Week 21
on Anthony Lovat in Bolgatanga (Ghana), 25/May/2011 03:39, 34 days ago
Tell me, oh wisdom, what is your cureTo this, my conundrum that baits at my brain?That though we are all born with feet on the floor,Our ideas transcend to beyond the insane.Tell me, oh mirror, up there on your wall,Who is the fairest throughout this land?Lie to me, mirror, tempt me to fall,Like oceans of water atop of dry sand.Don’t tell me that everything’s going ok,When vultures are circling, sensing your blood,When dogs are picking and temper can fray,And lash out with words telling,“Nip in the bud”.Tell me, oh calm, how can I explore,All roads and paths and chances, freeOf all the endless wanting more?That highway leads to hell you’ll see.Tell me, oh logic, what more do I want?Now that happiness dangles like carrot on stick,Bidding me to toil for our Queen like an Ant.More what? More carrot? We’ll eat ‘till we’re sick.Tell me, oh madness, should I complyWith weasels snaking their oily spinesThrough infinite coils of who and whyWhen everyone else is heeding the signs?Tell me, oh culture, how should I behave?How should I think at each place and time?Like all good seabirds, I’m following the braveWho wave with the trawler to cover the crime.Tell me, my son, what man am I now?I’m barely a buoy bobbing off the beach.A baby can float to waters unknownWhere dragons can pull the sun out of reach.The anchor is firm and the parrot is dumb.The good ship has sailed with no turning back.Full steam ahead and a bottle of rum.Tell me, oh ocean, what bags should I pack?What lessons should I, with my limited supply,Supply my child with as he grows into thought?Tell me, Sweet Jesus, what seeds should I sow?As my boy becomes man armed with all that he’s taught.He’ll come out fighting - first for breath, then hope.Hope for shelter, nourishment, dignity and peace.May these battles hard fought on that slippery slopeBy his fathers before not be lost or deceased.Tell me, oh oracle, for it is no game.I’m worried that flesh is weaker than soul.The little spirit like flickering flame,Dancing with forces I cannot control.Tell me, my navel, I need to gaze high.My umbilical Eden was cut long ago.Man must work - there’s no free supply.My head’s in the clouds but my feet are below.