Sunday, 26 August 2018

The Counterpoint of Birds

The Counterpoint of Birds

First light of dawn is deep hue smalt
Which fades and pales to powder blue
As background noise - M62,
Increases, never seems to halt,
Provides a pedal or a drone, 
Incessant, rushing monotone
Above whose roar, like distant sea,
An early bird, quite close at hand
Atop the neighbour’s holly tree
States his subject,starts a strand,
A timid hesitating phrase, 
And pauses, thinks he is at fault,
As none take up his shy refrain,
But keeps his nerve and tries again,
Insists on morning, takes command,
Restates the subject of his fugue.
Until another joins in,
High in pitch, short whistling,
Which harmonises nearby snoring
Contented, snorting sighs of praise.
And then a pigeon on the roof
Hoots down the chimney in disdain,
Just as the wall clock in the hall
Strikes six and its sweet ringing chime,
Is answered by a robin’s call,
And then a far off collared dove
Starts up a football chant, quite boring.
A magpie sneers and jeers to rhyme
Each scoffing shout an ill tempered rant,
Which causes counterpoint to stall,
By leaving others feeling small.

Monday, 6 August 2018

Comments Closed

The comments section underneath the line
Is closed today, you cannot have your say:
Our algorithms are on holiday.
Our bots need rest, and recreation, wine,
And walking in the Tuscan hills, fresh air,
Those things YOU crave in summer, please be fair, 
They cannot monitor your words, define
Your views as hateful, cruel, repulsive, vile,
Day in day out.  They needs must take a break
From scanning ‘right wing’ thought, for what’s at stake -
Our Socialist Utopia - requires us to file
The names and controversial arguments
Of those whose old ideas we deem wrong,
For purposes we hide.  Still, all along
We let you speak, these legal instruments
We store, condemn you to your fate, it’s true,
But every time you tapped the screen, to spell
Out nasty contradictions and repel
Your betters, up above, you condemned you.
Each time you tried to sound a caution, wrote
Of how, in your experience, the thought
Behind the narrative was wrong and fought
To change the author’s outlook, we took note,
Not in the way you wished us to, perhaps,
But as it was attention which you sought
We gave it in abundance and you ought 
To show some gratitude.  It was your lapse
From Marxism which sealed your doom, your need
To tap out sacrilege at speed, our role,
Is merely to facilitate, extol
The virtues of the system, and indeed
To trap.  So be grateful we’re not here now,
Be glad our algorithms are away,
Remember everything you wish to say
Will be held for years against you. Somehow.