1. A poem about apocalyptic climate change and how it will affect us all - even the wealthy, whose money will be of no value if society collapses. Text of poem below & see http://www.iunatinta.com for more of Corinne's artwork.

    ON A WHITE HORSE

    The hooves, they drummed a devil's tattoo
    Upon the woodland path.
    The mechanical horse, it was angel white
    And never had had a sin in its mind.
    The rider, he was the admired man
    And he saw no end to his sight --
    A captain of industry with bags of golden leaves
    That he ripped from the trees
    As he kicked his horse to ride on ride on

    To the rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm of hooves;
    The gathering of leaves and the rhythm of hooves.
    "I built this horse for riding," said he.
    "This horse, I built for riding."

    But the weather-clerk stepped across his path:
    "Stop!" he said, "look around.
    Your riding whips the winds and strips the trees
    It shifts the rains and lifts the seas!
    Slow down," he said "or change course"

    "No! I cannot risk that I'll be overtaken",
    The rider he said to the clerk
    "There are other riders chasing me
    And I built this horse for riding," said he
    "So move out of my way, I ride on."

    To the rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm of hooves.
    To the gathering of leaves and the rhythm of hooves.
    "I built this horse for riding," said he.
    "I built this horse for riding."

    But one mile on, people cluttered his path
    Crying "We've seen the darkening skies!
    Please hook back some leaves onto our trees
    To catch the winds that bring disease
    And rot the fish in our waters!"

    "But it's not just me," the rider said.
    "There are too many people on this earth
    And when they crawl and breed in the mud,
    they bring the winds and the rains and the floods.
    I earned these leaves, now move out of my way"
    And the rider just rode on.
    The rider just rode on.

    To the rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm of hooves.
    To the gathering of leaves and the rhythm of hooves.
    "I built this horse for riding," said he
    "I built this horse for riding"

    But then the air turned dark and the rain it poured down;
    And the horse it broke and stumbled and fell
    Deep into the mud it stumbled and fell
    With the rider, it stumbled and fell.

    The rider then saw his daughter
    And called out to her in the panicking crowd --
    "My daughter, come see, I have the leaves
    To buy an ark to sail the seas when the waters rise.
    Though others perish, we will survive."

    But as he put his hand into the bag,
    Those leaves crumbled to dust and blew away.
    Up to the dark storm they blew away.
    So strangely from his hand they blew away.

    "Oh father," said the daughter
    "Your leaves, they have no magic now
    Because nobody will trade them.
    The farmer gives his food to men-at-arms
    To keep off the jackals of jagged towns
    That come running through the ragged woods

    Since the rats overran the granaries
    From the flagstones to the rafters,
    When the miller's children all fell sick in the squalid dereliction.
    And where's the doctor? He's fled to higher grounds
    To drink the untouched rains --
    Because poisoned rivers run overland
    Through eye sockets and open mouths
    Of people fallen in burning famine upon the putrid earth.

    And this is not how it was meant to be;
    That our once green earth should rot to black like this
    And our children walk the rain, drenched in war, fear and pain.

    It is a dark time
    It's a dark time for humankind.
    And you, father - you led in the other horsemen
    To the rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm of hooves,
    Riding, riding, on your white horse."

    by Mike Galsworthy

    # vimeo.com/100554545 Uploaded 263 Plays 1 Comment
  2. The Shrew

    To the undiscerning eye, it's a mouse that scuttles by --
    But I hasten to inform you that you may have seen a shrew.
    Now then how does one know if one is looking at a shrew?
    Well, yes I am an expert, but you can do it too;
    You see, there is one distinctive feature of this endearing little creature...
    The shrew has a long and wiggly nose.

    And I don't suppose this audience knows
    Why the shrew grows such an elongated nose?

    Well I shall tell you:

    You see, when it's shuffling and a-snuffling through the leaves
    It makes a rustling which sends all the insects bustling
    For anywhere to hide --
    And a crack, crevice or hole looks a pretty safe goal
    To an insect's very simple eye.
    But the shrewd shrew knows that his clever flexi-nose* [*Trademark of the shrew]
    Will get each little one by surprise.

    So without one jot of concern,
    The shrew will now approach each hiding place in turn.
    It will step up to the target and push in its nose
    And push it, and push it, as far as it goes.

    Now, the shrew's nose can handle any bend
    And the other design feature are the whiskers on the end.
    These little whiskers are not short and sharp and prickling;
    But rather, they are feather-soft and perfect for tickling.

    And tickle them it does, up and down and round --
    It tickles all those little bugs hiding in the ground.

    "Now what good does that do?", you may wish to ask me.
    Well the shrew is a master... of insect psychology:

    You see - a cornered insect, when tickled by a snout
    Obviously, desperately wishes to get out.
    It is giggling and it is wriggling, then it thinks it sees a gap
    And goes running out under the nose --
    CHOMP! Straight into the shrew mouth trap!

    [Audience: Oh no! The shrew mouth trap!]

    Yes, indeed. The fearsome shrew mouth trap.

    However, is this *really* why the shrew's nose is so?
    Well, I could say yes, but I should not profess to know.
    You see, I'm a scientist; my conclusions must be dreary
    And I must categorically state... that this is merely only just a theory.
    Nevertheless, I do wish to stress that I have presented you with a very highly-educated guess.

    # vimeo.com/106313469 Uploaded 38 Plays 0 Comments
  3. I did this for a request by "This Is Cabaret" in October 2014. Text of poem below:

    Poem text:
    The Jack-o’-lantern moon rises large and orange
    Over the black tree on the black hill;
    As though the Harvest Moon returned
    From the underworld, with a broad hunter’s grin.

    The air is purple as a spell in a bottle
    And impossibly thin as skeleton skin.
    I un-stopper it, I tip it up and I drink it in,
    To mix with the black elixir in my blood.

    Jigsaw leaves on the ground are rotting.
    Scattered are their patterns of yellow and red
    That cast geometries of invocation
    To wake the spirits of the dead.

    Voodoo roots hold tattooed bones
    Rapping them on crypts underneath the trees.
    Then they shake them to a silent dance
    And every twist, twists within me.

    Give to me a pinch of venom
    A thimbleful to prick my senses
    Draw to me all dark temptresses
    I am the beast… and tonight I hunt a witch.

    I see her, walking sharp as scissors,
    Hip-sway could stop a hypnotist’s watch,
    Mesmer would be mesmerised
    By this witch; secretly I watch her lips.

    I am the beast, I prowl at distance
    I circle her, she mutters charms;
    Before the moon climbs to its height
    I will have her disarmed within my arms.

    My thrill overspills the edges of night
    The trees whisper in flow and ebb,
    The witch disappears in an undergrowth portal
    Spun of brambles like a tunnel web.

    I follow her through to another world.
    And she turns around with a dazzling stare;
    My heart trips up on my surprise,
    My eyes are wide, but do I dare
    Chase after this green-eyed fox, this witch?
    I am startled like the hare.

    But our gaze remains unbroken,
    My dark eyes match her green spell.
    The wood around begins to spin
    Blurring as I draw her in –
    She draws her nails upon my skin.
    The moon is high, the time is nigh.
    I am transformed. She is transfixed.
    I am the beast. She will be my witch.

    # vimeo.com/110303543 Uploaded 77 Plays 0 Comments
  4. A poem about the internal battle between fading youthful ambition & energy and growing disillusionment.

    # vimeo.com/106608796 Uploaded 30 Plays 0 Comments

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