Our tall hats, sky scraping, cloud stirring,
Raking, forming, our tall hats.
Our black hats, cliff-crag dark,
Storm dark, night full.
Our black hats.
Given by the lords of years,
These moving towers, rocking.
These habitations of watchers.
Watchers, sky-full of silence.
Hawk-bright shaded eyes,
Biding behind dark brows,
We need not hands to raise against.
Need not fingers to point.
Nor voice to accuse,
Nor clever, subtle speech,
Inscrutibility fledged beneath
The stern circle of dark rim.
Tall hats, dark hats, bestowing gravity,
Beacons of authority.
Injected, a bolus of catastrophe.
We, the chorus,
Mocking your wriggled evacuations.
We shall never, as you will, now
Pass distraught, hand-wringing,
Rote excuse for skin.
We shall never squirm nor flutter,
Racing thither on dismal errand,
Bending brightness to aggrandise vapour,
Bending sense, roping goodness,
Making slave-chains to chafe the free.
Oh, we see clear.
We see your oily wishes,
Your sly agreements.
How you stain the day.
How you stain.
Our tall hats
Shall follow your ways.
Watch us on the heights.
Watch us circle dark valleys.
Patient for judgement,
May your tiny,
Naked and revealed,
May your rights
Recycle to the innocent.
May the wheeling carrion birds
Revolve and clamour
Til you no more sully
This earth, this sky.
May you relinquish your folly
Before it plagues and howls,
Extirpating your breathing memory.
Born from a recounted dream of handless beings guarding the clifftops from the perennial parastic politicians who wore tall black top hats. Reminded me of the crags of the Preseli hills, the watchers of Easter Island, the tall astronomically accurate solid gold hats of the Neolithic,
Of the cairns and tombstones of the quiet places, of the attentive wariness of those without voice…….
the image is from an Iron Age Celtic coin that seems to show a storm or mountain deity