Yeah, I’m just dumping my throw-aways on you now! I’m working on another longer-form poem (you remember Albert Docks? Yeah, something like that!) and these are a couple of verses that I’ve decided to chuck. I’m being quite ruthless with this poem. If I read it back, and don’t like something, it’s getting taken out! No half-measures on this one!
In other news, work is going well – at least, as well as can be expected! It is work after all.
Oh, Oswiu! That you had lived and passed into legend,
and your name had halted the Conqueror at foothills and gates!
That Bernicia was an eternity, a faction of spiritual revolution
in place of this grey empire’s moribund
domination – a voluntary occupation;
for we need the culture of your people, you arsonists of a state
I have never recognised as my own.
Bernicia would have one king, and I will change to such!
I will be a kingdom to myself, and my boots will be my empire –
my fury will stretch no further than my fingertips
and I will refuse the English crutch –
a system of social parasitic existence;
Plutolatry emblazoned across the night sky, as identity’s funeral pyre,