Playing Possum (Work In Progress) Poem by Paul Wilson

In a lengthy motion sequence
We decided how God should die
Smoke eagle over my old action
The aeroplane flew into sky.

The rights belonged to an uncle's nephew
Who knew a guy who remembered the plot
And brought in a hero who had shot it
Crossed his heart and hoped to die.

So heroes in badlands whose script hath forgot them
Come wandering through my spot, acting alive
I wonder, I wonder if angrygod got them
I'll pray for their souls
And I'll pray for their families
And I'll pray for their contracts
While I am alive.

In a hole he was buried in memoriam
His last action recorded live on TV
In a glorious technicolour sunset
I swear now he'll fly now straight up to heaven
I pray to God to be joining him there.

Lines and lives
Begin and end
This line, ends
And rather soon
But who is this?
He jumps and turns
He turns and looks
He feels, and burns!

The portrait / idol lolls and peeps
Beside me in my deep armchair
He speaks of actions old and gold
He talks of wealth, he takes my share
'How soon? ' he demanded 'how soon, how soon? '
But how could I answer
With my mouth full of stones?
.....

All action breaks
Where knowledge enters
And debilitates
All tunes are mute
Where science finds
And loots
The pillars which support
Our cerebral cavity
Are rather short
Considering the gravity!

Old hypocrites, old mutterers, sublimely pedantic
Sing chants which reverberate all's earthly wall
The astringent music of spheres played on xylophones
Replaces politely the trumpeter's call
Few are those who live forever
We shout and chat and drink to the King
Invade, serenade, we'll pull through together
We'll kill and we'll die and do everything