For nomads like me

As clouds settle round the mountains, the crows fly back to roost.

The travellers on long journeys find inns for the night.

Journey to the West, vol.1. p. 224.


4 thoughts on “For nomads like me

  1. I wept at reading this unrestrained Romanticism, Roland.

    Just as I wept yesterday upon hearing of Margaret Thatcher’s death in Britain. I’d misheard, you see. I thought they were saying that Thatcherism had died in Britain, turned on the tele with the expectation of seeing footage of revolution in the streets of Birmingham and London … only to find out that it was only Thatcher the woman who had died.

    I live in hope, you see.

    But “nomad”? Does it mean anything? As Marx wrote, while he “would like to believe that there is some affinity between pastoral nomads everywhere”, the concept is only useful “provided we pay due attention to the political-economic environment, to the variety of occupations and trades in which the pastoral nomads engage, and to the constantly changing conditions in which they operate”.

    1. Cold pre-packaged grocer’s daughter
      Leading England’s lambs to slaughter
      Ordained divine at Mammon’s altar
      Dead in a bed at The Ritz

      Boudicca of entente cordiale
      The Tory gentleman’s femme fatale
      Mandela’s foe and Pinochet’s pal
      Dead in a bed at The Ritz

      Fed the rich their daily focaccia
      Spawned men of Jeffrey Archer’s stature
      Besmirched the honest trade of thatcher
      Dead in a bed at The Ritz

      Here lies a shattered miner’s lamp
      Factories choked down in black damp
      Belgrano ghosts still slowly stamp
      Round and round a bed at The Ritz

      You can pray Charon rows her to hell
      “Tramp the dirt down”, sound a futile knell
      But all her dreams are alive and well
      And living it up at The Ritz

      Money shouts – just listen to the noise
      Material Girls and City Boys
      Ruthless Little Lord Fauntleroys
      Even now they’re putting on The Ritz

      Public service sold for private wealth
      Community and kindness killed by stealth
      Compassion, care and national health
      Dying in a sick-bed far from The Ritz

      Put inequality to the sword
      Give each one of us our just reward
      And then one day we all might afford To pay for a bed at The Ritz

      by elvis mcgonagall,

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