The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

-W.Shakespeare

Thursday 11 April 2013

Reformed Savage


Hold your forked tongue.
        Don’t flash your razor teeth
            and leave my scalp alone.
Don’t think
to shrink 
my head, 
You may have it wrong.
      We’ve had it wrong all along;
                Scalping was taught 
in English,
      and the blood of war has long
Been on Roman hands.
       One hand on 
       innocent mouths
                and the Other probing their brain.
Poor marionette men 
      Held 
By savages in armchairs. 

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