Friday, September 02, 2011

Family Values














Sing a song of speculators
Buying up all the gold,
Bright young boys of Bullingdon
Your futures we have sold.
No thoughts for our pensions,
No fears of growing old,
Insulated from real life,
Protected from the cold,
What we inherit at our birth,
We will always hold,
As we fill out the orders
And you do what you’re told.

Sing a song of currencies,
Pockets full of holes,
In the City digging,
Like demented moles
Bunkers by the dozen,
Bolt holes, far and wide.
You’re too busy paying,
Being taken for a ride.
The poor are getting poorer.
The rich are growing fat.
Please put all your savings
In the failed banker’s hat.

Quite a day today. First of all, the Postie brought me a Paul Simon CD, ‘So Beautiful or So What’, which came from Fellow writer, Beryl Henshaw. Then brother-in-law, Chris and partner Fred(erika) arrived from Edinburgh bearing poetry - ‘A Rose Loupt Out’ commemorates the Upper Clyde Shipbuilders Occupation 40 years ago, in song and poetry and beautiful illustrations; ‘Strangely Happy’ is Anna Crowe’s excellent translation of the Catalan poet Joan Margarit, wonderful, passionate. Ah bliss!
3rd September.


1 comment:

  1. I might try the use of a well known rhyme just cleverly change the words I applaud the message of this one. Glad you had such a poetry rich day.

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