(Pavement special from the streets of Daveyton)
At first you scared me with your manic energy
Your thinking and actions seemed to lack synergy
Jumping and running and biting with glee
Ecstatic with the thought of being rescued by me
Where seagulls prey on hastiness
And Time itself disjoints,
Where making plans is foolishness,
That there is Shelly Point.
Some cried, some prayed,
Some whistled and shouted,
Till all sound did fade
Behind a call no one doubted.
Oh the air-raid-siren was feared above all,
It curdled the blood, that ominous call.
Not Chaucer, nor Milton,
not Shakespeare nor Pope,
not Wordsworth nor Larkin
ever had a hope.
Continue reading “Apocalyptic verse”
