Drilling For Eloquence Poem by M.L. Emmett

I want to drill for eloquence
that oil that seeps
easily out of her lips
every time she speaks

I want to pump it
in pristine, perfect pipes
around Australia

So even in the bush,
people can sound
like 18th or 19th Century,
top of the League Table,
English poets.

We'll seem polite and genteel
educated, even erudite.
We'll hold moments
remembered in tranquility.

We'll think of Grecian urns,
Kubla Khan in Xanadu
as an every day affair

Conversations will naturally turn
to La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Or Mort d'Arthur

Syrup, sweet word music
will fall softer than petals
blown from roses on the grass

Passions will be expressed
without exposing flesh.