February And Beyond

The Washing Line & Dogma-argh!

The washing line is wet and sags with clothes
I left there all in trust. That’s how it goes.
Days of rain you think until the sun breaks
unpredictably over your mistakes.
Plan nothing you can’t easily adapt;
for what was foolish suddenly is apt;
as what was wisdom patently goes stale;
that sudden laughter quite beyond the pale.

As with weather so with others’ shining
and raining and bubbling and whining;
even the most sedate have irksome moods,
and brilliant minds stoop to platitudes.
In all this change you can depend on me,
my little one, to tell it as I see.


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Dogma-argh!


Let's make a botched tin din unto the lord
and Tombliboo* right on till all are bored;
a broad zeal blotting out the reader's face,
we'll cant and rant into our empty space,
sans elegance sans sense. We speak in tongues;
the matter quite transcends a ladder's rungs.
On our rope-trick we can talk baloney;
as long as we're sincere, we can't be phony.

Ne'er mind 'shook foil' or the thrice battered heart -
put toys of words away now we are smart:
for poetry exchange a bale of hay;
it's more grown up to prate and donkey bray.
Let Donne and Hopkins spin within their graves;
they've had their day: it's Dogma Dog* that saves.

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*characters who play ghastly 'music' in the Night Garden.
*Dog as in God backwards