Cloud Shapes

Researching a future Chapbook, this one entitled 'Clouds'.  I am surprise just how much material there is from which to choose.  Here is just one of the strong candidates:

Clouds rack & drive before the wind 


In shapes & forms of every kind 


Like waves that rise without the roar 


& rocks that guard an untrodden shore 


Now castles pass majestic by 


& ships in peaceful havens lie 


These gone ten thousand shapes ensue 


For ever beautiful and new 


The scattered clouds lie calm and still 


& day throws gold on every hill 


Their thousand heads in glory run 


As each were worlds and owned a sun 


The rime it clings to everything 


It beards the early buds of spring 


The mossy pales, the orchard spray 


Are feathered with its silver-grey

MP V 198

From an Old Book of Fables

A shattering poem from my "Accursed Wealth" chapbook.  Obviously unpublished in his day, and too honest for most in our own time too.

‘Gold is a general purchaser – buys all

‘From the high alter pallace bench & Hall

‘Down to the humble cottage hut or stall

‘Buys smiles or tears melts eyes or drys em – gold

‘Like Esops satire buys[1]breath hot and cold

‘Makes out all wants & all defects supplies

‘Een the old wrinkled hag young courtier buys

‘Can buy an ass a penegaric – build

‘A dog a monument[2]– vice with virtue gild

‘Nay buys a coward laurels -- & what not

‘Thus the proud Gaul[3]the stile of a great has got

‘That neer faced foe in reach of cannon shot

‘Buys knaves an office traitors power & trust

‘High & low fliers bought with shining dust

‘Buys villany a mask hypocrisy paint

‘Buys inside devil the out side face o’ saint

‘Buys tyrants champions – cut throats caps & knees

‘Buys lies & oaths buys souls & consiences

‘Buys prayers & curses buys both earth & hell

‘Nay buys heaven too at least if Rome can sell

‘What is it which that tempting ore cant buy

‘Buys everything but truth & honesty

MP II 192

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[1] Aesop has ‘blows’

[2] "Epitaph to a Dog" is a poem by Lord Byron.  It was written in 1808 in honour of his Newfoundland dog, Boatswain, who had just died of rabies.  The poem is inscribed on Boatswain's tomb, which is larger than Byron's, at Newstead Abbey, Byron's estate.

[3] Napoleon Bonaparte