Cockscomb Neo-cons
Timid so, time’s ides approach;
thought, drains an ever empty mind;
morning’s yawn, an hour’s drive;
destination’s loss, is vision quest so blind;
rising in life’s misting mores;
the questions prompt, this guess of mine;
circumstance, swayed mindset learned;
an answers turn to ‘right’ deny.
Designates this, does the plane of chance;
to task, a life so brittle bends;
questioning’s ring, disturbs mind’s tines;
the fine, in plan no longer lends;
untoward and baseless, an ideal poised;
lisp’s squawk, as surprise suspends;
glance, to providential light within;
prize sought, a future’s clime depends.
Contacts mistrial, a meddling test;
the stretch, how long the lie is plied;
linked, world’s bleeding broods;
in closet, quiet and blood a writ so signed;
tomorrows swept in terror’s tears;
the ‘few’, will thrive by these designs;
sorrows till, the old earth turns;
the crass due rule, by each mind maligned.
Planning, thwarts what nature schemes;
against the land, the rules so churn;
perpetuating, such legacy of flesh as fuel;
that life, is waste for few to burn;
purgatory’s prince, and pricy right unfurl;
as fear and woe do intrigue turn;
parade, and prance a rider less horse;
this nation’s soul, these snipe intern.
Rebuke as turmoil, that leaning curse;
and walk tall to the truth’s embrace;
broils down to sweat, the human tense;
this too shall pass without a trace;
lividity’s rube, what is white and rude;
the sneering steers an arse replace;
stripe of colour, deceit so won;
asshole bemused, their symbol of disgrace.
Whimpering hacks, limp wristed beasts;
berate a truth, and every lie fellate;
fraud, and clown impede hate’s flay;
lip to tail, a bottom line or two efflate;
neo-cons, anarchic chums;
goose step a rubicon, to rule of law do adulate;
comprise, fool few down douche of forbear scum;
full pursing lips, sibilate.
Design of kind, equate a demon seed;
spun, in womb corrupted by a beast;
denigrate fate, as change portend;
like or not stand good and bad abreast;
humanity’s drive, faulting such gimps;
time’s laugh, a white minority depressed;
choice, makes time to ‘wright’ this ship;
at last, our nation no more possessed.
Appeal, to plausibility’s prig;
which face of two, is shown beneathe truth’s sun;
libellous scourge, spits sins of spin;
this neo-con hubris, slowly comes undone;
ipse dixit, the far right’s base belief;
its end is soon, and life again breathes fun;
instrument used in this great cause;
common sense, return to it is now begun.
Michael Darrell Walker
(2010)
