Funeral Blues 2013
by Marcus Lane
Stop all the clocks, cut off Big Ben,
Prevent PM’s Questions, we’ll have none of them.
Silence the protesters and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let a fly-pass circle overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message She is Dead,
Sing the hymns that were her greatest loves,
Let guardsmen wear black cotton gloves.
She squeezed the North, the South, the East and West,
The mines were axed, The Poor repressed.
She was Reagan’s love, his talk, his song,
We feared she’d last for ever: we were wrong.
The Tories are not wanted now, vote out every one
Pack up The Express and dismantle The Sun;
Pour away the tears and sweep up the wood –
Thatcherism is gone for good.
Author's Note: With apologies to WH Auden
Posted on 04/16/2013
Copyright © 2021 Marcus Lane
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 04/16/13 at 10:58 PM|
Politics aside, I like what you've done here.
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 04/17/13 at 09:14 PM|
The woman inspired strong feelings and reactions. You've captured that here. I like it all - good rhythm, rhyme, clever - guardsmen in black cotton gloves. Definitely memorable images here. Thank you.
|Posted by Maria Francesca on 04/18/13 at 01:24 PM|
I knew there were some strong negative feelings about the 'Iron Maiden'; can't comment on that, but this poem is brilliant.
|Posted by Johnny Crimson on 04/19/13 at 12:22 PM|
With all the sentiment of "The queen is dead" from the 80's I applaud this. :)