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In this Monody the author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately
drowned  in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637;
and, by occasion, foretells the ruin of our corrupted Clergy,
then in their height.


Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more,
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forced fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear
Compels me to disturb your season due;
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
         Begin, then, Sisters of the sacred well
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
Hence with denial vain and coy excuse:
So may some gentle Muse
With lucky words favour my destined urn,
And as he passes turn,
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud!
         For we were nursed upon the self-same hill,
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill;
Together both, ere the high lawns appeared
Under the opening eyelids of the Morn,
We drove a-field, and both together heard
What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright
Toward heaven’s descent had sloped his westering wheel.
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute;
Tempered to the oaten flute,
Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent long;
And old Damoetas loved to hear our song.
         But, oh! the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone and never must return!
Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves,
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o’ergrown,
And all their echoes, mourn.
The willows, and the hazel copses green,
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
As killing as the canker to the rose,
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear,
When first the white-thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd’s ear.
         Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep
Closed o’er the head of your loved Lycidas?
For neither were ye playing on the steep
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream.
Ay me! I fondly dream
RHad ye been there,S . . . for what could that have done?
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
Whom universal nature did lament,
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His gory visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
         Alas! what boots it with uncessant care
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd’s trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neaera’s hair?
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious days;
But, the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life. RBut not the praise,”
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears:
RFame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies,
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.”
         O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood,
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,
That strain I heard was of a higher mood.
But now my oat proceeds,
And listens to the Herald of the Sea,
That came in Neptune’s plea.
He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds,
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?
And questioned every gust of rugged wings
That blows from off each beaked promontory.
They knew not of his story;
And sage Hippotades their answer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed:
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
         Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow,
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.
Ah! who hath reft,” quoth he, Rmy dearest pledge?”
Last came, and last did go,
The Pilot of the Galilean Lake;
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain.
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake:—
RHow well could I have spared for thee, young swain,
Enow of such as, for their bellies’ sake,
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold!
Of other care they little reckoning make
Than how to scramble at the shearers’ feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest.
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold
A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least
That to the faithful herdman’s art belongs!
What recks it them? What need they? They are sped:
And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread;
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing said.
But that two-handed engine at the door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.”
         Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past
That shrunk thy streams; return Sicilian Muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues.
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes,
That on the green turf **** the honeyed showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the ***** freaked with jet,
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears;
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
For so, to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise,
Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
Wash far away, where’er thy bones are hurled;
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
Sleep’st by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great Vision of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona’s hold.
Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
         Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor.
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves,
Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That Sing, and singing in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.
         Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
While the still morn went out with sandals grey:
He touched the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
And now the sun had stretched out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay.
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue:
Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber's shop.
"Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I'll be a man of mark,
I'll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark."
The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash he smoked a huge cigar;
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a "tote", whatever that may be,
And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered, "Here's a lark!
Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark."

There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber's wall.
Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all;
To them the barber passed the wink his dexter eyelid shut,
"I'll make this bloomin' yokel think his bloomin' throat is cut."
And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark:
"I s'pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark."

A grunt was all reply he got; he shaved the bushman's chin,
Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.
He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat,
Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim's throat;
Upon the newly-shaven skin it made a livid mark
No doubt, it fairly took him in — the man from Ironbark.

He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear,
And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear,
He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd'rous foe:
"You've done for me! you dog, I'm beat! One hit before I go!
I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!
But you'll remember all your life the man from Ironbark."

He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout
He landed on the barber's jaw, and knocked the barber out.
He set to work with nail and tooth, he made the place a wreck;
He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.
And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark,
And "******! ****** ******!" yelled the man from Ironbark.

A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show;
He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.
And when at last the barber spoke, and said "'Twas all in fun'
T’was just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone."
"A joke!" he cried, "By George, that's fine; a lively sort of lark;
I'd like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark."

And now while round the shearing floor the list'ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o'er and o'er, and brags of his escape.
"Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I've had enough,
One tried to cut my bloomin' throat, but thank the Lord it's tough."
And whether he's believed or no, there's one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.
upon the Abington Station's
long shearing board
the feats of one shearer
cannot be ignored
a run of two hundred sheep
he can easily shear
his style with the cutting comb
is without peer
contractors in the district
know of his pace
he removes fleeces
with an elegant grace

the Lister wool press
compacts all the long day
whilst the gun shearer
works tirelessly away
Kelpie dogs tongue
keeping his race full
as Layto shears the fine clips
of merino wool
none are as effective
with comb in hand
in the regional area
of the New England

Layto shears the sheep
cleanly and effortlessly
whether the fleeces
be thick or slightly oily
his shearing abilities
are know of near and far
on the shearing shed board
he's always bettered par
when he hangs up
the cutting comb to retire
fellow shearers will of him
greatly admire
A gun shearer, shearers sheep quickly.
Hilda May 2013
Isaiah 52:14 As many were astonied at Thee His visage was marred more than any man, and His form more than the sons of men.

Isaiah 53:2 For He shall grow up before Him as a tender plant and as a root out of dry ground; He hath no form nor comeliness and when we shall see Him there is no beauty that we should desire Him.
3 He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and we hid as it were our faces from Him; He was despised and we esteemed Him not.
4 Surely He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem Him stricken, smitten of God and afflicted.
5 But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are healed.
6 All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.
7 He was oppressed and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth; He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before his shearers is dumb so He opened not His mouth.
Chrisamesther Oct 2016
1 Who has believed what we have heard?
And who has the arm of the LORD been revealed to?
2 He grew up before Him like a young plant
and like a root out of dry ground.
He didn’t have an impressive form
or majesty that we should look at Him,
no appearance that we should desire Him.
3 He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of suffering who knew what sickness was.
He was like someone people turned away from;
He was despised, and we didn’t value Him.
4 Yet He Himself bore our sicknesses,
and He carried our pains;
but we in turn regarded Him stricken,
struck down by God, and afflicted.
5 But He was pierced because of our transgressions,
crushed because of our iniquities;
punishment for our peace was on Him,
and we are healed by His wounds.
6 We all went astray like sheep;
we all have turned to our own way;
and the LORD has punished Him
for3 the iniquity of us all.
7 He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet He did not open His mouth.
Like a lamb led to the slaughter
and like a sheep silent before her shearers,
He did not open His mouth.
8 He was taken away because of oppression and judgment;
and who considered His fate?
For He was cut off from the land of the living;
He was struck because of my people’s rebellion.
9 They5 made His grave with the wicked
and with a rich man at His death,
although He had done no violence
and had not spoken deceitfully.
10 Yet the LORD was pleased to crush Him severely.
When You make Him a * restitution offering,
He will see His * seed, He will prolong His days,
and by His hand, the LORD’s pleasure will be accomplished.
11 He will see it out of His anguish,
and He will be satisfied with His knowledge.
My righteous Servant will justify many,
and He will carry their iniquities.
12 Therefore I will give Him the many as a portion,
and He will receive the mighty as spoil,
because He submitted Himself to death,
and was counted among the rebels;
yet He bore the sin of many
and interceded for the rebels.
Eccentric Enigma Jul 2014
Seen distant in the heat haze visions seen to cast
Blue hazed mountains framed in lands red dust
Cattle quietly grazing knowing not their fate
Shearers gathered campfires pushing back the night

Tales as stories flowing liquid amber in no haste
Across this wide brown land so rich and yet so vast
Such a short history since that first tall white mast
A land so young so proud but then again so new

The shears and the cockys together saw troubles through
Then came the sprawling cities so vast in chrome and glass
Eating up the shorefronts like possessed high rise colonies
Shattered now the silence the freedom and the peace

Where once there toiled the battlers so many mouths to feed
Life now ruled by foreign time clocks set in many hands
Changes now to our culture most of them far from good
Where now gone the dreamtimes lost to myth and youth

