Rambling Rhymes
by Raymond Howell
The Ann Stories verses or, the rambling rhymes as they're called here, are easy to read and are about everyday things and range from the emotional through to silly and onto the 'What the!'
A few have the feel of a song or of a chant or a rant, while some are longs sent into the ether, or they exist to question wrongs. Forceful, angry or sweet they are all simple musings, or ideas, presented with a flow and a rhyme or rhythm to move the mind and feet as they pound a street.
For sure, they do not aspire to be great classic poetry, much like a flea is not a bee, but they are certainly something and what's more, 'they're free'... and easily read with a cup of tea...
For an example, see the one below which is from the Anti-Establishment section.
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England's Green Decay
- By Raymond Howell
- England's fair green land...
- Em... That modern myth,
- That rallying call,
- To support a dying monolith,
- Is just paper stuck over cracked facades,
- Masked by pomp, by those that crawl and by gall,
- Marked by honours and bullied parades.
- England’s green is just must and fust,
- And blight and rot,
- And contemptuous snot,
- Snorted by privileged grots,
- And the traces of acidic fingers,
- That have grabbed and gouged this land,
- Beneath it as well as our sand,
- From north to south and east to west,
- To fill their cavernous mouths,
- And embroider their fancy vests.
- This land is green through lush no more,
- But the shade of mould on children’s bread,
- The illness and disfigurements of the poor,
- Inflicted by the past and the present that led,
- It is the algae on polluted ponds,
- The leathered seats in the house of excess,
- The bile dribbling from armies of vagabonds,
- It is the colour of the scum
- Destroying this once pleasant land,
- This now manic asylum,
- This play-park - this wampum,
- The rich have overlong scammed,
- Polluted, looted, packaged and canned,
- This inglorious climatic autumnal -
- Dysmorphic rat run slum -
- This England - this green tinged forever unfair land,
- Ruled over and abused and raped by utter bums,
- By intellects blinkered, lacking and bland,
- And by conscienceless sycophants, hypocrites
- And all the other rums which constitute
- That god-awful privileged 3% sum.
- England this land so fatally infected
- By political spiritless bantams,
- Overseen by a rabid press that rages about hums,
- But so dutifully ignores a rallying song
- So longing to be sung,
- In urge,
- “Rise people”,
- And let the changes be done…
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