Salt of The EARTH
Salt of The EARTH
It moves slowly down
The highest of brow’s,
Taken like metal to magnet;
A floor where the highest of intellects,
Rejoins the races in spaces
Not the largest of wallets escape.
She sits pretty,
High on high claiming the
Food of adoration of fans,
The sweat gathering speed
As bleeding, she still claims
The superior view.
I watch accordingly,
Affording her reverie,
Whilst she sits serenely in
Positions of tweed,
Acknowledging embarrassment
I turn to her face,
Her sweat gathering momentum
As lame in her ruse she
Canters only an education
10 degrees past twelve,
And this is my tongue on those who sit pretty -
Bragging conviction of the falsely accused……..………………
Only a Mucky Duck?
Many soldiers am I,
Yet many of them have died!
So what?
So what?
So what?
Only the tortured beckon the gun,
Disempowered of pride they head for the sun,
Tanned amongst spaces daubed by blood,
Soon to be preachers and poets in hoods!
You sit there pretty claiming angles on life,
Educated degrees only ten past twelve,
But only the brave have the credentials to laugh,
Watching with pity the knowing you grasp.
An axiom of this,
This axiom on that,
All clever words making you look a…………
…………Dare not I say for I’d be following the fool
Who disregards soldiers as nothing but tools,
Nothing but ruled,
Nothing but cruel
Nothing but vanguards of political schools.
I’m laughing in pleasure whilst
Tipping my hat, a hat changing places
With Mister Ben’s cat,
We’re all just the same both you and I,
Claiming sad victories when we all goona die.
We all goona die,
We all goona die,
Taking the piss out of each others lie.
(Pissed fickle tickle feet tear it in two,
Conjure the carousel headlining the truth,
Speak bitter pickled witch staring at you,
Forgone conclusions have nothing to do,
Nothing to do,
Nothing to do,
Nothing but classless the denial you choose).
Aside in a strength that only a soldier can know,
A word in your earlike begs the company of you,
Leave well alone this casualty of war,
A fine weapons merchant highly skilled in the shoot!
A pontiff am I, and I now beg your leave,
For the sights that I’ve seen
Still need time to grieve,
But before I go, before you claim in your essence
Only as shallow as piss,
I’ll give you a vision of war,
A vision of life for you to kiss………………
………….but only if,
You admit once for all,
The conceit of your shit!
Salt of The EARTH
(part two)
A Working Class Poet is someone they beat,
But not far from the floor is the fall that the pious and righteous fear,
And while the salt from sweat is the all these sad lonely laments will give,
It is the salt in the tears of the working class
That truly seasons The Earth,
Salt of The Earth?
Not you!
` not as long as every day,
It is the common of people’s
Who sit amongst steeples that
Heed the call to Forgive.
Michael J Waite 15th December 2009
