Bloodhounds are running amok

‘The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;’ – WB Yeats

They come in ones, they come in twos
They come in hordes, they come in groups
Spears, knives and swords are old history
Now they all have guns to create misery
Knights they are not, bravery and chivalry is out the door
Cowards are they, they are not bothered by lore
They have supporters all around claiming guns don’t kill
Those politicians, masquerading righteous saints, up on the Hill
Shedding crocodile tears and observing moments of silence
When innocent lives are snuffed out by acts of dastardly violence
Bloodhounds are running amok emboldened by their backing
Innocence is the victim when pretentious fools refuse to enact ruling


This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Eight

 

 

 

Story of the Broken Umbrella

Cold damp rainy day
With a bubbly in my hand
Reminiscing about the good old days
My eyes drifted towards the corner
An old broken umbrella
Leaning against the wall
What could have been
Those glorious days
Side by side we walked
Umbrella in my hand
Shading my beloved from
Sun or rain
One moment of chivalry
Turned into a life of misery
When I offered the umbrella
To the beautiful siren walking by
Clothes clinging to her body
Thoroughly drenched in rain
Nine stitches on my head
And my broken umbrella
Is the only memento I have
To ruminate about my ex
On a bleak rainy day