The Naked Troubadour

“Just Leave Me Alone” (new poem)

Posted on Apr 19, 2021 Updated on Apr 20, 2021

As I minded my business in a world of my own
(I was making some notes in a park all alone
for a piece about Truth). There I was ‘in the zone’,
when some humans approached me and said,
“Oi! You! Go home!” But I was lost in my words
and my world and I did not look at them as I had
not heard. So a death-look at me they did hurl.

Their faces (voices) thrust themselves into my space;
sharp, intruding, full of all their misplaced zeal
and their desperate need to indulge in chase.
What brought them to this wayward state?
What marks upon their souls have bent their minds
to such degree that they should thus impose
their darkened will on harmless little me (or thee)?

Then all their clichés will commence apace
as they rev up their spiel to put me in my place:
“You think that you’re different to everyone else?
Well, I’ve got news for you, son, so listen up, see?
No matter what you feel, or think you can be,
you’ll always be subject to authority.
Now show me your papers and then your ID.
Show them right now. For you are NOT free!”

“Why should I?” said I. “You’re not from my woods,
with all of yr “do’s” and yr “don’ts” and yr “shoulds”.
Please mind your own business and leave me alone.
I ask you for nothing. You’re invading my home.
Stop harassing me from your make-believe throne”.

I noticed then that their faces turned red, and one
grabbed my T-shirt, came close, then she said:
“It’s people like you that need to be crushed”.
Her eyes they did narrow to increase the threat:
“I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget”.

A strange sense of calm descended on me
as I surveyed their faces and eyes (there were 3).
“I am writing an essay on Truth”, and I smiled.
I hoped in my heart that they might be beguiled.
Then she said, “I don’t care if it’s on Mickey Mouse,
you’ve been nicked & we’re taking U off 2 our house”.

“Can you tell me please what I’m supposed
to have done? I don’t cheat or steal or carry a gun.
I’m minding my business and I think you should too.
Can we all get along, just like friends, me and you?”

Then a fist hit my stomach. “That should shut you up,
you fucking great pansy. Alright, buttercup?”
Though winded, I carried on smiling and said,
“You can do what you like, even leave me for dead.
Your rules don’t make sense. You’re used by the state
to mop up their madness; authority you impersonate.
You chose the wrong enemy and utilised villainy.
You don’t get respect and you’re all overweight.
I just hope that you wake up before it’s too late.
For terrible times will soon come on this earth
as the cosmos prepares for its change and new birth.
What’s illegal and legal don’t mean shit anymore;
it’s morality that counts and the law is an ass;
you now enforce falsehoods, good folks you harass.
For the only true watchwords are in divine law,
and darkness and light are what count in the score.
Which side are you on then in this moral war?”

Then what happened next is a kind of a blur;
it was like an explosion, a dream, as it were.
I was kind of detached; wasn’t sure it was me.
It was like I was floating in some kind of sea.

And then now looking down from my OOBE,
I noticed my corpse, bloodied, lying in the trees.
A hole then was dug, then a dull thuddish sound
sort of echoed around as it went in the ground.
Then three shadowy figures dissolved in the mist
which enveloped that world & a new world I kissed
which I cannot describe even though I have words;
for all are now useless whether nouns, adj, or verbs.

If you all now are saying how foolish I was,
having listened to my story and watched it unfold,
and you think I should then have done as I was told,
I was just being truthful and honest and wise.
I’d far rather do that than live out some lies.
Your strangely dystopian human-cursed earth
was no longer reckoned by me to have worth.
I’d lived out my life and had a good run;
there was loving & cheesecake & lots of clean fun.
How long there you live is of no real concern,
so long as you love your Creator and learn.

Here now my doggerel must come to an end;
was it all merely bathos, the stuff that I’ve penned?

© Alan Morrison, 2021