(GE2014)C Reserved
https://www.facebook.com/SilmarilliansPoetry
Eccentric Enigma Jul 2014
Seen distant in the heat haze visions seen to cast
Blue hazed mountains framed in lands red dust
Cattle quietly grazing knowing not their fate
Shearers gathered campfires pushing back the night
Tales as stories flowing liquid amber in no haste
Across this wide brown land so rich and yet so vast
Such a short history since that first tall white mast
A land so young so proud but then again so new
The shears and the cockys together saw troubles through
Then came the sprawling cities so vast in chrome and glass
Eating up the shorefronts like possessed high rise colonies
Shattered now the silence the freedom and the peace
Where once there toiled the battlers so many mouths to feed
Life now ruled by foreign time clocks set in many hands
Changes now to our culture most of them far from good
Where now gone the dreamtimes lost to myth and youth
(GE2014) (C) Reserved
Chris Slade Jul 2020
Campers that Camp
Parkers who Park
Clampers that Clamp
Players who Play
Dampers that Damp
Breakers that Break
Stayers who Stay
Sneakers who sneak
Lovers that Love
Layers who Lay
Dreamers who Dream
Day Dreamers who Day Dream
Flouters who Flout
Shouters who shout
Pouters that pout
Wreckers who wreck
Screamers that Scream
Reamers that Ream
Redeemers who Dream and Redeem
Screamers who scream
Creamers who make cream
Streakers who streak
Readers who Read
Bleeders who Bleed
Tearers who tear
Shearers who shear
Sharers who share
Darers who dare
Carers that Care
Trenders who Trend… That’s trending
Menders who Mend... they're mending
they’re Fixers who fix!
They’re Doers who Do
Not Doubters that Don’t

Senders who send’a
a’ huh huh huh!
Thank you very much!
I haven't go t a clue what prompted me to start this... I'm usually quite pragmatic and write about real things, real life and not the 'ethereal'
Tolerastia

Tolerance—just blind endurance
Of the twisted and obscene.
Lies and greed **** all assurance—
Fighting FILTH is hard, unseen.

Law’s true goal? No—DECOMPOSING
All the weak who dare comply.
Serving Satan, fate imposing—
Fools won’t get the reason why...



---------------------



Never hope for due salvation,
Never call yourself so pure.
Through your toil and dedication,
Seek the Light—stay strong, endure.

Let your voice, though small and fleeting,
Stir the madness, shake the norm,
Bringing glimpses, briefly meeting
Those in need before the storm.

Pain is plenty. Yet when finding
Even cracks where light breaks through,
You’ll respond with understanding
To this world—its faith untrue.



---------------------



The Wit and the Herd

Shouting truth? To sheep? To fools?
Sheep exist for shearers' tools.
Pigs are caged by stable rules.
All is lost—don’t cry, stay cool.

Few escape the devil’s net—
That’s his game, a winning bet.
Words won’t wake the mindless set,
Clever wit won’t save them yet...



---------------------



Cry or not, the blade won’t wait—
Execution comes on cue.
This "world order" feeds the fate
Of the minds that twist askew.

For the sane, it spells demise—
CowID showed that, clear as day.
Lucifer just laughs at lies,
While Pure Shame lurks in the fray.



---------------------



Eternal Pioneers

Lords and sirs and… dark illusions
Rule the world—what wicked fate!
"Pioneers" embrace delusions,
Worship all that breeds the Hate.



---------------------



Pioneers of Consume

All foundations? We will burn them,
Toss them out without regret!
Faster gadgets—we must earn them,
Drive the world to grave, and yet…

Short-lived pleasures, all-consuming—
Bow and feast, obey the trend!
Lies and filth run life’s programming:
Honest? Then you’ll break, my friend.

Think you're smart? Then you’ll be sinking,
Dragged down deep—no way to climb.
Brains can’t beat the rot we're drinking,
Drowning bright minds in the grime.

Stench? It’s global, we don’t mind it,
Cycles turn, the wheel’s in flow.
Swirling filth? Just sit behind it…
Popcorn’s ready—time for show!



---------------------



A Prison Without People

This world’s a joke,
Its mind is broken.
The frauds wear cloaks,
The herd stays spoken.

