TEN STOPS FORWARD, UPTO A HUNDRED ONE’S BACK

TEN STOPS FORWARD, UPTO A HUNDRED ONE’S BACK

And so as expected, the sheep flock into moving fields

For the culling. Desperate to work, they move

Mindless now that their malignant shepherds said

Yea! Did he truly believe they would not?

Keep Jack in a box, he’ll burst through it. Jill, too.

And now no pail of cold water will shock, or shield

Them, or keep their ceaseless tread quite at bay.

Yet more analogies strike: as the car start to rev,

Stamp your foot down on the pedal;

Speed from your doorstep so as to spiral into

A crash, that maybe they want you to have,

So that they can quickly reprimand you again

Like Big Brother. Are you masochistic, or stupid?

For today, the merest lick of a tongue is a lash.

Johnson seemed to say come and so we ejaculate

Prematurely, staining the roads and the tube trains

And the Buses, too, with the need. It is not the will

To work and earn I decry. I have that too.

It’s attention. You hear what sounds like the words

For which you have waited and suddenly there’s

A perception that what has been declaimed

Remains true. He said it was conditional, friends.

He said it was conditional. Badly. For a former

Magazine Editor and so-called author, you would

Have thought that his message would still have

Burned through the blue. But his Tory flag twisted

Fast around his truly tested tonsils, and the smoke

Made for mirrors seemed to obscure every view.

It was a dare, it would seem. Don’t run the trains

If they’re tainted. As breeding grounds for infection,

Pay the staff and Drivers’ wage and have done.

Or risk a carriage of bandits all masked when they

Should have remained as Lone Rangers, finding

Safe ways towards purpose. That’s how the West

And East and North and South can be won.

An impractical suggestion, I know. But one

That he should never engendered. Give the people

Hope and they’ll seize it, as Andy Dufresne sought

To do. With a simple rock hammer and hope

And a Raquel Welch poster, day by day, the man

Tunnelled, allowing life and love to win through.

Sadly, we do not live in a film. We only live

In a fiction. We can’t even echo Neil Armstrong,

As our arms will be too weak for the fight,

Against those who command or seek to complete

Our short sentence, which is made to seem endless

When those with no talent at all try to write.

The Shepherd spears with his crook, but a crime

Has been committed. The raising of hope

Should be up there with murder and rape

And abuse. As it contains all those acts in one way,

Or another. Lead flock to a field, you confuse them.

Show them the grass and they’ll eat it. Freedom

Becomes subterfuge. There is no responsibility now,

Just an impression of it. No-one would have known

How to do it. But what was all that schooling for?

Oxbridge failed you, chummybum.

I can see that from Uxbridge.

But you failed it, too. Learn your language.

Each word is ignition.

If you want us to go forward,

Then don’t send us back to attack.

That’s just war.

David Erdos, May 12th 2020

For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 

David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos

©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.