Day three’s poem, which I didn’t get around to yesterday…I’ve had a go at a sort of mixed-metaphor vaguely-political poem, after the Leaders’ Debate on Thursday, with the ‘Fourteener’ 14-syllable form.
It starts with a little quote from The Tempest that had been bouncing around my head, for some reason, before going on to do something with the image of churches in scaffolding. I don’t know why and I’m not sure it works. It’s sort of a call to arms to vote. Sort of. But I wrote a poem. OK?
“My Fellow Ministers…
…are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,
Your swords are now too massy for your strengths
And will not be uplifted.”
– The Tempest, Act III, Scene III
The Ministers all braced themselves to peer into the lens
And state their absolutes, their cases rigid and unchanged.
Around each one, an aura sprung, of metal tube and mesh
Like city spires in scaffolding, with weather vanes for minds.
Now lift your swords to their stained glass, their leaden tainted eyes
And place your massy cross within their box of shining lies.