September 1996
There is a long and complicated story behind this poem, and a short and simple one.
Like all complicated and painful stories, however, there is a time for sharing the long one .. and times when the short one should suffice. Right now, it's the shorter one's turn.
The poem was written one September, several years ago, when I discovered the true frustration of dealing with somebody for whom the rule was more important than the principle .. or the truth.
One of the bitterest ironies in the full story is that the organisation at the centre of the incident which led to the poem being written, one very tearful September weekend, is best known for its' preparedness to listen.
Still, I mustn't ramble, because this is supposed to be the shorter, older, wiser version of the tale !
If you look carefully in this online collection then you'll spot a couple of other poems which were written in the very powerful emotions that flowed that particular weekend .. and then you can, at least, piece some of the story together. Or you can buy the book, when it's finally finished, and find out whether I was having a short-story or long-story day when I went to the printers !
A rule is a rule (as a rule) The refuge, down ages, for fools I can’t tell you the facts For the ‘law’ can’t relax I can’t tell you of beatings (They’ve moved it in meetings) I can’t tell you of murder On pain of their purdah And if ever I’m critical They’ll say it’s ‘political’ I can’t point at the cruel For the sake of their rule So I’m bound and I’m gagged And in files I am tagged As a wicked protester Keep your eyes peeled Don’t let her ........... ..... What ? .......... Let on to the masses How feeble and crass is The state’s grip on morals ? Quarrels YES, we see THOSE... On nightly TV, the sideshow’s for free But why not look deeper ? ... ..... Can you ? .. Can you do that for me ?
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August's poem
October's poem
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