We’d have taken one for you Abe,
all of us white bread snow flake kids,
invested with the outcomes of words
that flow somehow uncharted from
theatres unconstrained by language.
Or liberated where the Mandela pollen settles,
transported by blown sails of print
in digitised continents merged to centre.
With no malice to cheer the doubters
of a King’s mountain top dream;
wild bodies throw themselves in front
of that speeding entrenched division,
where the greatest ideas fall as dandruff –
enduring beyond the cheapest vengeance
made dumb and in ruin, by the orators
living somehow to renew
all the promises we made.
Not So Secret Service
James Walton Poetry 
Great reading, James!
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Oh, lovely to have you reading it as well! Hmm, not too many Abes. Or Mandelas.
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They are certainly scarce … Probably always were?
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Thank you for reading the poem. It’s always great to hear the poet reciting his poem.
I am not so sure about the theme of the poem, but i enjoyed the imagery.
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What a tight flow and it still fits. I feel I’ve been run over by a train and it hasn’t turned around to see the damage in its wake yet! Should we send out a prayer to Abe, turned over in his grave?
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Oh Abe, if only he knew!
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This exquisite poem came to life with every word I heard ….. have we learned nothing?
Wishing you a good day from Bend Oregon.
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We seem to have to learn it over and over and over. I still hope for the best! Hello from the great south, Wonthaggi on the edge of the continent.
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I did enjoy hearing the poem read.
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Thanks – I’m never too sure we should read our own, but the pandemic brought it on …
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