There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared,
It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard,
It curls the blood-red crescent, the crescent of his lips,
For the inmost sea of all the earth is shaken with his ships.
And guns and tanks and armaments have scared the feeble West.
And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross:
The old queen of England was looking in the glass;
Whilst Olaf Scholz was speaking quite directly from his ass.
Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred,
Saying "this Rwanda wheeze is far from good at all".
And the last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall,
The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird has sung,
That once went singing southward when all the world was young,
In that enormous silence, tiny and unafraid,
Comes up along a winding road the noise of the Crusade.
Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far,
Bo Jo the Ho Ho is going to the war.
Stiff flags straining in the night-blasts cold
In the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold,
Torchlight crimson on the copper kettle-drums,
Then the tuckets, then the trumpets, then the cannon, and He comes.
Bo Jo laughing at the traitorous one four eight
Spurning of old party-gate like juggerling the plates,
Holding up his head for Biden's flag of all the free.
Death-light of Africa!
Bo Jo the Ho Ho
Will make Zelensky crow!
Putin in his paradise above the evening star,
(Bo Jo the Ho Ho is going to the war.)
He moves his mighty motions on the loyal doctor's knees,
His poo-poos that are woven of the sunset and the seas.
He shakes the secret closets as he rises from his ease,
And he strides among the tree-tops and is taller than the trees.
And he saith, “Break up the cities where mine enemies do hide,
And sift the red and silver sands lest bone of saint abide,
And hang the mercenary foes without surcease or rest,
For that which was our trouble comes again out of the West."
(Bo Jo the Ho Ho is armed upon the deck.)
The walls are hung with velvet that is black and soft as sin,
And little dwarfs creep out of it and little dwarfs creep in.
Vlad holds a crystal phial that has colours like the moon,
He touches, and it tingles, and he trembles very soon,
And his face is as a fungus of a leprous white and grey
Like plants in the high houses that are shuttered from the day,
And death is in the phial, and the end of noble work,
But Bo Jo the Ho Ho has fired another clerk.
On the telly Z'lensky pleads before day or battle break,
And he smiles, but not as Comics smile, and settles back the blade....
(Whilst Bo Jo the Ho Ho survives one more Crusade.)
with apologies to G. K. Chesterton, Lepanto and Don John of Austria
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Dear Senor Quixote,
|To rest my eyes on shades of green. For mr bungalow bill|