Shadows
The greatest generation watching the time
Conjure up the puppeteers of mime
The smartest generation that is not creating
Using the pools of the mind to continue faking
This is the flood of a dead man’s declaration
That dreams and ideas (though present) are left in devastation
Infusion of talent and unlimited freedom
Should explode with ferocity upon our kingdom
Explode with a flame of irony to scorch the face of the earth
And fire wit upon the enemies to break the curse
Child of capital look upon your face
And learn that economics can redeem your place
And our of international trade
Can drip peace and love on the slayed
The victims of undeclared proxy wars
And give you what you desire most- a cause
To remove you from the disbelief of proof
And subjugation to the descendents of Zeus
O Odysseus of many-a-way
Tell all of them – the actors – to play
Henceforth you are Ulysses and this is your cue
Because an army of new artists must come through
Through signs and situations
Through words and imitations
Learn that now is the time
To take metaphors and rhyme
For our art is painted on blank canvasses
Our art goes unseen, unread by the masses
Who linger behind the discourse of media
Waiting for the lull in urban hysteria
April arrives with the agonised shrill of a child
Born of Mary, so meek and mild
Awaiting the return of the lord
Who seeks no fame, nor requires applaud
For our art rests in the fingers of the soul
Waiting to transcribe the sectioned whole
The rebirth of creativity
The resurrection of divinity
That was the dead man’s declaration
Which needs your communication
So go and preach the gospel to every corner of this world
That unity and harmony has been hurled
At the foundations of the hated ideology
Consumerism – materialism and superficiality
Preach the dead man’s vision
That our art needs revision
As good editors do for a promising writer
Who refuses to bear the label of a sniper
So let our art inspire this generation
With the promise of spring and recreation
Preparing for an eternal feast
Laid out for both laity and priest
At the final revelation
(The dead man’s declaration)
With new words and stories
Write for both the southern and northern Hebrides
Then you too will realise Keats’s peace in a meadow
For you will see the artist in the shadow
By Ian Thomas