The Death of the Bold Portrayal.

[Mal McLean]

The Death of the Bold Portrayal.

The sun has gone down past the mountain
and the light is near gone on the hill
of the tree from whence sprung the fountain
there is naught but the wind in a mill.

See the milk from which came her power,
it no longer will flow from her breast
and the seed from which rose the flower
has been cut from her bloodied red chest.

Bedazzled with words and great letters
she allowed them to go to her head;
they told her that they were her betters
and so slowly unmade her in bed

They gather like vultures at feasting
and by degree they feed on her still
then roll out her carcass in greeting
just to show they intended no ill.

They have sold off her goods and chattels
and are living like kings off the fat
while the souls who once fought the battles
will not see the good profit in that.

They sit in the finest of houses
drawing wages they make off her back
while those with the shiny arsed trousers
will have mutton and bully and tack.

They have taken her sword of justice
and blunted the point and the edge
and bade her to drink of the chalice
that they poisoned with words of their pledge.

Where once was the test of good service
the cost benefit analysed rules,
but why does that make us feel nervous
as we pay for the chalk at our schools?

Now where is that light from the party
that has shone through the darkest of night?
Now seen through a glass coloured darkly
it is merely a shade of the fight.

Some say that she still goes on living
way down deep in the deepest of halls
where there is no thought of forgiving
from the remnants who sit in the stalls.

So pack up your ballot and leaflet
and cut off the branch at the root
and go to your grave with the secret;
that the naming is now merely moot.

As related to the Poet by his late mate, Tabletop Harry.
©Mal Beveridge – alias Mal McLean the Old fart. May 2011.

[Neville Briggs]

That's how it goes Mal. Even the old Tree of Knowledge at Barcaldine was poisoned and has now been removed.

[Mal McLean]

Just the wind in the mill, mate, the wind in the mill.

Which reminds me, I took a photo of "The Sandpit of Knowledge" between the time the tree was removed and the monstrosity erected. Somehow now, I think it more meaningful then.

Mal