Check-Out Time Is Now…
I think, at this time of political uncertainty, it behoves the unaknowledged legislators of the world to try and make sense of it all. So let’s have sonnets on the current situation. Here’s a Spenserian sonnet:
They laid this stone trap
for him, enticing him with candles,
as though he would come like some huge moth
out of the darkness to beat there.
—from The Empty Church by R.S. Thomas
Out Of The Darkness
In his prime, they said He’s the coming man
And ever since, he’s climbed the greasy pole,
Most everything went according to plan:
His pals on the teat, the plebs on the dole;
Of course, some fools claimed he’d sold his soul,
As if such a man had a soul to sell;
As if such a man had any role
But to open the gates to a new hell;
Such men go too often to the dark well,
Replenished by Nemesis, topped with bile,
All senses deadened, such men cannot tell
Drinks that refresh from the drinks that defile.
Now shunned and despised, he clutches at straws:
Begs for a comfortable seat in the Lords.
I also urge you to serve up a slice of lyrical cake over at our friend Zepherine’s blog.