Fine guys and gals can hold the ring,
that circus tent not made for string
you think, but power lies, thinnest length,
when bound with others, tensile strength.
Why should the white surrender flags
suggest that all not well – yurt sags,
when minty toothpaste, capped big-tops,
prevents a wriggle, weather strops.
Blotchy sky suggests water taint,
but what if coloured oils are paint;
challenge, when folks together, face,
pull as one, sky space limitless?
I see the clown, the fool at work,
the more abuse, more power uncork;
just as the jester dared the king,
then thinnest thread removes the sting.
You say, nonsensical, this drone,
just look globe’s victims, lying prone.
I ask, if love is paramount,
whose winning on this battleground?
Is it the proud, the arrogant,
who win the argument, the hunt,
or is it artists, poet’s words
control the fort, defeat the swords?
The blade is weaker than the pen,
empires may rise, then fall again,
but who, whose challenges hold sway,
bully posing, writer’s way?
If this evangelism thought,
apologies: your choice is sought.
I simply pose that, mindset cleared,
you dare question, what have I feared?
Published by Nine Muses Poetry 12th December 2019