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Cast Our Image She's Not a Land to Plough And

Cast Our Image She's Not a Land to Plough And

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Published by ProfPAS
Dr. P. A. Silva's poetry
Dr. P. A. Silva's poetry

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Published by: ProfPAS on Dec 26, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Cast Our Image
She's not a land to plough and reapOur minds are never wrong to beg for yieldsI'm thinking of the foundryI want to cast our imageBut, first, I must sign on to opennessTo pour our gold, silver or copper.Copyright ©2009 Paul Ade Silva
A kingpin has ferried shuffling middle cloutsInto the lower regions of BritainThree times, they were dealt the wrong deck and the packNeeded constant reshuffling to make the fudge lastSuper co-ordinates and entente royals, Charlie-showedThe economy to make dark wealth and braggartsThey sit on a footstool, precariously leaning into theReminiscence of Jester yearsThe ailing century when Britain did not workAnd Capitalism became Colonialism.Copyright ©2009 Paul Ade Silva
Doubtful Sixpence
Dark continent,a different ballgame.Diptych for a tamed spider mixed mediaon a canvas.Crypt of theblack MadonnaMooreland benedictionthe doubtful sixpence.The woodcutter and 'Father Jose Maria'married the artist's wife atpotato harvesthad chips in a bed-sitwith inmates.Copyright ©2009 Paul Ade Silva
Drummers of Revolutions
Drummers of revolutionsDusty means and endsCollaborator-glazersGreen brick and scenariosOutlines of conceptsTinges of coloursSanity undermines imagination.Mystery of forgotten dreamsSpiked bloodThinks red with rageYou played along beside meKnowing I was a gameA pale brown soil!Copyright ©2009 Paul Ade Silva
The Earth
Brandishing grief, a seabed had pub-crawledAn orchard through a blind alleyWe priced the earth and had weptTurbulence full to bathe a storm!We'd been on a boat smelling sweet with such trippingIn the dark and had tried out our last gossipWe'd stampeded our feet as a nuisance and hadHeld our smile to the fragrance of a smudged worldThe Earth, our own, has kept us alive
old-us-ness.Copyright ©2009 Paul Ade Silva
Guantanamo Bay
Guantanamo mourns full of Othellos whose times have purchaseddeath and their judgement a dread circle.With a little carefree, GWB baits anger with art –his family comic collection.Copyright ©2009 Paul Ade Silva
I smell paradise
I smell paradise when George in a dice of solemnityEmbraces the hiatus.The only Hercules dancing away the throes;Chest-beating the
-returnees - from five thousand years of historyThis jig and this lull epitomiseThe new love for Herculean heroics on superior plutonium wings.I smell paradise full of people a newly liberated form fromThe crutches of Saddam HusseinThose once impoverished now celebrateWith tanks of water and bucketful of poohds.The crossed swords, emblem of Baghdad,Are now fitful smiles of the freed Iraqis.I smell paradise when the old Europe prostratesTo the New at the helm of reconstruction insomnia.Americans with pocketful of peace diceNATO into a rapid disability;Branding the once shaky,Blurring the truths once held dearly.Copyright ©2009 Paul Ade Silva

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