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.

            [Envoy.]
"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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