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And so the end of spending

 

And so the end of spending

 

And so the end of spending

It’s gonna be tight the rest of my days

I won’t afford cafes or pubs

Maybe an art gallery opening for a glass of wine

Cheap cuts of meat, deal with the gristle

As long as I’m writing I’ll have my calling

My poetry is not extrinsically motivated like so many professional ‘artists’ today

I’m doing God’s & (hu)Man’s work

I just need warmth, food, water, some alcohol, internet, electricity

I’m going to be poor

I have fallen from the middle class

No war pension for teachers cast to the scrapheap

Though that’s really where the knowledge wars are fought

I gave it my all, was always feared & hated by leadership

Because my kids were activated & enthusiastic

They want drones

The whole economy is about drones

Drones to wage slave

Drones to spy on us

Drones to drop bombs

Poetry is despised because it is about the invincibility of the human spirit if activated

& so I will start my revolution from a trailer home

It is the glory & honour I live for

& when people sneer at me going by

Or friends greet me when we meet

They will say “there goes a poet”

In ancient Eire/Ireland my ancestral home

Poets were fed before kings

You of Britannia's rule have had poets despite yourselves

& the ones you commended, patriotists

But my Fenian heart, my rebel soul

I will liberate angels from your prisons of control

& beat the bodhran

& intone the ballads

& turn your herbologist’s gardens

Into shadow & light salads

I will reverse the tides & call it nature returned

& the order will crumble

& the tolls will bell

 

& the poor will rise

United black & white

Because undeniable it will be

Humanity set free

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

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