loopallu2

- New Living Traditions -

Below are the original poem and the rewritten one done on 15th July 2006, slightly modified on the 21st July 06, when I moved(when from the end of the line: No glory’s treasured to the beginning of the next line. They were written as two columns, but can, just about, be read across both. Although I have noticed the formating did not work on Safari. I have just spent hours reformatting though, so you should not be seeing just one long column now, even if the two colums do not line up.

Original poem


When men are grieving



	For tales of heroes



And hard clapping men of iron 



	With the strength of ten



Don’t see the deeds 



	As squalid thieving



When truth and pity 



	 Are all that’s leaving



When strength is measured



	 By young men’s steel blade



When cows and powder



	 See young boy’s lives laid



And bards start weaving 



 Golden shrouds 



    for fresh dead zeroes



Wrapping chance and lying 



	For sale to shrinking men.



So shrunk we now, the breathing



	With laws as mill stones



To stop us trying



	And grind down men



And crush their seeds



	No matter what’s the needing



To powder the gritty



	And leave no spirit feeding



No glory’s treasured when



	Assessment’s the only due paid 



So looks and lying are all the louder



	So thus are our leader’s lives made



Starchless bread in times of grieving



 Are we better for little rules 


   
   To gnaw on our bones



Or in the lawless grim past crying



	But were we better at thinking then?

Rewritten poem 15th July, slightly modified 21st July 2006.




When men are grieving



	For tales of heroes



And hard clapping men of iron 



	With the strength of ten



Don’t see the deeds 



	As squalid thieving



When truth and pity 



	 Are all that’s leaving



When strength is measured



	 By young men’s steel blade



When cows and powder



	 See young boy’s lives laid



And bards start weaving 



 Golden shrouds 



    for fresh dead zeroes



Wrapping chance and lying 



	For sale to shrinking men.





So shrunk we now, the breathing



	With laws as mill stones



To stop us trying



With the grind down pen



To crush the seeds



	No matter what’s the needing



So sleeping the city



	There's no spirit feeding



No glory’s treasured



	When fame’s the only due paid 



So looks and lying grow all the louder



	Thus half baked are our leader’s lives made



Starchless bread in times of grieving



 Are we better with papered crowds 


   
   And forms to gnaw on our bones



Or in the grim past crying



	Are these the better times they prayed for then?