New Zealand's non-binding poet laureate composes his final Ode for the year on the year
The Centre Cannot Hold
It was not the best of times;
it may well have been the worst of times.
Yet in this marvellous year, this tearstained year,
we have witnessed visions of such vivid clarity!
The chaos and the murky struggle
may distil a rare wine from the ways of men and womyn,
into a goblet where we might glimpse our futures.
So it was, all around the plague raged:
in stricken foreign realms, the dead were legion.
So, some people sayeth, shut the gates!
And other people sayeth open the gates!
for we want things to go back to normal
with just some more bodies in the streets.
High above, the Red Queen drifts in her balloon
in the general direction of Gisborne,
spinning mint vinyl on her Technics SL-1210 Mk7 turntables.
The Grand Chancellor loads more petty cash
into the hot air machine, which roars in appreciation.
Below floats Court Surgeon Asphodel Bumfold
on a kite, attached by a long string.
The Red Queen’s antagonists are many;
her rivals from the House of Blue mount an attack
under cover of a great, concealing fog:
and lo, they lop each other most severe.
Simon the Unfortunate, lopped.
Toad Mullet, Lord of Bay, lopped and feathered.
Lady Oravida, imprisoned and raving in the Keep.
Baron Luxon is victorious! He has won the war,
at least for House Blue, if not the Queendom itself. *
And as pestilence stalked the land,
Billy the Baptist did not flinch.
His trials were harsh. Scorpions nipped his feet;
and he fell and rolleth amongst spiky nettles.
The Pharisees and Romans mocked him openly
in the Mainstream Media with their slings and arrows.
But Billy preacheth across the land;
and spread his message of freedom.
The year had been long, and he returned in bad humour,
with welts from the nettles and itching stings,
to the land of his birth. Surely the Good Lord
would understand his weariness?
So it was he came to The City of the Free.
And there at the gates were guards,
two burly tribesmen with heavy clubs.
O brothers, asketh Billy.
Whom are you to block my way into my home?
One of the dudes looked at the other;
and said taketh this one to the Big Boss.
So Billy walked through the streets
and gazed with wonder on all around;
for where the asses had once been stabled,
were ten giant Harleys with the finest chrome detailing,
and where there had once been humble bakers,
fishmongers and haberdashers,
there was a nail salon and beautician clinic
with a late model European SUV outside;
and the strong voice of a lady came from within,
berating the servants for their tardiness.
Then came Billy to his modest palace,
but the palace had been blinged out.
He walketh into the Great Hall,
and there in his throne sat another.
Who be you who sits in my throne?
demandeth Billy.
And the newcomer stood, to the sound
of a spiralling electric guitar solo,
and sayeth: Yea, I am Alpha and Omega;
I am Yahweh Tamaki and this joint
is under new management, my bro.
Victor Billot has previously been moved to write Odes for such as Christopher Luxon, Jacinda Ardern, Brian Tamaki, Willis and Rawnsley, Dr Siouxsie Wiles, Duncan Garner, and Garrick Tremain.
