Sunday, 10 December 2017


Thanks for the comments - Now edited to improve rhythm and rhyme? 18.12.17

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, I’m in bed and warm
Metamorphosing 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, “Me too!” they groan
Despairing but sharing, no longer alone,
In the frost, winter bleak, on the hills.
It's somehow less grim as, huddling in,
We whisper and moan of our ills.

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

Yes, you evil, oppressors, abusers,
We'll tell tales of how you 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 it's gone,
That sense, in loving, as two becomes one,
The joy when we touched has been smothered.
So, we pause, take care and try to fathom
The wants and the needs of our others.

Yes, it's the time to take stock
To turn back our clocks
Before we were too numbed to see.
When nothing but us consumed our love,
To the time when our loving was free,

Take her hand, stroke his chest,
Understand you are blest.
Help him to touch you well.
Draw Desire Lines on each other's skin

Restore consensual.

Enter the mountain, don't thrust for the top,
Whisper of hope, roll angst down the slope.
Enjoy the unfolding, reveals and the awe.
Our sun's Spring warmth will loosen the thaw
Then, let us make love once more.