Culture, Musings

Jessops RIP

It took her one point three centuries
But pitiless Clotho spun faithfully at her loom
Weaving the black abyss that’s swallowed you. Gasp!
And left two thousand employees stuck in doom’s clasp
But what in Zeus’ heaven could you have done?
The feckless gods left luckless man to his devices
And even you, long favoured on Britain’s High Street
Are biting the dust in pecuniary crisis

Your bright blue signage courted the passerby
Your cheap consumer stock, red rag to the bulls
The punters strolled in to check your wares
Like backstreet patrons casting about for whores
So they feigned interest in this “Model”
A white one, a black one, that fast lens is vital!

Shh! No money was ever, ever left on the table
The rabble, cackling, had fled to the devil

Home to the faithful mistress they returned
Cruel goddess of cheap, her ragged claws primed
“To me, my precious, to me!”, her whine becks
Like a crow, tripping, before dropping its whelk
Her fog is thick with crude deception, cold calculation
Oh, how she has gotten fat on our surfing fascination
For “deals”, for “deals”, for “deals”, for “deals!”
Her lyre strumming “Something for nothing”, Bravo! We waltz
While, in plain sight neighbourhood shops are ground to dust

But who can escape Fate and Bloody Destiny
We go when our bell tolls or else not
In Z and Omega, you’ve folded into Administration
Like the yucky napkin put away after an icky snot


Whose Bosom?

They met by the tourist fountain
Where throwaway coins in the pool, shimmer
Through the refracting light
Entreating Luck on behalf of absent pilgrims

But it often happens when lovers are in haste
Not even the Gorgons or the Fates can defy Aphrodite
Fulfillment, then, is swift and sweet
And regrets are friends who have come to dinner

How she cried!
The sound not unlike Zeus’ terrible bolts
Pealed forth in sharp intakes of breath

How she sighed!
Her long moans borne lightly on Pegasus’ famed wings
Sped ever faster by Artemis’ divine arrows

What a ride!
‘Twas Apollo’s lyre that enraptured their senses
Felling them in paralytic tenderness

She had come from Netherland
A Nereid in pursuit of love
At home, she dreamt of mortals
Fair of face, strong shoulders and musky loins

But dreams are often the cruel way
The gods from their secure heights
Remind men that men
Are mere autochthons

When she awakened from her stuporous dream
All he had left behind was his scent

So, where is he now?
Whose thigh is his fine teeth biting
Gnawing expectantly to the cove within
Where his craven duplicitous tongue
Will french kiss a new faery to fiery bliss

Who is she?
Whose bosom is he caressing?