A prison stands,
Yet holds no nations.
The blind obey—
No revelation.

The lies run high,
Beyond all measure.
Just laugh or cry—
There’s no rock bottom.

But why, you ask?
The end is nearing.
Plague into flame!—
No more false meanings.



---------------------



Slave Morality

Slaves accept their morals,
Forced on them with ease.
Lies became the chorus,
Preached to keep the peace.

Harder to defend them—
Reason still remains,
Fading, but its embers
Fight against the chains.

Darkness spreads through nations,
Fascist rule ascends.
Madness—pure damnation,
Satan’s hand extends.

What this "virtue" harbors
Filth has made quite clear:
Humankind has fallen—
Shame is all that’s near.



---------------------



Rule of Darkness

— I just want some dinner.
— Eat your GMO.
— Hear a voice of wisdom?
— Scroll through filth below.

— Choose a real leader?
— Look, the Sewer waits,
Craving for the moment
To decide your fate.

"New" deceitful programs,
Drenched in ancient lies.
Darkness owns the servants,
Bound by blackmail ties.

Choice? There’s none—just cursing
All this filth and rot.
Darkness reigns—immersing
All in its own clot…



--- Total 9 poems. ---
Hopelessness Without a Way

Hopelessness, with no true road,
Few will find themselves, their code.
The rest are lost in tangled lies,
A web of tricks beneath the skies.



---------------------



The End of the Path

The end of the path,
The spirit near,
Mind subdued,
Shunning all fear.



---------------------



Waste Not Your Strength

Much strength has gone to waste, I know—
Now focus, bring it to the fore:
Do all with zeal, with fiery glow—
In bold new dawns, as crowns restore.



---------------------



The Spread of Chaos

Rarely does a lie strike true,
The aim is fire across the view.
And later, all will drown in grime—
That’s how they spread the endless crime.



---------------------



Self-Deception

Deceive yourself, you’re not a knight,
"Free will" is nothing but a fight.
You’re but a watcher of decay,
And in that role, you lead astray.



---------------------



Deceitful Words

Tilly-tilly, trally-trally,
What we claimed was love so wally—
We deceived ourselves, so sadly.



---------------------



The Power Divide

A bulldog's bite, a rhino's horn—
"Separation of powers" worn.
A sham, a trick, a wretched game,
In a world where people bring the shame.



---------------------



Masha, Masha!

Masha, Masha, joy divine!
For two, dear Mashunya toils and shines.
By morning, off to work she goes,
By night, she serves those she knows.



---------------------



Games of Deceit

Tilly-tilly, trally-trally,
Beat and brawl, they lied so badly.
Lies upon lies, they played their part,
In the puzzle of a broken heart.



---------------------



Blacksmiths of Stupidity's "Happiness"

The gloom of vice is far more sweet—
Darkness never leaves the mind’s retreat.
As for chains that bind from without,
Rust them, forge them anew, no doubt.



---------------------



The Way Out

There’s always a way, and usually
It’s where the entrance used to be.
But into darkness, you run foolishly,
Mind scattered, lost in misery.



---------------------



Supreme Control

Thunder, lightning—frozen, hanging,
Glitch in skies? Oh, that’s alarming!
If the news gets stuck mid-motion,
That’s a glitch with worse devotion.

Not a madhouse—call it cover,
"World’s top roof"—their name’s no other.
Now it’s sliding, slow and steady,
To the press—where power’s ready.

Politics? A clown’s dominion.
Media bends all opinions.
Crowds obey each sly persuasion—
Lies on screen spark blind invasion.



---------------------



Puzzles and Bruises

Tyrants love their wicked puzzles,
Boots of steel stomp down the street.
Cops and spies—corrupt and muzzled,
Praise the lie, their god of deceit.

They will break you, crush, and shatter,
Not for fun, but for a cause.
Random victims? Doesn't matter—
Devils think with shattered laws.



---------------------



Building the "Brighter Future"

The darker now, the brighter dawn—
That’s how the tyrants push their lies.
The deeper gloom they trample on,
The harsher toil for those alive.

