits the sky,
without hesitation, tarry or dither,
numbers, notions, speedily fly

with resonance of meaning, content, thought
from text-books, tomes, masters taught,
resounding deeply, as Big Ben's chimes,
afore desiccation of Grandfather Time.

he came as a trickle, hiding his sickle,
he came on tip-toe, incognito,
he was here, ere I had noticed,
here to stay, as i - stay, unfocused.

Now that famed emeritus intellect
sways as a drunk, ship that is wrecked,
forswears the truth as if it were false,
and searches for words as if dancing a waltz

i saw you, sweet angel,
black locks round your face,
your memory was painful,
but now there's all grace

sweet one, first son,
your light filled the room,
as the midday sun,
as flowers that bloom,
your eyes were pools
as emerald jewels,
your skin as zephyr
of wafts of sweet myrrh

your love filled my *****
i thought it would crack
when they told me your blossom
had been taken back
when they told me when
we were absent from you
they'd reached out from heaven
from celestial blue
they'd plucked you sweet rose
innocent dove
to rest and repose
in Gardens above
to know only sweetness
to know only Love
and though your completeness
we can never have,
your soul once again
in Spirit resides,
that calms my yen
as ocean tides.

and though i know not
the why or the wherefore
of why we begot
and why you are no more
inside my heart
as sea 'gainst the seashore
is never apart
from that son i adore.

Evening will come, however determined the late afternoon,
Limes and oaks in their last green flush, pearled in September mist.
I have conjured a lily to light these hours, a token of thanks,
Zones and auras of soft glare framing the brilliant globes.
A promise made and kept for life - that was your gift -
Because of which, here is a gift in return, glovewort to some,
Each shining bonnet guarded by stern lance-like leaves.
The country loaded its whole self into your slender hands,
Hands that can rest, now, relieved of a century's weight.

Evening has come. Rain on the black lochs and dark Munros.
Lily of the Valley, a namesake almost, a favourite flower
Interlaced with your famous bouquets, the restrained
Zeal and forceful grace of its lanterns, each inflorescence
A silent bell disguising a singular voice. A blurred new day
Breaks uncrowned on remote peaks and public parks, and
Everything turns on these luminous petals and deep roots,
This lily that thrives between spire and tree, whose brightness
Holds and glows beyond the life and border of its bloom.

the fool shoots arrows in the air
aims to intimidate, aims to scare,
but all those arrows fall in his heart,
of him, forever, eternal part

with gaiety, laughter, he aims to batter
the strongholds, fences, of things that matter,
little knowing it's him that loses,
his world a victim o' his own abuses.

for once he shatters the spiritual structure,
with words, innuendoes, modern culture,
the edifice is gone, for him, a rupture,
it'll take him lifetimes to restructure.