In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk
  • A Brief Word from the Parrot

    Let the Parrot have a brief word from the top of his tower, that cage with a view, overlooking a nation still suffering from its flood of lies. (for the reference, see ‘Parrot Addenda‘ in the right hand margin of this home page !)

    It looks as if, at last, Mr Toad (of a newly acquired Toad Hall) is hopping dolefully and malevolently out of Westminster camera shot. He won’t be liking that and will soon come up with new ways to draw the lenses back in his direction. But it won’t be as Prime Minister, now. 

    We look again at the Toad and see – if we are willing to look clear-eyed  – an apparently affable and articulate, but in essence emotionally under-developed and profoundly narcissistic, destructive and dishonourable individual, who has brought great harm and grief and shame to this nation. That he was serially deceitful and would betray people’s trust in him at the drop of a hat had become clear very early on in his career, but this did not stop the Toad progressing to become UK Prime Minister for a short and predictably disreputable time.

    It seems therefore less important to seek to understand the Toad’s nature, than to look carefully at how our political systems and processes – and I suppose just our own plain human vulnerabilities – kept succumbing to him, despite that early record and the constant present day reminders of his character ; what fault-lines and weaknesses, what anachronisms and complacency and ugly calculations, allowed this warped and warty and un-developed creature through the various doors – this ‘great campaigner’/sloganiser/salesman who never campaigned on behalf of any cause except self, delusion and falsity.

    And having looked carefully and comprehensively, and drawn conclusions, the nation’s executive and legislature must surely take immediate and decisive and comprehensive ameliorative action.

    For our systems of governance are manifestly and comprehensively unfit for present purpose and conditions. For all our sakes, they need to be made fit very quickly. Such fitness must include that they be fully proof against people like Mr Toad of Toad Hall (with its shiny moat) – this inflated and boisterous inadequate, this mere brazen show, this smirky, truth-free air of certainty without substance, without real outline. Times are fraught. Perhaps that accounts for the ability of this blundering fraudster to con so many people so completely, for so long. But precisely and especially because our times are so fraught, we cannot afford to allow ourselves to make such a mistake ever again.

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  • The sand martin is usually the first of the martins to arrive in the UK, after migrating from Africa. The house martins and swallows come soon after. The sand martin is even smaller than the house and their markings look similar, at least from a distance, at least to someone who knows as little as I do.

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  • Moles Poem

    Moles

    I must keep a close watch 
    on the mole-hills clustered 
    around the fences of my house. 
    
    I feel sure there'll come a time 
    when moles will emerge 
    from those surprisingly 
    
    massive eruptions 
    of earth they've created - 
    and each will be carrying binoculars 
    
    and waving a flag. 
    And the flags 
    will not be white ones. 
    
    And the binoculars will all be turned 
    in my directions and the flags 
    will have my name on them. 
    
    'There he blows !' the moles will cry. 
    'Charge !' 
    And all the moles 
    
    will vanish underground again 
    and new mole-hills 
    will start appearing in straight lines 
    
    and these will advance 
    at greater and greater speed, 
    each mole-hill like a puff of loamy smoke 
    
    or a further dark stitch across the ground : 
    and all in the direction of me - 
    my frontiers 
    
    my barricades 
    my walls 
    my foundations... 
    
    I have no answer or solution 
    to this hovering multitude of moles. 
    It's as if I'm hanging 
    
    helpless here in my house 
    like a fly already trussed up 
    in a cobweb 
    
    just waiting for them to arrive. 
    They are free to molest me 
    at will and at leisure - 
    
    child's play 
    mole-prey.

    Rogan Wolf

     

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