Gold or Truth and Honesty

Been thinking again about how ordinary folk across the world have been let down again and again by our so-called 'leaders'.  A few years ago I uncovered and published this poem by John Clare, written around 1827.  Does it not speak to us in 2025?  Has anything changed in those who purport to lead us in 200 years?

‘Gold is a general purchaser – buys all

‘From the high altar, palace, bench & hall

‘Down to the humble cottage hut or stall

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

‘Like Esops satire buys breath hot and cold

‘Makes out all wants & all defects supplies

‘Een the old wrinkled hag young courtier buys

‘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

‘What is it which that tempting ore cant buy

‘Buys everything but truth & honesty

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Delight is seen

Go where I will naught but delight is seen
The blue & luscious sky is one broad gleam
Of universal ecstasy the green
Rich sweeping meadows & the laughing stream
As sweet as happiness on heavens breast
Lie listening to the never ceasing song
That day or night neer wearies into rest
But hums unceasingly the summer long
The very grass to musics rapture stirred
Dances before the breezes wanton wing
While every bush stirs with a startled bird
Who eager wakes morns dewy praise to sing

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Justice?

But tis well known that justice winks at crimes

A saying thats in season at all times

Or why should the poor sinning starving clown

Meet jail & hanging for a stolen crown

While wealthy thieves with knaverys bribes endued

Plunder their millions & are not pursued

Nay at the foot of Tyburns noted tree

They do deserving deeds & still go free

Where others suffer for some pigmy cause

They all but murder & escape the laws

Skulking awhile in briberys dirty den

Then start new gilt & pass as honest men

(from 'The Parish')

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With our lines & hooks

Discoursing onward with our lines & hooks 
With some refreshments nor without some books 
Cheerd by the rural objects as we pass 
To were trees shadows keepeth green the grass 
Checking intrusions of the summer suns 
There drop us down close were the river runs 
In sight of rural sounds & pleasing strife 
That warms the laughing landscape into life 
& while in cheerfull mirth as we prepare 
Our sporting things & bait our angles there 
With flye or fish of artificial forms 
To shun the anguish of the wreathing worms 
Feel warm hopes glow with earnest eagerness 
To mark the signs that promise us success

Image by my friend Mike Hobson

Sat & mused

A path old tree goes by thee crooking on
& through this little gate that claps & bangs
Against thy rifted trunk what steps hath gone
Though but a lonely way yet mystery hangs
Oer crowds of pastoral scenes recordless here
The boy might climb the nest in thy young boughs
Thats slept half an eternity in fear
The herdsman may have left his startled cows
For shelter when heavens thunder voice was near
Here too the woodman on his wallet laid
For pillow may have slept an hour away
& poet pastoral lover of the shade
Here sat & mused half some long summer day
While some old shepherd listened to the lay

Say what is love

Say What Is Love—To Live In Vain
To Live & Die & Live Again
Say What Is Love—Is It To Be
In Prison Still & Still Be Free
Or Seem As Free—Alone & Prove
The Hopeless Hopes of Real Love
Does Real Love On Earth Exist
Tis Like A Sun beam On The Mist
That Fades & No Where Will Remain
& Nowhere Is Oertook Again
Say What Is Love—A Blooming Name
A Rose Leaf On The Page Of Fame
That Blooms Then Fades—To Cheat No More
& Is What Nothing Was Before
Say What Is Love—What E'er It be
It Centres Mary Still With Thee

From ‘Child Harold’

The heron

[tThe] heron stalking solitary thing 
Mount up into high travel far away 
& that mild indecision hanging round 
Skys holding bland communion with the ground 
In gentlest pictures of the infant day 
Now picturing rain—while many a pleasing sound 
Grows mellower distant in the mealy grey 
Of dewy pastures & full many a sight 
Seems sweeter in its indistinct array 
Than when it glows in mornings stronger light

Image by my friend #JohnAbbott