They fuck you up, your heroes do.
Those most in need are those who choose
the Rooneys of this world,
and even now at my great age,
mine are a deeper shade of sage -
and some are even midnight blue.
Con artists all, they sell you short.
We're ferries at a channel port,
role models roll both on and off -
no wonder wiser elders scoff!
And if it's true, the world's a stage
and we but act our given parts,
it follows that our heroes too
are stage personae, lacking hearts.
There's nothing there, the soul to please,
but comedies and tragedies.
We choose them when we're least informed,
then wonder how we get deformed.
They're not all bad, but - rule of thumb -
you would not take one home to mum.
Jingle Poetry's prompt for this week was Idols, Role Models, Mentors. It started a train of thought that resulted in the above offering.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...
Tom Lubbock, writing in The Independent (friday 15 May 2009) returned to the age old topic of censorship in the arts. Well, in painting act...