Like a True Nature’s Child by Ivan Lacko

19/12/2011 20:29

It’s all above reason, it’s teasing,

it’s squeezing the jelly out

of stuff that’s linguistically pleasing.

It’s the rush of blood in our veins, the Merlot stains,

and horses that need no reins, terriers who lust for Great Danes.


Unleash the hounds, we’re out of bounds,

our lines have all been cut.

We shut (then open) our eyes and watch you rise to the occasion,

Rise and shine, high like a fever, deep like the cleaver stuck in a muscle,

the hustle and bustle of voices, the hum of all the right choices.


There’s peanut killings, sixpence and three shillings,

slippers and four cups of tea to sip and tip the scales,

to tell the tales of mouldy caves which harbour things fanatical

lizards with tails grammatical, syntactical, slightly more impractical.


“By Jove!” there’s swirling atoms, crowns and kings and fools,

Delightful molecules.

Wobbly is now the serpent’s tooth,

we hear the woman in the booth, the sooth the potman spoke.

The news the paper broke.


For all the hours you were bored,

for all the megabytes you may have stored

you played your music well last night.

They say there is a secret chord

struck in a blaze of light.




Note: This poem was written to pay homage to students for Christmas Festival .