I dreamt a sinister conspiracy of sheep,

that pulled the wool over our collective eyes

like a cabal of evil men.

The dogs, as dogs do,


biting the hands that they were fed

whilst growing fat and grinning.

Once the usual goats were sorted from the flock

(easily scaped as always)

there was little opposition

and soon we were being skinned not shorn

from bleeding dusk to bloody dawn.


 Even though the situation

should have been apparent to us all

no-one dared to say a word.

To do so was to invite ridicule

and public derision.

Sheep!” they’d laugh, “Imagine!”

Media Mouthpieces (their

suits were polyester

but their underwear was woolen)

poured soothing lies of lanolin

on the nations inflamed indignation.

The hacks of Hollywood were hired

to churn out heart warming epics

of cute cartoon lambs rescuing orphans from the snow.

(Sybil Shepherd was paid to play

the voice of the silly sheep)


The Wool Board held a press conference

where they angrily denied the existence of sheep

or indeed, themselves.

There is no Wool Board”, 4.

they intoned as one herd.

Plagued by nightmares many

former shearers underwent

hypno-regressive therapy,

hoping to retrieve thereby

lost memories and digits.


The Prime Minister sheepishly denied

playing a part in the looming conspiracy,

Saying only, “Son,

someone’s been spinning you a yarn.”

But then he baaa-ed journalists

from asking further questions.


Mysterious Signs were said to be seen

on the side of a barn in Ballarat,

and the tracks of many cloven hooves

found nearbye in the ashes.

(And the number one song

at the Top of the Pops was

Baabee I love Ewe!”)


But despite the persistence

of whispers & rumours,

ultimately the conspiracy proved to be so effective

that humanity clung dag-like to the lies

as the Final Flocks went passing

before their very eyes.

For I know that now it sounds absurd,

but we humans believed

everything we herd.


Now after this dream

I can no longer sleep,

and I’m far too frightened

to try counting sheep.




In Memoriam

We note with sadness the passing this week of Malcolm Maclaren.  Agent Provocateur, Gadfly, Surrealist Agitator, and author of the Sex Pistols, (popular musics funniest parody), the world will be a duller place without him. Vale Frater.


The Reverend Hellfire is a practising performance poet and ordained minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanists.



~ by reverendhellfire on April 11, 2010.

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