The howlet hoots his melancholy
by ivor .e hogg
Atop yon lordlings gray stone folly.
The Mithraic bull engages in debate.
Papal bulls that legislate,
the strict rules of celibacy
enforced by gerontocracy.
The ancient princes of the church.
I heard it then I hear it now, .
thrice damned, thrice damned, the cuckoo cries.
As Aphrodite slowly dies.
Then Jupiter steals Saturn’s moons,
and wicked druids cast the runes.
The portents foresee unhappy times,
but still, is that the church bell chimes?
Bold Lancelot and Guinevere,
made merry in adultery
Ah well alas and lackaday
‘tis now the mournful bagpipes play.
The moon is full Diana hunts,
and oxford students play in punts.
Who listens to my plaintive cry?
I point the road to Calvary.
Where crucifixion dims the sky,
the cock crew thrice.I wonder why
The words are in my glossary,
wise quotes from sages in the past.
Noble thoughts to inspire us,
wise rules that require us.
To question those who govern us,
in union e pluribus.
And yet, and yet men must still strive,
to keep those noble thoughts alive.
Buddhist, Hindu and Christian,
Muslim, Taoist and Shinto from Japan
Have sought and are seeking still.
The reason men must seek to kill
the otherness of other men.
Until the Christ child comes again,
and rules in glory only then.
Will freedom ever truly reign,
over a world that’s free from pain
The howlet hoots his melancholy,
sadness to see mankind s folly