Song for John
Song for clattering guitar and sirens!
The jangling slap of d-string bent on wood,
And clumsy, comic, tinkling irons
With wit that’s set on better yet than Byron’s
And whistles bustling through environs
Of much-pertaining, unintended Good;
Yea, life has been a crazy coloured map
That’s dotted through the fringes of disaster,
Like paths were leading, lap on lap,
To some unprofitable trap
While sheep were safely grazing in the pasture.
The hungry ghosts in hungry fours
Have eaten up our breadcrumb past,
And things we could have done before
Are symphonies of slamming doors
That make us laugh… no, stand aghast!
At all the signs that say how far
From where we should have been we are.