The Covert Agenda

Incredulity fused with a Panglossian sense of optimism.

Category: Poetry

Journey to Labour

The electric rooster sounds its call as
morning London crawls from depths of slumber.
Blankets are removed, sleepy carcasses
reluctantly shooed towards day ahead.

Gears are ground as bodies are slowly wound,
creeping towards the pay to which they’re bound.
Minds keep pace, edging back to the rat race,
the struggle between survival and grace.

Ablutions are performed as another
day is scorned across the metropolis.
Fuel consumed, flavour of the day exhumed:
More of the same in this urban soul drain.

On to street, pounding the beat, already
sensing heat from the waiting industries.
Dreaming is shelved as reality delves,
mining the spirit from the guys and girls.

Cargo, funnelled in a tube, off to be
enacted where taxes are extracted;
another pack of meat destined for the
toiler’s rack goes rumbling along the track.

Amy Dron

The Middle Road

Some people think only their way is right,
Yet polar views are held with the same might;
Conviction is an admirable trait,
But not when it leads us others to hate.

In life there is not one size that fits all,
That’s part of the beauty of this blue ball.
Variety’s a joy, the spice of life,
But intolerance turns it into strife.

Although, we must not silence extreme views:
Their existence we can’t deny is true.
Use equality and the rule of law
To keep oppression safely at the door.

Yes, respect for different points of view
Is not a reason we should we pander to
Those whose desire is power and control;
Rigorous debate reveals their black hole.

Humour and satire are our mighty friends,
Helping us track towards liberal ends.
Force of wit to expose and deprecate
Is not something to underestimate.

Not to say we can’t visit distant poles,
There are times that call for us to be bold;
If we can make the case and sell the pitch,
With a majority we’ll make that trip.

Sometimes, extreme reactions are required,
At times, to remedy, fire calls for fire.
This illustrates what we’re trying to say:
Extreme breeds extreme as night follows day.

Hard as it is, we have to rub along,
Scores of people singing myriad songs.
It’s mutual respect that must be found,
It’s live and let live that will keep us sound.

And if I catch myself thinking extreme,
Say, shocked by injustice that I perceive,
I heed why I tread the middle section:
Trouble is in the other directions.

Amy Dron
March 2016


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