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Brunel, the Black Prince, and Other Thoughts
| Article
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19590 |
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Section : |
THE ARTS
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| Issue
Date : |
10 / 1991 |
875 Words |
| Author
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Colin Honnor
Colin Honner is a lawyer in Cheltenham, England. |
British Camp: (Two) 1991
At British Camp the world's in trouble
choked with New Agers, MidEarth and leaves
smouldering in wastebins. Leather backed stubble
faced young in each other's clothes
meet British--loud, lager-loving, tight
with money, xenophobic, lazy, proud
a pack of vices, the Deadlies quite
pared down to fit a Lilliputian crowd.
Land's lost contents that, silent in reproach
slit, slide and avalanche in limestone hunks,
country of conscience whose tight cropped flanks
conceals earth's decent reticence, answering, preaches,
unassailed their failings, like lolling
hounds rolling ignorant as youth.
That beacon path is turved like truth
bricked up; crushed herbs, they lose, gain, dolling
theirselves to dance, here on the hill-fort
where the limestone falls to a waterspout
edge of a vanished sea, a sliver thread
tumbles into the swallow-hole, like unsaid
promises among these mist-veiled ramparts.
Now snow in summer glazes with
its transitory bloom, and preternatural clothes
lovers, promises, turf-covered bones, orts.
Brunel Plaza
At the Brunel Plaza all's ahum
with ozone-clean minted progress
call it hope as lap-topped come
like lap-dogs the
...
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