Sunday, 10 December 2017


Thanks for the comments - Now edited to improve

noun: a rounded underground storage organ present in plants such as crocuses, gladioli, and cyclamens, consisting of a swollen stem base covered with scale leaves.

Doggerel rap is recompense.
My rhythm method of sense,
Searching rhyme and reason,
You too? We too? #MeToo?
Is this a change of season?

It’s dark, it’s night, in bed and warm
I metamorphose from Leafman to Corm
Dying, shrinking, crisping to dry,
Oozing down sinews to earth,
Does the bud still long for sky?

Then Savil, Weinstein and Spacey rise groping
And Trump with his little hands hoping.
Lunging, looming and grabbing what they can
We cringe, hide and wince as,
They boast, "I am man!"

I curse them, the bastards. We know what they've done.
In their darkness they dimmed down our sun.
Stunned, for while, we've lost our way.
They perverted and dirtied what it means to be male.
They took our affection away.

We were the romancers
The lovers, the dancers
The poets, the painters of light.
Applauding the best we saw hope in the rest,
Just wanting it all to be right.

Some search for solace #Metoo they groan
Despairing but sharing, no longer alone,
In the frost, winter bleak, on the hills.
It's somehow less grim as, huddling in,
Whispering, moaning of our ills.

Feeling some hope we sense the cold.
Oh, to be strong if not bold.
We turn ears to darkness to catch what they say.
Shivering we nurture the candles,
To warm us nd show us the way,

Yes, you evil, oppressors, abusers,
We'll tell tales of how you have used us,
With non-smiling grins on your faces.
You sullied and bullied in your lip curling toils,
And raped through your countless disgraces.

As you bruised on thrusting, onward in stealth
Entitled by power, prestige and wealth
We stood aside watching your swagger.
You predators, losers, big-headed braggers,
You pathetic, buggers and shaggers.

We will not lie down!
Well we do but something has gone,
That sense, in loving, as two become one,
The joy as we touched has been smothered.
So, we pause, take care and try to fathom
The wants and the needs of our others.

It's the time to take stock
Turn back our clocks
Before we're too numbed to see.
To when nothing but us consumed our love,
To the time when our loving was free,

We'll stride mountains with hope
Feel awe on their slopes
And find our consensual
We'll we are blest
And can finally rest
When Desire Lines lead to our soul