Beauty is I’m the beholder eye Wore is it in the peacocks’ pyjamas’ pie We whizz our completion through vast vast space Wondering fully who loves us to our face A lyric is BitCoin traded for a thousand sunflowers If you step over the Tiber into a jar of pickled hours Peeve me not and more the Femens’ boobs photo-articulate The Guardian critics rejoice on hidden Telegraph champagne-socialist crates But is peace St Francis style a losing call ? In the age of rage where kinetics are what enthrall A soft and sincere word of consolation *^]< you mister you need a jock strap of amphetamine beration The waves are in beta at the shore No need to look at Christ hanging on a cross anymore The peacock's tale lags long upon the floor If beauty and evolution survive the vilification of the poor who pay more and more till they are dust and objects of art collected in a jar in a museum-store that survived the war the war the war
Pulling down wallpaper in a house I’m decorating and doing up I discovered the striped wallpaper you see here. Everywhere we look there is something aesthetic, something pleasing, if not to the eye to the senses. The metaphysics of it I won’t speak of here. Instead let us remember the awful condition of prisoners and especially those in North Korea who are packed in tight with other inmates and if reports are to be believed, can’t even sit. Some people sadly are in very horrid circumstances and if we do believe in prayer we should pray for them and if we believe in some form of action we should try somehow to relieve the plight of those who cannot even enjoy the simplest of aesthetic experiences.