LET’S NOT BE COY
HAD we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
Thus starts one of the most beautiful poems in English
language. The poet longs to make love to his mistress but she is resisting him.
In the following lines he goes on to describe how they could spend their time
together, he in devout adoration of every part of her body and she as the gracious
recipient of that admiration.
However halfway through comes the crunch point:
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
And he goes on to point out that in fact they don’t have a
lot of time, they are mortal life is short, particularly in 16th
century, and they only have the moment in which to satisfy each other.
Why am I talking about a love poem on a political group? [I originally published this on The 48% Facebook group, go there if you support REMAIN, you will find good friends]. Because regarding brexit we are faced with the same dilemma, it would be
wonderful to take eons of time to be extremely civilised to hold bake offs and
carry out postcard campaigns, pester MPs and attend peaceful protests…
But you know what? Time is running out.
Our PM has said clearly that she intends to activate
article 50 before 31 March 2017. That gives us barely FOUR MONTHS, 16 weeks if
you prefer.
Most schools of thought seem to think that article 50 is
actually irreversible, in which case folks, 16 weeks and it’s up, done, dusted.
And here we are still dillydallying. Yes, there have been
two massive peaceful protests in London and several more throughout the country
and their impact has been… NOTHING, absolutely bloody nothing.
I’m reminded of the old feminists saw, “good girls come…
Nowhere”, and this is very much our dilemma. We are civilised, educated,
peaceful and law-abiding, and our opponents use every one of those traits
against us. In fact, they deride us for them, calling us lily-livered or
champagne socialists…
It’s time to get moving. Now or never. Do or dare.
Okay so we’re not into violence were not street thugs but
fucks sake let’s do something… Something lawful but outrageous and scandalous
that will get us noticed. Or they will bury us, for at least a few decades.
The grave 's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
And think about it… In a few years’ time, when our kids, or
our nephews and nieces, or grandchildren ask us “what did you do about brexit?”
What will we say, I wrote a few postcards? Sounds a bit lame.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Let’s
give the bastards a run for their money.
Ideas
please…
