An Oily Tale After Lewis Carroll The Walrus And The Carpenter Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

An Oily Tale After Lewis Carroll The Walrus And The Carpenter



Sun shining over cloudless sky,
beaming each streaming light
attempted very best to dry
our homes both warmer, bright:
this had become priority
with energy as scarcity.

While Ra’s rays blazed on desert days
in high Helvetic mountains
they learnt châlets to double-glaze,
and ration petrol stations,
for as inflation rose and rose,
queues formed frostbitten toes, rows froze.

The Shah, Pahlavi of Iran,
cried “shame! ” repeatedly,
saw, Faisal stalking close at hand,
inflation’s misery:
thereon their tears of crocodile
rained down upon the Upper Nile.

The 'seven sisters' raged and rent
suits tailor made to see
their rents increased fifty percent
or more in royalty:
“It does not suit” en suite they wailed,
in court their suits of course all failed.

Kadaffi, Lord of Libyan fame,
smirked and increased the price.
Oil soared to dollars twice times ten,
which really wasn’t nice:
he then increased the stakes again
as if to prove that he was sane.

The sheik was stirring sulkily
because he said the sun
had no just reason there to be
with winter just not done:
“To fear fair fee for fuel” fumed he,
“is failing in fraternity.”

“The outlook should be drear and dark,
fair price for petrol pay,
must pedal till recycling start
on upward, all the way
around the vicious circle till
you taste of your own bitter pill.”

“Oh, Western Nations, walk with us.”
Yamani’s threat then flew,
“With the Israelis cut ties too,
lest Fatah freat, fight, cuss.”
Yet the Israeli cause seemed right,
until we felt inflation’s bite.

As if to back the Saudi threats,
from many a tarmac,
hither and thither, flew the jets
pan arabs did hijack:
those captured were released from prison,
to continue their terrorism.

At Rome, at Munich, Athens too,
they went in for the kill,
in London Lloyds saw red, felt blue,
confronted with the bill.
Since then, whene’er we chance to fly,
we’re frisked and x-rayed endlessly.

The lost Italian Lira cracked,
the yen was not immune,
Pound pounded, left just Mark intact,
with Swiss Franc pegged in tune:
but though their currency stayed strong,
banks' bluff called, piper paid ere long!

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
(23 June 1974 revised 17 September 2008 and 22 July 2013)
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