Oft Scyld Scefing sceaþena þreatum,
monegum mægþum, meodosetla ofteah,
egsode eorlas. Syððan ærest wearð
Often Scyld Scefing, from the army of his enemies,
from many warriors, took the mead-benches
terrified the nobles. After he was first
(in approximately the accentual-alliterative Anglo Saxon style
with appreciation for W. H. Auden's Age of Anxiety)
Now we know. No news.
Silence imposed by Secret Service.
Apparently purloined, propaganda
Leaks loudly. Affronted flacks
And minions mumble misinformation
That bosses (bungling blowhards) deny.
Hardly heroic hired help
That Presidents pick to push policies
Donors demand. Devious ministers
Sabotage structure of popular programs,
Fired for embarrassing Bogusword. Bluster
Staining his image: Standardized imbecile.
Accenting always a recycled rhetoric,
Clichés and slogans cynically selling
Old dogs as new tricks, obvious and numbing.
Bogusword bombing for business and accolades,
Tossing in prison the poor and the powerless,
Peace-prizes won for the practice of war.
Gun-selling grifters gravitate gladly to
Tawdry, tendentious “intelligence” trite.
Highly inhibiting proof of the pudding,
“Likely,” or “possible,” “plausible” pandering
Counts on consumption of credulous crap
Bogusword's lips, badly blistered.
Too much tooting of his own horn.
Both arms broken piously patting
Himself on the back for "success." Bullshit.
Game concluded. Gruesome “greatness”
Made again to grate and grind.
Peace and freedom, precious, fleeting
Drugged and poisoned. Damage permanent.
Fortunes fled, few held accountable.
Fabulous crimes, fortunate criminals.
Global Gangsters grabbing governments,
National sovereignty nowhere seen.
Bogusword's banker buddies beatified,
Power to print all that money matters.
Once called "Indulgences," wonderfully dubious
Deities promising debt-cancelled paradise
Later. But peasants must labor presently.
Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2020