17 October 2015
For Frank Bowman
Decline of civilization imaged in fall of fig leaves
Perchance its endgame in my garden of delights
The fruit too small to eat, but no biblical intent
And beauty yes, in annual riot of growth and colour
As Syria tumbles down and her human offspring
Scatter in an epic exodus, bearing ancient seeds
To plant a global orchard, two million Steve Jobs
On a great meandering, the world can only wonder
Yes! Yes! Crieth Carlyle from The Grave
As little england wriggles away from memories
Of last war’s refugees, from its own
Wandering Jewish tendrils winding round
The centre of the Being we call Britain
Enough! Enough! Whispers Carlyle’s feisty Wif
Enough? The world weeps
Mediterranean tears, our screens dim
With salt, sweat, the blood. Enough.
More Than Enough until we wake
To see ourselves as one species
With One Work to do, shall we survive,
Embrace the Unwanted, Victory for All
We are better than we know
We arrived here with altruism in our bones
This is The Time Foretold, the NeverLand of Now,
When Aslan roars out of his cage, the angels sing
It is not Jerusalem to build, it is but Earth