Scott Free - An Evolving Canvas After Sir Walter Scott Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Operation Hostage Release Send Hope Soon

O hush thee my baby, and mop up that tear,
P repare not for worse, if we’re moved, the all-clear
E xpected may be for tomorrow, draw near, -
R epack your belongings, and don’t disappear!

A siren wails fretfully, transport is here
T o take us to factories which are, I fear,
I nvolved in the brewing of chemical beer, -
O hush for the foeman’s peparing a bier!

N ow hush darling baby, and dream the Emir
H as won back his palace, that the hemisphere
O nce more shall be peaceful, to pacts will adhere, -
S addam will be blown up by a bombadier!

T ake heart, my dear baby, and plan a career
A s new politician with oily veneer,
G row up disregarding the strife that you hear, -
E mbargo successful will prove – if sincere.

S o the sands that you see from our window, so drear,
R eturned once again to their ruler, my Dear,
E ver more may be settled, with a fixed frontier, -
L ike desert-sent mirage conjured by fakir.

E nsuring by Stealth, Mirage, thrashing severe,
A burning Bush wilderness Bagdad will clear,
S trike down the ‘I rack he’ sad damnèd Premier
E re he all the hostages can commandeer.

S o let this be the moral: who domineer,
E specially an arab, must first engineer
N ew weapons which work, and strong allies sincere, -
D eath waits in the wings with dice loaded, austere.

H ush thee, dearest baby, armadas appear
E n route for the Gulf and the Emirates, cheer!
L et wave upon wave brave the tank and the spear,
P reventing more blackmail in future, my Dear!

S ome hope that the Arabs can peace pioneer,
O r still that the U.N. may settlement steer, -
O n broken reeds trust never put for severe
N eeds be the disaster when bombs interfere!

20 August 1990 Parody Sir Walter SCOTT – Lullaby for an Infant Chief

O hush thee, space baby, thy sire was a Chimp,
his forebear diatom, amoeba or shrimp,
woods and glens that you see once lay under the sea,
all bear silent witness to thy history.

Fear not evolution, for progress revolves
around its lost secrets ‘til scientist solves
how toes, once extended prehensile, could free
Mankind for steps taken to end up with thee!

Soon brain implantations shall banish revolt,
dispensing with thoughts non-conformist with jolt
shocks of a nature to well guarantee
subservience set in tag RFID.

Yet brain stimulation through radio waves
may set the ball rolling for much mankind craves
as areas, dormant, awake for fresh spree
with flash telepathic advancing on key.

Know privacy, freedoms, most must sacrifice
in the name of the fight for what’s Right versa vice, -
and verses like this may to posterity
be unknown in a world were none dare disagree.

‘O, hush thee, my baby, take rest while I croon,
for ‘Progress’ comes early, and Freedom too soon’
may with some liberal economy
be left standing at altar of ‘prosperity’.

Remember when troglodyte crawled from cold cave
the race for survival found few misbehave -
survival of fattest, not fittest, we see
where the few treat the many with asperity.

The climate is warning, the salt oceans rise,
this watershed cusp comes as no great surprise,
man must shed his self-shackles, a fresh entity
should spring to protect bio-diversity
to a planet whose passing point of no return –
why is it, unique, we our own bridges burn? –
the search for solutions proactive will be
a sign, though endangered, that man’s sanity
can pull from potential catastrophe global
a future progressive, and generous, noble.
If this doesn’t happen then freezer for me,
a vat cryogenic 'til eternity!

O hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come
when limbs won’t be needed, though don’t you look glum! –
in many millenia still there will be,
whatever your status, a personal flea...

robi3_1058_scot3_0003 19900425 revised 20060714 and 20081017 Parody Sir Walter Scott Lullaby to an Infant Chief previous title O Hush Thee, My Baby for previous version see below

O Hush Thee, My Baby

O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a Chimp,
his ancestor's mother, amoeba or shrimp,
the woods and the glens you see once under sea.
All bear silent witness to thy history.

Fear not evolution, for progress revolves
around its lost secrets ‘til scientist solves
why toes now extended, prehensile were, free,
and the steps man hass taken to end up with thee!

O hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come
when limbs won’t be needed, though don’t you look glum!
in many millenia still there will be,
whatever your stature, a personal flea.

