Treasure Island

Alexander Hawkins

A Bouquet Of Fleeting Flowers


Up in umbrage at usurpers of skulking umber hue
And pointing pointers at those who knew those who know,
People playfully paddle the powerful whilst drinking prosaic Prosecco.

Praying emptily at night, the prosaic are prone to laying supine
At harsh horny unhandsome feet, and now they devilishly compete
For pride of place until a time of wanton disgrace.

Vermilion faced millionaires disclose their disreputable sources
Under archaic privileges unknown to none. The skulking lot
Are loathe to lambaste the gracious shades of burnt sienna

And seem keen to dispose the disingenuous deniers of Eton blue.
The untrusting thrusting of salty pillars into pallid petals of prettiest apricot
Reveal deals done to stem the snotty tide of sellers of forget-me-nots.


See those rats running away from sinking ships with candy apple masts?
Pests fear mistakes made in the past by those who knew those who know
The inner workings of icterine ill-wishers who illicitly indulge in Gin.

Praying emptily at night, Gin drinkers grin as they meticulously meddle
And inter those inferred by a public whose anger is waspish as wasabi.
The public pray for a swift smiting for those involved in wanton disgrace.

Spuriously surprised faces form flames exhaled by snappy snapdragons.
Rescued from the jutting jaws of the mausoleum, the skulking lot
Slither from the baying maws of public uproar. They pause

Only to expose the disingenuous brothers of Eton blue.
Tail-coated scum scurry from algae green gutter to scummy sewer
amidst insincere insinuations that we're all in this together.

Submitted: Thursday, August 23, 2012
Edited: Thursday, August 23, 2012
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