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The Tawdry Apostrophe (Extended Metaphor) Part 3

So for the singular, it’s Keat’s and Yeats’s poetry, apo s.
True thought and moral makers of New Jerusalem, scriptures famed
for seat at autumn’s pastures, but never proclaimed as prophecy
which is perhaps good - for then as in this Century
we need prophets whose day job is power and profits.

Finally we turn to s plural’s plural possession, careful
as actually these not often occur so apt illustration rare.
And after all, is it not to much to hope for, the odds
that two prophets should arise in New Jerusalem, this single Century -
but perhaps one across the Atlantic, in Free Washington?
But let us ponder, let not international norms censure:
two white men, eyes twinkling at the other, and seeing no sin.

With the words “How do we know it’s a just war”, and “because I am good”
we can suspend democracy, and recreate in the romance of Keats’s odes
s strephein s, or if husband and wife together, ses apo – and feminist goading.
And for struth I suspect it soon will occur, with Pentagon Planners
instructed to “think the impossible”, to win and sin as law.
For will not the common voter worship at that altar,
bending over with the credible, pockets poking
giving that irrefutable defence, “If I am a toad why did you vote me in? ”

May I say in passing, as for that “quick Mummy I see Angels in the tree”
boy of fourteen, how like his fiery Orc in self-alleged “prophecy” -
strange coincidence isn’t it? Of that fraud William Blake
was not his vision, in truth dual Atlantic prophets democracy crowned
but he unworthy coward, would not touch that gem stoned splendour?

In that last illustration, yes I almost caught myself out there
confusing the possession and two poets s – I’m on a hair trigger.
I remember, it’s because s plural, apo s, and s strephein
(and I admit a cause of no little executive stress and regular embarrassment)
although different in spelling and meaning, and therefore reading bearable
when spoken all sound the same to ear. Is that all quite clear?

Now there’s a small complication, OK two or three.
Just a few wrinkles that show the accents age really.
I think it best to be upfront, these cases known as the exception.

Hallowed by literature, euphony, and public hubris
that’s the aesthetics of grammar, otherwise known as public kissing:
the Prince of Wales’ sons and goodness’ sake – both missing the s supplemental;
although pronounced still of course, by many of one’s inferior.
Actually can’t think why those sons to war wish to go; equal fools all
like everyone else, and therefore rightly treated superior.

Should you say to me, why Sir, you shall have to beat a retreat
for what of Achilles’ and Xerxes’ fleet, no mutiny
yet obviously missing the sup s of possession in battle’s heat.
Why bravery I reply, that’s a plane lie, you haven’t sunk my ships
as that’s always been poetic license - as before, when the lips
of Western men ruled without scrutiny, self-inflicted moral defeats.
For an aphorism certain: as finding beauty in cruelty
makes sense of the apostrophe
so our Great Rulers, democracy girthed, fealty due,
need not fear wise sophistry.
This hideous apostrophe; what is spoken, what is written,
the zeitgeist we chose, hideous in the difference
now’s no time for the pang of conscience.

by Philip Housiaux

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