Memory Cupboards

I have become immune to fears,
Self-isolated well for sixteen years,
They parade unpaved disparities;
Penthouse peer, wealthy elite,
At different ends of a London street
As those avoided by Charities.

Having heard men demoted
And with vanity bloated
Rose pomades for their ego-whores;
The trumpet and flag as bad as the gun,
Why does it surprise most everyone,
When they evince long since I closed my doors.

They stole the ways which I adored,
Replaced with substance I abhorred,
And shaped a brand new Anschluss.
Trace it back to where it began,
Roman praetors had a plan
Overthrowing Tarquinius Superbus;

We are living still within their laws
From Linnaeus through to Aristotlean cause,
From scientists rife to churchgoers;
So I bought anteaters for my thinking-lawn
Long before ideas were born
Of secateurs and mowers;

Painted a cross on my front and back doors,
Filled memory-cupboards, finished my chores,
Pulled down the eyelids of my sea-shutter.
Divulged to my love a secret knock,
Watered the plants and changed the lock,
Set sail on a harbour-dream cutter.

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s