27 Apr 2014

The Poem of the Week... Will Be Delayed

Okay you lot, before you start crying, know this: the only reason the Poem of the Week will be delayed is because I will be submitting five poems (yes, five) to a Literary Magazine called the Threepenny Review. Therefore, I will not have time to create a poem for this week; and neither can I publish the ones I have done, because the magazine only publishes previously unpublished poetry.

So there you go. But—there will be a Poem next week; I’m a very dilligent poet, you see.

(Suddenly rummages in his computer’s hard drive.)

Oh wait! It seems there is a wee little poem lying in my computer; it’s an earlier one, but it might interest you...

That Damned Philosopher

There once was a philosopher, and he lived on a mountain.
The mountain was the incarnation of philosophy:
Jutting out miles from the Earth
Content in its superiority,
Even if its roots still came
From the Earth that made it.
The Philosopher,
Was its compatriot.
The philosopher was neither large, nor small;
The philosopher was neither young, nor old;
The philospher was both green-eyed, and blue eyed;
The philosopher had hair, that was both grey,
And white,
And blond,
And sometimes he had no hair at all.
Only his mind was remarkable.
It was the system of logic,
The conglometure of ideas,
The resting place of genius.
It did not fear the politicians,
With their empty promises and dubious threats;
It did not fear the soldier,
With his deadly weapons and binding hands.
It feared only the ignorant.
Ah yes. The ignorant.
They lived underneath the mountain,
The subjects of his studies—the enemies of his kind.
They lived, below him.
And yet, he studied them: out of curiosity?
Out of fear?
Or out of that innate human desire,
To know one’s ancestors.
One day, the ignorant held conference.
The topic was small, the topic was trivial.
The new technology. The Oil.
Somehow, it became a debate.
The farmers screamed—‘We shall lose our income!’
Others, the philistines, they said: ‘People will lose their jobs!’
The majority—the guardians of ignorance, and stupidity—
‘We shall be rich.’
The philosopher, he was not impressed.
First, he studied: studied the effect on the nearby ocean;
Studied the effect on the forests, the plants, the animals;
Studied income distribution graphs, and expenditure of capital;
He studied everything.
He was still not impressed.
But his argument was simple:
‘This will not last.’
The ignorant, they ignored him, as they always did.
Oil wells sprang up, like mutated mushrooms;
Then sea-ships, with their radars;
Then frackers, with their explosives.
Some of the ignorant, they gained huge houses,
Huge yachts, huge interests. They said,
‘Tax is bad! No more tax!’
The tax want away.
The philospher, he became irritated.
Life had become more difficult.
He insisted, ‘This will not last’—
‘You’re just jealous!’ the ignorant said.
But he quietly saved his money,
Boarded up the windows,
And of course,
He waited.
The oil, away it went. They fracked and they fracked,
But none was left.
They protested and they protested, but the rich held firm.
Riots broke out. The rich died;
The ignorant became poor;
Poorer than they ever were,
As the banks ran out of money,
And the philospher waited quietly.
They came for him.
‘You knew this would happen!’
‘Why did you not help?’
‘But I did. You did not listen.’
The ignorant cried, ‘Liar!’,
And they burned his house down.
Then the world heaved its mighty breath,
And we were once again savages.

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