Curse the coffee cups and spoons
The yellow fog, the window panes
Curse the dying of the light
Curse the rage against the night.
Curse daffodils, satanic mills
Pleasure domes, the albatross,
Comparisons to summer day
The last man in, an hour to play.
Curse roads divergent in a wood,
The knock upon a moonlit door
The airman’s helmet and the hawk
Painted women and their talk.
Curse Gunga Din, curse Kubla Khan,
Curse the Tiger burning bright.
Curse Dulce Et Decorum Est
Let Drummer Hodge not find his rest.
Unstop the clocks, unmuffle drums
Forget the honey with your tea.
Forget the grin of bitterness,
The look of rooms returning thence.
Forget the friendly bombs on Slough
And men in brightly lit canteens.
Curse the damns of your content
The crumpling floods that force a vent.
Zero hour will never come,
We won’t ride a merry go round
Or Whitsun train that’s late away.
We won’t be naming parts today.
Stop the cannons, stop the charge,
Stop Hiawatha in mid song.
The eye will simply look on glass
It won’t look through; it shall not pass.
No knock kneed men will cough like hags
Three will never meet again.
Blood stained hands will be washed clean
And woods won’t come to Dunsinane.
Too many words crammed in my head
The rhythms dance, the cadence strong
I need new words to call my own
My head rings with another’s song.