08 Apr 2016 – Ghazal
Prime Ministers and Presidents all feign concern.
No bullion on the barrelhead, they’ve slain concern.
A Gorgonzola moonrise in the Eastern sky,
our flat-bread hearts are hungry with arcane concerns.
Stopcocks open, how does one soul fight the torrents;
can streams of need do anything but drain concern?
Spring returns and joy blooms where there once was sorrow,
don’t tell me counting poppies is a vain concern!
Who makes up the ledger sheets of lives worth living:
indifference and loss, but also gain, concern?
Let’s say all the wars were done, would all be happy,
or start another fight based on profane concerns?
You drink coffee underneath a madman’s shadow,
thus asking where the milk is seems a sane concern.
Olde Foole, don’t kid yourself that you can run away,
escape this world alive! Is that’s your main concern?