Poem: The Selfish and Revolutionary Poet by John Bede

I have not spent a gladder day in years
   Than Friday, July 24, '08.
At 10 a.m. (or thereabouts) my ears
   Were soothed with silence, whereat I elate.
Dashed to the peg whereon my hat was hung,
   And gained with eager haste the outer air.

The cars had stopped! My withers were unwrung.
   I sought a tramguard out, and spoke him fair.
"Greetings, old friend!" I cried with shining eyes;
   "You do me signal service even while
The tramway service you disorganise --
   The which explains my gay and joyous smile.

"Weak is my liver, weaker still my mind;
   While street cars run I WON'T take exercise.
The street cars cry a halt. What do we find?
   I have to walk. My liver trouble flies.
"I -- in my trade of poet -- always found
   That inspiration vanished with a yell

What time she heard the loud, insistent sound
   Of your (forgive me) blanky warning bell.
"My Pegasus, a sorry steed at best,
   Went lame in front, got string-halt and behaved
Outrageously, making himself a pest
   When he saw trams -- trams rendered him depraved.

"Strike on, old friend, strike on! Cherish no fears
   That we will disapprove your deeds who rhyme
For bread. Stand fast! The strike may last for years;
   Hewers of verse are with you all the time!"

First published in The Bulletin, 30 July 1908

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on July 19, 2008 8:36 AM.

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