PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It crossed my mind the other day,

A little late I find to say,

That there may be bombs that can destroy the world,

And also biological mutants new science unfurled,

As well as earthquake, flood and fire,

That would leave man a little unkempt,

And instead of steel would need a tent,

To move most readily from mire to mire.

And the mention of apocalypse,

Does ride the stead of gangland hits.

Not to mention econimblic woes,

That see the bankers get out the hoes.

But it is not the listed catastrophes,

But a woman who brings most men to their knees.



Yes my dear brothers of this small blue world,

It be the tempest of the forgotten girl,

That can ring the relo's at the drop of a hat,

To incite a riot in home or flat.

As the charge be dropped in lenience,

If overtime and drudgery taken,

And gifts from mates of beer, ciggies forsaken,

And bountiful benevolence to her sent.

Yes it has been years, centuries and millenia,

That men have thought that they govern her,

But truly when it comes down to the tacks,

They are kept firmly in their grassp.

For what atrocities of mind, body and soul,

Are committed and it is that they die old?



So bretheren of the Jesuit shroud,

I see why it is that you are proud,

For you have no regard for the female form,

And just wish to even the score.

Of the women who just whinge, nag and moan,

In the offerings at the gate,

And the unbeknownst do not need wait,

Even if they have helped collapse Rome.

So I asked myself, "How can I help,"

Man himself recover from this rent?"

And the answer came like in a dream,

It is not the difficulty that it seems,

Just waltz along in herd or chase,

But don't let none of 'em pass agape.



(c) R.H.Elliott 2004