Master of Compromise
I’ve been sailing this ship
Named Compromise, amok.
Twining into far horizons,
Scraping paint off destiny,
Buffeting my way across
An otherwise still mass
Of cool, clean water.
Lurch again! Another landfall,
Skidded, unreliable – what the hell
New found land is this now?
Sleeping, dulled under woodchip,
Catacombed, marooned on patchwork,
Beached in history, a test case
Of the burbs – electric light Pompeii.
© PJ Nolan July 2005
6 weeks later...
-
As the saying goes, a week in politics is a long time, and, as they also
say, there are some weeks where it seems like years happen, and so it is,
six we...
2 weeks ago