Friday, January 25, 2013


Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy will
Shakespeare Sonnet 136
it’s your unflinching desire
(I’m talking verbal here)
to force yourself into a bit of action
teasing my conscience with your thought-play
feigning a kind of existence
shadowing the orbit of the sun
your self-desire perhaps hidden by bravado
always with a tendency to overstatement -
even when your name’s extended to the full
you insist on short identity
when driving along half-mapped streets
you say you won’t lose the way
as long as we stay together
you keep persisting with directions
but compulsion seems to dissipate with the weather
it’s all inclination
like a soft wind merely bending the grass
never the breaking storm
it’s just an attitude thing with you
the self-expression of true nature
Shakespeare didn’t mince his words
he loved to play (all acting apart)
and you know it’s always fixed
when written down and announced
there’s no choice then, ask any lawyer
the trouble is, it’s so often ill-conceived
with an ending that’s just a little sick
but then I guess we all have to pay one way or another -
perhaps the Japanese are right
knowing that compromise defines our lives

Richard Scutter 15 September 2012

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