Striking Reply To A Strike Among The Parody Poets - Poem by Jonathan ROBIN
While, without, his men were crying
'Shorter hours and better pay'
perspicacious statesman, sighing,
wondered how he could obey.
Ploughman? Most plod, few poetic.
Norman armies? Spent their day.
This leaves homeless, diabetic,
those with Special Needs. Who'll pay?
Zephyr, cyclone? Radars pinging
satellites spy ere anchors weigh.
Holds filled, cams stilled, shanty singing,
skippers swill till stars display.
Yet the latter, thoughtless wringing
from the seven seas fish stocks
their own boats are swiftly burning -
shoal supplies caught on the rocks.
Chickens coming home to roost as
twenty first - last - century -
seeds starvation: rockets boost as
climate change deals drought fury.
Minstrels now by electronic
wavelengths long have been displaced:
digital - no hands - harmonic
angel tunes are copy-paste.
Minstrel Boys? Wars now by proxy
drone above skies distant while -
mocking virtue - orthodoxy,
crimes unpunished scarce face trial.
Lochinvar, gone west, has vanished,
roles reversed, men homeward stray
to the kitchen, nursery banished
madam henceforth pays her way.
Not even Marx remains for burning,
time to kill most will grow grey
VOD online is tu[r]ning
channel free to channel pay.
Rat politicians' shortfall planning
indicate at our expense
they thrive, fatten: immortal damning
deserve, pay Paul with Peter's pence.
Shelley, Kipling, bards prolific,
their successors underscore,
the need for ambiance terrific,
higher earnings, free time more.
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