ON THE OTHER FOOT
As less than men
Are less than men if they
Dollops of ignorance
Mother and father
Protecting their odious hoard
Whiffering down the line
DOVER BEACH – Matthew Arnold (Published 1867)
The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
DOVER BEACH – The Fugs (Released 1967)
Or at least at times
Do I live
In some hell
That I myself have dreamed up?
Shall I ever know?
POTUS POOTS FORTH ANOTHER
“Wake up, Pop, you have to meet the press.”
“What is it this time? Why can’t I just tweet?”
“This Harvey thing’s too big. You have to meet.
And be careful not to look like you couldn’t care less.”
“Why don’t you go, Ivanka, in a slinky low-cut dress?
Distract ’em. Let your booty take the heat.”
“But you’ll be on TV, centre stage, comfy seat.”
“Well in that case … Oh no! Look! My hair’s a mess.”
Now he’s in make-up sat polishing his schtick
And figuring out ways he can stroll off with some big money.
“I’ll have him deported.” “I’ll make Mexico build a big wall.”
“I’ll nuke him.” “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
Trouble is while thousands are suffering yer bumpkin’s so thick
He thinks “this Harvey thing” is an invisible six-foot bunny.
NOTE Any prurient innuendo or double entendre is fully intentional.
The suicide decided after all to cross the river.
Styx a stone’s throw away – Too many thrown stones.
Crossed over now into who knows what or where. Into
who knows beneath all that faith and charity after all?
Cruelly abandoned by us all; backed up into corners.
All those accusatory closed doors, shuttered windows.
Words not the sole way to show a soul’s distress though.
Tiny gestures, reactions, dress choice speak volumes;
sightlessness alive and well among the seeing.
The suicide decided to cross the river.
(Styx a stone’s throw away after all.)
Many too many thrown stones.
And words not the sole way
to show a soul’s distress.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.”
Gambol, gambol, little lamb
How I wonder who I am!
Dancing, prancing, high then low,
Never knowing where I go.