Reflecting on Betjeman.

Literal offerings from the Gods melting pot,
Don't confuse righteous vibes for whispering,
'She said ' or 'what not's',


I come from a social cleavage ,
Not mammary,
Pirouette with prejudice,
Refusing to sip a pale shade of opaque,
Rather colouring dreams with the a palette woven in a kaleidoscope of possibilities,
Literally besieged by John Betjeman,
In 1937,
 Can we slough off the deadskin,
To rebirth the industrial deception,

Excuse me if I sound Machiavellian,
Perhaps am entranced by aspirations and social class,


A place where deceit lies and street credence,
Lead a man to educate himself in treason ,
Violate mankind and send them to their panoptic box,
Closet desires to lead a rebellion,
But get sidetracked,
By thoughts of how to pay the rent again,
My dreams disturbed crushed by the cacophony of unbridled hopes,
Like rescuing survivors ,
Of Atrocities ,
For I am nothing more than a peddler of hope,
Wishing these words would encroach on the consciousness of the powers that be,