Poetry Mondays - Gods of the Copybook Headings

 

we threw this away

Inspired by one of the few people who read this shallow and frivolous mind-blog, I present Kipling's Gods of the Copybook Headings as an opening salvo in a new and populist series, Poetry Mondays. Here it is, forgive small font:

As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,

I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.

Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn

That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:

But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,

So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,

Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,

But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come

That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,

They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;

They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;

So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.

They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.

But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life

(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)

Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,

By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;

But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,

And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true

That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four–

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man

There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.

That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,

And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins

When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,

As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,

The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

Chesterton, whom I greatly admire, scorned Kipling, but Chesterton, for all his greatness wasn't always right. That said, I'd argue Kipling was right in the X-Ring with this. Make of it what you will.

Ad Solem,

LSP

Not So Open Border

 

Middle aged  Leftist white wymxn and kidz are freaking out because illegal immigrants are being held accountable for being exactly that, illegal. At the risk of repeatedly banging on the same old drum, since when did it become Fascist for a country to have an actual border? 

Like, how dare they export our votes! Maybe when people have had enough of a cabal of crooks in DC deciding to import the vote, and another gang of PR crooks on K Street clothed the infamous vote grab in "humanity" and "tolerance." That'll snag the NPR heartland they thought, and so, apparently, it has. Well, they're clever, and paid for it, it's their job. Pan to Minneapolis, Portland and wherever else.

Leaving aside the bizarre spectacle of liberal white wymxn attacking cops for daring to arrest and deport savage desert Moslems who'd kill and enslave them, here's Sicario, widescreen it if you like.

Respect to the people who engage in this line of work. I can think of several on this shallow mind-blog alone. And remember, we are all Rhodesia now.

Cheers,

LSP

Swan Lake

 

Those Russkie pranksters are at it again, this time broadcasting Swan Lake from their Cold War radio channel UVB-76, transmitted on 4625 kHz. Those pesky Kremlins did something similar in 1991 during the August coup. So what could this cryptic crisis message possibly mean today? As we reflect on this, admire Tchaikovsky's beautiful ballet.

And don't say flight of the Oreshnik.

Your Friend,

LSP

Excelsior

 

The many readers of this widely read mind blog have asked, "What's it like, really like, at the Compound." A very good question  and in answer?

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Beverly Hills

Now that this well-read, popular, influential, urban planning mind blog's firmly established, we feel, here in the luxurious bay window of The Compound, that Weezer's most appropriate.

Dear God, let's hope you showered before and after, what?

Just a thought,

LSP