The house isn’t the best but it is a lovely view.

The house isn’t the best but it is a lovely view.

In pre-Raphelite days

Before the advent of individuality

When there were

Wooden ships and galley slaves

And everyone was a loin cloth

Away from nudity,

When creationism was yet to be challenged

With any regularity,

Angels were ranged

In a variety of poses

Lovers were arranged

Almost decorously

Demurely depicted

In the most intimate way,

Severed heads were carried on trays

Cherubs cavorted as naked

As the newly born

Witches were burned and devils torn

Saints were crucified

In graphic representation

Portrayed as art

Openly displayed, in a church

A chapel a Cathedral,

On the walls of a gallery

Travelling the globe in facsimile

Or as a curated exhibition

Fit to set before the Queen

With the exception of Reuben

Who was covered with a leaf

A victory for the modest prude

Who was not to be amused.

It takes but one complaint

To turn a work of art

Into pornography.

No matter how highbrow

The lowest ebb is reached

When culture is reduced

To the whim of chattering in the class.

Emboldened parents

Gifted the right

To give a thumbs down

To history’s grand survivors.

A gentle giant

Laid waste

In the name of good taste

And conservative family values.