I'd like to see us sitting around,
Chewing the cud, shooting the breeze
Marcus Aurelius out of the vaulted space of aeons
Adjusting his toga, under a buttery sun in the Trossachs
Time would creak on its axle,
Hit reverse. ‘We're over here'
I'd shout, as Charles Dickens
Picked his meticulous way
Through bee-heavy honeysuckle
Thomas the Rhymer would ride in
On the back of the wind's song
His feet dusting over the heads of pines
Making a pig's ear of a landing.
He would criticize everything, truthful to a fault.
Marcus Aurelius' head would throb like an engine,
Pouring out thoughts rare and profound
Dickens would open the sluice gates of London corruption, ghosts
Pressing their pinched faces against the panes of his speech.
‘Because we don't exist on a physical plane
Doesn't lesson our power to influence generations'Aurelius stated
‘Ah, but how many hits do you have on Twitter
Or Facebook? ' Dickens countered,
Ever the man with his hand
On the pulse beat of popularity
The superstitious rowan shivered as
Thomas the Rhymer sat down.
That madcap man who'd gone away with the fairies
I was hanging onto the day like grim death
Wishing that every second would stretch like a comet's trail
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem