Hoodlum Years Poem by Christopher Shepheard

For now the hoodlum years have kicked the heads
From off the flowers that growing up invests
To ornament the future, come what may
Of blossoms, blooms and oriflammes decay.

Too soon the sun towards her solstice runs
To break more colour now. Will fly no bees
To suckle blood from those beheaded ends
Of stalks, devoid of potency and friends.

Nothing matters; let the hoodlums laugh;
Theirs is not to account, they never knew
Another way but passing with a blow
All silent things that winds would ravage else.
Time has turned to violence; no one comes
To tend what lies beyond his power to know.

(2000)