(20 April 1990)

O Hush Thee, Though Maybe

O hush thee, though maybe desires in the night
for [s]mothering lady, lewd, lovely and tight,
would make you less lonely, sweet dreams would flow free,
they’d all tell of longings precocious in thee!

O flush not the toilet for loudly it blows,
awaking the warders who guard thy repose,
their belts they’d unbuckle, bare bottoms be red,
should any young lady draw near to your bed.

Don’t blush for, sweet baby, the time may soon come
when thy sleep shall be broken by bosom and bum,
then hush thee, my darling, fake rest while you may,
till a wife takes your manhood, then rake every day!

(25 April 1990)

O Hush Baby Tory

O hush, baby Tory, ecology’s 'in”,
and industry’s excess shall sanction as sin,
all enterprise, private or public, must see
advantages saving the seal and the sea.

Green power could capture the red, white, and blue,
lean hours for poor Thatcher and all of her crew,
the Future must settle the Past’s spendthrift spree,
what kilowatts wasted, what lost energy!

Beware, though pollution once sped profits’ rise,
acid rains and dioxide now blanket the skies,
while French leave’s been taken by birds and by bees,
with AIDS round the corner, Love’s no longer free!

With Tchernobyl cooking though four years have fled,
who knows w[h]at reaction can come to a head,
the hole in the ozone may soon prove to be
a threat to humanity, Maggie and me!

(25 April 1990)

Lullaby of an Infant Chief

O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a Knight,
Thy mother a lady both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens from the tower which we see,
They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee.
O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
O, hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.

Sir Walter Scott 1771_1832

A Carol

O hush thee, my baby,
Thy cradle's in pawn,
No blankets to cover thee
Cold and forlorn,
The stars in the bright sky
Look down and are dumb
At the heir of the ages
Asleep in a slum.

The hooters are blowing,
No heed of them take;
When baby is hungry
‘Tis best not to wake.
Thy mother is crying,
Thy dad’s on the dole;
One shilling a week is
The price of a soul.

LEWIS Cecil Day 1904_1972

The Song of Education III

For the Creche Form 8277059, Sub-Section K

I remember my mother, the day that we met,
A thing I shall never entirely forget;
And I toy with the fancy that, young as I am,
I should know her again if we met in a tram.
But mother is happy in turning a crank
That increases the balance in somebody's bank;
And I feel satisfaction that mother is free
From the sinister task of attending to me.

They have brightened our room, that is spacious and cool,
With diagrams used in the Idiot School,
And Books for the Blind that will teach us to see;
But mother is happy, for mother is free.
For mother is dancing up forty-eight floors,
For love of the Leeds International Stores,
And the flame of that faith might perhaps have grown cold,
With the care of a baby of seven weeks old.

For mother is happy in greasing a wheel
For somebody else, who is cornering Steel;
And though our one meeting was not very long,
She took the occasion to sing me this song:
'O, hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come
When thy sleep will be broken with hooting and hum;
There are handles want turning and turning all day,
And knobs to be pressed in the usual way;

'O, hush thee, my baby, take rest while I croon,
For Progress comes early, and Freedom too soon.'

Gilbert Keith Chesterton 1874_1936

The City Gentleman to his Infant Son

O slumber my son in sweet ignorance blest,
No thought of the panic deprives thee of rest;
Though things in a mess in the City may be,
They give no concern, my young stripling, to thee.

Thou needest not dwell on the firms that shall crash,
Nor feelest the tightness of credit and cash,
Bear stockmarket trends don’t disturb thee a jot,
Though they bankrupt thy elders, they trouble thee not.

Though the Bank may determine to tighten the screw,
Thou wilt not be frightened, nor ever look bloue;
What matter to thee, little fellow of mine,
If the rate is at three-and-a-half or at nine?

Unconscious art thou of such things as bad debts,
With sovereign States a poor risk, whose assets
Ten times mortgaged are, yet you’re never dismayed
By the fact that their loans will be write-offs unpaid.

Then slumber, young gentleman, rest while you may,
You’ll suffer the hard way from these things some day:
Sleep on, undisturb’d by the world’s busy hum;
For like a young bear, these are troubles to come.

Author Unknown 0207
(12 November 1847 Amended JR)