Daily Archives: July 9, 2017

Awesome Drivel ~ a poem

Nobody seems to say “awesome” these days.

Maybe it’s too last year – rather passé,
though “rather” has been relegated to rich Etonians in the UK,
who are deemed to utter “I say, rahhther…”, with irritating regularity,
and folk don’t say “passé” –
it would seem “passé” is a past fashion,
which was only ever used by elegant types anyway,
give or take the odd bohemian.

Another word long gone, along with flappers in their spiffing frocks,
jolly good chaps being top-hole,
and groovy chicks doing the twist to fab Beatles tunes.

Wonderful, marvellous and outstanding are OK,
while a smidgeon too run-of-the-mill;
but we never say “run-of-the-mill”
and nor do we speak of a “smidgeon” these days,

Maybe it’s been replaced by by a tad.

I’m so square when it comes to lingo –
except the word “square” hasn’t been cool
since Teddy boys grew too respectable to tear up cinema seats,
I haven’t heard “lingo” since 1994,
and I fear that while I wasn’t looking
“cool” may have fallen through the floor
into the cemetery of outdated words.

My ignorance makes me feel like a savage,
yet when the young say “savage”, they mean awesome,
which brings me back to the question of whether “awesome”
has ceased to be de rigueur.

As for “de rigueur”,
who knows?


The Daily Post #Savage

©Jane Paterson Basil

A Noble Race


A noble race, galloping across the plains,
pitting their wits and their brawn
against beasts that would feed on their flesh,
living their lives in lean economy,
taking no more than they need,
implementing every piece of what they kill to survive,
honouring the creatures and the wild land that feeds them,
dancing in time to nature’s whim,
caring for their tribe.

This is their life, their livelihood,
their history

Ships sail the seas in search of milk and honey,
Hungry folk honed in the arts of theft and hypocrisy
roam the new country, toting guns,
scalping and raping the locals and the land,
claiming God for their side, since they are “civilised”,
while the tribes who live honest lives and die at their hands
are labelled savage.

Cities are raised,
their foundations soaked in the blood of a vanquished race.
Dead ancestors whisper their history.
Their secrets catch in the wind and curl upon the plains;
proud tales of heroes who can never be replaced
in a world which will never return.

Civilisation is savagery dressed in a white shirt
and armed with greed.


The Daily Post#Savage

©Jane Paterson Basil