With theories grand, they preach and plot,
Like Stalin, Pol ***—strong in creed.
They scrawl their slogans—mindless rot,
And watch a nation burn and bleed.



---------------------



The Depths of Corruption, or The Label-Man

A polished look—that’s all they teach,
A branded world—stamped out like tin.
And “quality” stays out of reach,
Reserved for those who pay to win.

Bright labels shine, yet minds grow hollow,
Their worth’s not set by thought or deed.
That’s why it’s rare today to follow
A soul unmasked in depths of greed.



---------------------



The Minefield of False Life

"To live one’s life is not to stroll across a field."
— Proverb


A walk through a minefield—explosions all ’round,
Fools curse their fate with a cowardly sound.
They whine about dangers, their skins are so dear,
Yet live without courage—enslaved by their fear.

Deception and terror are packed in each mine,
The sappers are bribed, they will fall into line.
Fear makes you a beast, to the darkness you kneel,
And carry its judgment with zeal.

Deceived by the foe, you will turn on your own,
Destroying your soul as you march to their throne.
A lamb to the slaughter, you’ll run to their cage—
Your heart traded in for a wage.

The way out? Exploding each mine as you go,
To be your true self, not a beast they control.
Let liars keep lying—you laugh in their face,
And walk on with fearless embrace!



---------------------



"Brave New World"

Much to think about?
Nothing. Who would care!
Crunch your evening snack,
Watch the screen and stare.

See, a clever guy
Tells us what to do.
We won’t step in lies—
He explains it through.

We’ll defend our fate,
Smash the neighbor’s face,
March towards our great
Happiness embrace.

New rules shall arrive,
Old fools write them down:
"Serve your land—survive!
Throw your mind and drown!"



---------------------



Fake-News Feast

From the void, they craft a tale,
News spun out of empty air.
Eager fools, without fail,
Swallow lies without a care.

Mouths agape, they beg for more,
Never questioning the taste.
Truth, meanwhile, must break the door,
Struggling through a world debased.

Filth and stench of twisted presses
Choke the world in toxic smog.
Liars cheer—but time suppresses,
For their reign won’t last for long.

Soon the clock will strike them down,
Justice waits—its grip is tight.
Infernal lies will burn and drown,
Vanished into endless night.



---------------------



The Furry Ones

Winnie’s off to hunt for honey,
Nothing stops him on the way.
Rivers crossed and hills made runny,
God is "with the folks"—they say.
Rabbits dig their holes—how funny,
Let the bear enjoy his prey.

Sawdust packed inside his noggin,
Honey makes it smooth and light.
Once he rests—he starts the slogging,
Shouting loud with all his might.
Neighbors cringe but keep on nodding,
Not admitting wrong from right.



---------------------



Elephants and Curs

A cur can bark for hours on,
It’s all the strength it knows.
And when the yapping turns to throngs,
An elephant still bows.

They swarm, they bite—just some draw blood,
Yet still, the wounds run deep.
He falls, they cheer—a lifeless husk,
Another takes the leap.

And elephants grow fewer still,
While mongrels flood the way.
No fable here—those with the will
And Fire fade away.



---------------------



All Roads Lead to the Madhouse

The world is teeming with the mad,
Their numbers growing every day.
When fools and lunatics command,
All roads to Bedlam pave the way.

A fool or ****** walks beside you,
Though you may just be lost, not wild.
But reason barely dares to guide you—
Its voice is hushed where minds are blind.

And when its voice is lost for good,
The fate is sealed, the end is near.
So pull yourself, as best you could,
By reason’s hand from madness clear.



---------------------



Sheepish Democracy

Who will cut? It’s all a game,
The sheep choose blind, a chosen few,
The shearers’ clan, they stake their claim,
Their hidden power rings untrue.

The styles of cuts they all approve,
It’s still the watchful eye’s design.
The sheep, in bliss, they blindly move—
Dreaming of a freedom that’s not mine.



--- Total 22 poems. ---

— The End —