O Hush Thee, - Though Maybe Parody Sir Walter Scott - Lullaby On An Infant Chief Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

O Hush Thee, - Though Maybe...

O hush thee, though maybe desires in the night
for [s]mothering lady, lewd, lovely and tight,
would make you less lonely, sweet dreams would flow free,
they’d all tell of longings precocious in thee!

O flush not the toilet for loudly it blows,
awaking the warders who guard thy repose,
their belts they’d unbuckle, bare bottoms be red,
should any young lady draw near to your bed.

Don’t blush for, sweet baby, the time may soon come
when thy sleep shall be broken by bosom and bum,
then hush thee, my darling, fake rest while you may,
till a wife takes your manhood, - then rake every day!

25 April 1990 Parody Sir Walter SCOTT – Lullaby for an Infant Chief

O Hush Thee, My Baby - Parody Sir Walter Scott


O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a Chimp,
his ancestor’s mother amoeba or shrimp,
the woods and the glens you see, once under sea,
all bear silent witness to thy history.

Fear not evolution, for progress revolves
around its lost secrets ‘til scientist solves
how toes, once extended prehensile, could free
Mankind for steps taken to end up with thee!

Soon brain implantations shall banish revolt,
dispensing with thoughts non-conformist with jolt
shocks of a nature to well guarantee
subservience set in tag RFID.

Yet brain stimulation through radio waves
may set the ball rolling for much mankind craves
as areas, dormant, awake for fresh free
with flash telepathic advancing on key.

Know privacy, freedoms, most must sacrifice
in the name of the fight for what’s Right versa vice, -
and verses like this may to posterity
be unknown in a world were none dare disagree.

‘O, hush thee, my baby, take rest while I croon,
for ‘Progress’ comes early, and Freedom too soon’
may with some liberal economy
be left standing at altar of ‘prosperity’.

Remember when troglodyte crawled from the cave
the race for survival found few misbehave, -
survival of fattest, not fittest, we see
where the few treat the many with asperity.

The climate is warning, the salt oceans rise,
this watershed cusp comes as no great surprise,
man must shed his self-shackles, a fresh entity
should spring to protect bio-diversity

to a planet whose passing point of no return –
why is it, unique, we our own bridges burn? –
the search for solutions proactive will be,
a sign, though endangered that man’s sanity

can pull from potential catastrophe global
a future progressive, and generous, noble.
If this doesn’t happen then freezer for me,
a vat cryogenic till eternity!

O hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come
when limbs won’t be needed, though don’t you look glum! –
in many millenia still there will be,
whatever your status, a personal flea...

25 April 1990 and 14 July 2006 - Parody Sir Walter SCOTT – Lullaby for an Infant Chief
...........................

O Hush Baby Tory

O hush, baby Tory, ecology’s ‘in”,
and industry’s excess will sanction as sin, -
all enterprise, private or public, must see
advantages saving the seal and the sea.

Green power could capture the red, white, and blue,
lean hours for poor Thatcher and all of her crew, -
the Future must settle the Past’s spendthrift spree,
what kilowatts wasted, what lost energy!

Beware, though pollution once sped profits’ rise,
acid rains and dioxide now blanket the skies,
while French leave’s been taken by birds and by bees,
with AIDS round the corner, - Love’s no longer free!

With Tchernobyl cooking though four years have fled,
who knows w[h]at reaction can come to a head, -
the hole in the ozone may soon prove to be
a threat to humanity, Maggie and me!

25 April 1990
.....................
Scott Free

Operation Hostage Release – Send Hope Soon

O hush thee my baby, and mop up that tear,
P repare not for worse, if we’re moved, the all-clear
E xpected may be for tomorrow, draw near, -
R epack your belongings, and don’t disappear!

A siren wails fretfully, transport is here
T o take us to factories which are, I fear,
I nvolved in the brewing of chemical beer, -
O hush for the foeman’s peparing a bier!

N ow hush darling baby, and dream the Emir
H as won back his palace, that the hemisphere
O nce more shall be peaceful, to pacts will adhere, -
S addam will be blown up by a bombadier!

T ake heart, my dear baby, and plan a career
A s new politician with oily veneer,
G row up disregarding the strife that you hear, -
E mbargo successful will prove – if sincere.

S o the sands that you see from our window, so drear,
R eturned once again to their ruler, my Dear,
E ver more may be settled, with a fixed frontier, -
L ike desert-sent mirage conjured by fakir.

E nsuring by Stealth, Mirage, thrashing severe,
A burning Bush wilderness Bagdad will clear,
S trike down the ‘I rack he’ sad damnèd Premier
E re he all the hostages can commandeer.

S o let this be the moral: who domineer,
E specially an arab, must first engineer
N ew weapons which work, and strong allies sincere, -
D eath waits in the wings with dice loaded, austere.

H ush thee, dearest baby, armadas appear
E n route for the Gulf and the Emirates, cheer!
L et wave upon wave brave the tank and the spear,
P reventing more blackmail in future, my Dear!

S ome hope that the Arabs can peace pioneer,
O r still that the U.N. may settlement steer, -
O n broken reeds trust never put for severe
N eeds be the disaster when bombs interfere!

20 August 1990 Parody Sir Walter SCOTT – Lullaby for an Infant Chief
.................
Lullaby of an Infant Chief

O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a Knight,
Thy mother a lady both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens from the tower which we see,
They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee.
O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
O, hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.

Sir Walter SCOTT 1771_1832

Jonathan ROBIN