Augustus Young       light verse, poetry and prose
a webzine of new and unpublished work


The Calling
Unstinting giver of yourself for cash
in lieu of love and gratefulness.
Slaves hide their feelings underneath the lash.
You nurse with subtle arts and hatefulness
the failing powers of those who play with trash.
Toil is the night unkindly lit by lust
to get things done and over, and once more
begin the coupling of the best and worst.
The issue is the cancelling of the score
that is your currency to earn a crust.
Desire is deadened by the nightly round
and daily squaring of the books for greed,
the lowest form of appetite, being bound
to endless repetitions. It won’t be freed
until your body’s buried in the ground.
The odour of corruption may well cleanse
the house that has been built with human bricks.
A life in legacy can make amends.
The victims of your tyranny are fixed-
up for life with dead men’s dividends.
Unreality Television
The one-eyed god speaks to the couch-potato
with a six pack at hand, a big dog on his lap.
What’s writ on the autocue is the claptrap
of the consumer plot of those in the know.
Peak time audiences fed with utter crap
aren’t stupid, starved for news of what’s on the go,
hunger for disasters demonstrating lack
of public care in the private sector, so
it's all pigs and whistles, and leaders that back
money-borrowers, and bankers get the sack,
the police resign and politicians throw
themselves in prisons. But alas a game show
interrupts the broadcast to announce the jack-
pot’s reached an unprecedented million euro.   
In Praise of Meat
After Brecht
To eat meat with evident pleasure,
a juicy steak that’s done to a turn,
with rye bread still warm from the oven,
and chunks off a whole cheese, all washed down
with a jug of cold beer, is frowned on
in certain quarters. But I believe
to go to the grave without enjoying
a good bit of meat is inhuman.
I say that, though I’m a poor eater.
The Idler’s Sonnette
There’s no such thing as a freewheel.
Idling makes good progress down hill.
But the end of the road means a spill.
And your blood and guts will not congeal
into strawberry jam, nor can the wreckage
be picked up by kind souls where you land,
for there won’t be anyone at hand.
And it’s too late to step on the brakes.
The path of least resistance descends
well, but doesn’t account for accidents.
That happy laughing couple spends
hours over lunch but it won’t prevent
the inevitable fall good living brings
when they are least expecting trouble.
So enjoy yourselves. You might as well.
It’s always too late when the bell rings.
M. Lazarus Is Not Glad To Be Back
On the third day Lazarus arose
and sent out a message - I’ve fooled all those
who wanted me out of the way. 
Vengeance assuaged, once more he descends
into the living room of his converted tomb
to ruminate on ends and means to start anew.
Still he hasn’t a hope. There’s nothing to do,
save give himself rope to hang from a tree.
Martha (not Mary) says Jesus Loves You.
Mary (not Martha) knew the real miracle would be
if Jesus had given him a will to live.
When the blind see they take a dim view. 
Flight from a Silent Scream
When I lived in Rue Violet
the woman yearning for
her demon lover still had hope,
and outside her yellow house
raised her arms and silently
invoked the heavens. I spoke
to her once, and grabbed by the hair,
I felt the pain of love, or
its let-downs. It wasn’t despair.
More a trap snapped on a mouse.
As she held me with her eyes,
I felt her whole body’s outcry,
a hell in hope (‘O false one,
you have deceived me’). My run
away wasn’t improvised.
Piss Alley
Automatic toilet
rising seat
his impatience.
Automatic toilet
rising seat
You must replace the cords
in your shorts with elastic.
Automatic toilet
rising seat
Nothing doing.
Lowered expectations.
Automatic toilet
rising seat
Nobody oils it
so it creaks.
Automatic toilet
rising seat
catches me
on the hop. Flat feet.
Automatic toilet
rising seat
Door opens.  Spit
of smoke.  It’s exploded. 
In The Name of God
The new superstore is called Dia,
the Gaelic for God. Who says he’s dead?
Ask for what you want and you will see an
angel fetch it from the shelf. It’s said
the prices undercut SuperU,
where you have to serve yourself. And LidL
so called because it offers little.
Small shops can go to the dia-ble too. 
Divine shopping is limited to what
could be bought in bulk wholesale and stored
at low cost without going to rot,
profits stretched to what we can afford. 
The angels don’t come free and will be
the first to go as an economy.