Posts tagged ‘greed’

26/01/2013

The Lost Paths of London (Walk No. 2)

 

The city’s still and empty paths –

Between the churches, through the fumes –

Are lines connecting times of change

From peasants’ lands to gilded claims.

 

We trace Brick Lane and Spitalfields.

We visit Blake: his grave at odds.

We walk down Moorgate, cold as plague,

And breathe the fires of old Blackfriars.

 

Beneath the heartless greed and lies,

The godless domes and faithless spires,

We find a world of poet’s songs,

And Celtic track-ways lost, not gone.

 

This hidden London seeks the light,

Downtrodden worlds and open minds.

 

 

28/05/2012

The Minotaur Roamed

 

The Minotaur, he roamed the land,

And time again he saw his hand:

The empty fields and measured tracts,

The creeping maze of polished stone,

 

A beast with eyes as bright as stars,

And countless monsters bursting life.

He saw the cages rising high,

And Minotaurs that feasted well.

 

He overheard some words of death,

And tasted rancid, reeking air.

He saw the grabbing creatures fall,

He saw how he had turned them all.

 

And from the freedom of the moors,

At last he’d found his prison walls.

 

 

17/05/2012

The Minotaur’s Truths

 

It’s just the same wherever cast,

The skeletal remains of beasts,

The broken doors, and backs, and will,

And eyes which shine at thoughts of death.

 

The innocent will take the blame.

The ones without will give it all:

The miners, herders, old folk, kids.

The shoeless walk the hardest path.

 

And deep below the brutal horns

Are gouging at another throat,

And taking yet another life,

And making yet another pound.

 

The creature knows the way of things,

It counts its truths and deems them fair.

08/05/2012

The Empire of the Minotaur

 

They built the halls and weighing rooms

Of millstone grit and avarice.

They birthed the monster, fed its spite,

Then hid it deep beneath the moors

 

The maze they dug stretched out for miles,

To Yorkshire mills and cotton fields,

To sugar cane and gold and slaves,

Through merchant men and ship-o-line.

 

And soon there lurked beneath it all

The monster’s barely human form:

The towns and cities bent in smoke,

The fenced and drained, the turned and choked.

 

Beneath the art the bullets forged,

Beneath the war the moneyed hoard.