The upcoming month looks a mess
For Capricorn: doom and distress,
Your children disgraced,
Your garden laid waste,
And minimal chance of redress.
Waking at dawn under the zodiacal sign of the Goat, I remain convinced that the practitioner of astrology is an expert in whom we can justly place our trust in troubled times.
I’m sorry to say, Sagittarius,
Your outlook’s still far from hilarious:
They’ll shoot holes in your hat
Or else puncture your cat,
Those nasty new neighbours nefarious.
Waking today under the zodiacal influence of the archer, how can one doubt that it’s solely the astrologer who has the insight to guide us through troubled times: inspired by the crossbow on high, his or her aim is true.
Dear Scorpio: what can I say?
Catastrophe’s heading your way:
Viral mishaps,
Economic collapse.
You may want to call it a day.
Waking to a new morning, as the celestial scorpion comes into its own, I’m surely not alone in deriving great strength from the impartial counsel of the astrologer, whose infallible sagacity shines out like a beacon against the drossy darkness of science, common sense, and associated delusions.
They weighed you in Libra, the scales:
Now all your fine life-planning fails.
No matter what talents
You chuck in the balance
The world sucks the wind from your sails.
Waking this morning under the sign of the celestial scales, it’s liberating to remember how our lives are laid out in full by the time the midwife has us snipped and weighed. I was 9lbs 10 in my maiden diaper … heavy, man.
You may trust, under Virgo the Virgin,
That your boons and your blessings will burgeon:
But such hopes are misplaced
(Like a frog in fishpaste
Or a goat in the garb of a surgeon).
My mother had a fair-sized bee in her bonnet when it came to Mariolatry. Sooner trust an astrologer than a woman, she would often say. For a long while I was blind to the paradox in those words, but recent events in my private life, which I shall not make public here, are forcing me to re-evaluate them.
Your career – once allegro con brio –
Turns so deadly dull, thanks to Leo,
You’ll be longing, instead,
For a whole month in bed
Next to three baleful badgers with B.O.
Springing from our beds, with the Lion ruling the zodiac, we should surely genuflect for a moment – not to the King of the Beasts, but to the Astrological Adept, whose acumen, in the field of predicting human affairs, lies beyond any reasonable doubt.
Is your zodiac character Cancer?
Is your fate a dark question? I’ll answer:
What the stars have in store
Will assist you no more
Than a Zimmer-frame aids a lap-dancer.
Waking under a strange sign in this very strange year, I’m just so glad that the clear-sighted astrologer, deftly unravelling the tangled threads of time, may still be relied upon to remove any worrying uncertainty from our lives.
The outlook’s obscure under Gemini,
The Twins: things are tricky with them on high.
One says, ‘You’re in clover,’
The other, ‘It’s over.’
The end of your world must be semi-nigh.
Arising at dawn, with Castor and Pollux in command overhead, I am heartened and reassured to reflect that the astrologer can still be relied on to be straight with us in these troubled times. Except this month. Our author seems to believe that ‘Dioscuri‘ means ‘obscure gods’ — needless to say, he has small Latin and less Greek.
For those who were born under Taurus:
Your fate’s a calamitous chorus
Of fracas and ruction
Brouhaha, destruction
And more (please consult your Thesaurus).
Waking today, invigorated by the star-sign of the Bull, I am confident that the astrologist is one expert we can still count upon for precision and insight in equal measure. No Taurus-shit.
Alas for the children of Aries.
Your fate, I foresee, never varies:
Abused and constrained,
Exploited and drained
Till you envy dead cows in our dairies.
Waking this morning under the influence of the Ram on high, who can doubt that the astrologer is an expert on whom we can still place our confidence despite the unruliness of the times?
Preparing predictions for Pisces
One pictures poor souls on the high seas
Awash on a raft
Or some other frail craft
Facing icebergs as far as the eye sees.
Waking this morning under the zodiacal sign of the fish, I feel convinced that the astrologer is an expert on whom we can still rely in troubled times.
Unfolding the fates for Aquarius,
I notice two contrasting areas.
Your prospects are bleak
Till the end of next week;
After that your whole life is precarious.
Waking today under the star-sign of the Water-carrier – and with just a few days until ‘Brexit’ starts – I feel certain that the astrologer is one expert we can still rely on to tell it like it is. (Click here to see what I was reading.)