we were poor, when i was a child.
no cars, no holidays, no smart clothes,
no perfumeries, austerity the staple diet.
but we were happy in our clichéd,
un-digitalised way. we were field-borne
and sky blue sure, wind fed, rain blessed,
in a rattling of pals fast abroad the days.
then all that changed; slowly but slowly;
and, looking back, the valleys are bottomless,
for the pinnacles of modernity are in the clouds.
and now the distant "they" threaten
deprivation after brexit, or global warming,
or or or …
well good i say !
bring the spirit of shared adversity
back to our community of sounded souls.
let not the thirst of mammon spike in
the eyes of neighbourliness.
let the horizons close in, and let the
villager who does the doing, do the laying out,
and let the aged wisdom be heard.
but i venture you will not agree;
what turkey would vote for christmas?
as they say - but around it comes each year.
happiness has no boundaries,
it is found as often in the small as
in the large. so why don’t we kill avarice;
exsanguinate the rot from our modern heart,
and let our bloods mix in the alchemist’s mortar;
and let the golden days be forged again therein;
and let the good old bad times begin.