the flip side |
Winners and Losers (with apologies to Nelly The Elephant's original lyricists, Ralph Butler & Peter Hart) U. S. A: The regular caucus came. They chose an intelligent President - Obama was his name. One dark night He had to leave again; Two terms were spent and off he went Never to serve again. Barack Obama has packed his trunk And said goodbye to the White House, Making way for the Donald the Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump. Hillary Clinton has packed her trunk And left by car for Chicago - Off she’s sent by the Donald the Trump Trump, Trump, Trump. The end of the road was calling; Soon came the day When parties fight in the TV light And the world can only pray. So ... Barack Obama has packed his trunk; But who says Hi to the White House? Cruz? Or Sanders? Or Clinton? Or Trump? Trump! Trump! Trump! Night by night They wooed the divided land With Hillary leading the poll parade But Trump so loud and grand. No more tricks Could Hillary perform; He’s forced her now to take her bow Amid the media storm. Many a Democrat packed his trunk And said goodbye to the caucus - Off the back of the Donald the Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump. Every Republican packed his trunk And said Hallo to the Congress; In he went with the Donald the Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump. The rest of the world appalling, Trump won the day! His latest bride at his bloated side, And the pressmen kept at bay. Desert is spreading and ice has shrunk, We wave goodbye to the jungle; Life has lost when the winner is Trump. Trump. Trump. Trump. ______________________________________ The Luck of the Irish When luck came up for the cosmic draw Ireland was left with the shortest straw - The Paddies were saddled with Murphy’s Law. Wondrous schemes that were set to fail, Endless spills from the milking pail; A sting in every romantic tale. So when O’Shaunessy found the Grail Hidden behind a harvest bale It split as quick as a fingernail And Father Flaherty at his door Said,’What’s that dirty oul’ piss-pot for? The glue’s not holding - yer’ll need some more.’ He showed his prize to a journalist Who conned it off him when both were pissed And wrote it onto an auction list. Delaney bought it for half a pig Then turned it over to hold his wig Before a jaunt to the hills to dig. His luck was in and he’d done the trig - His Granda’s mattock was in the rig For surely there would be Something Big. His rainbow hung in the mountain mist; He chased, and swore, and he shook his fist - For all that glittered was mica schist. Back in Blarney Delaney kissed The Stone, and took an almighty swig Of moonshine mixed with the local ale; Summoned the pub accordionist To set the mood with a fancy jig And thrilled his pals with a bogus tale Of holy relics and fairy ore. He sold his luck to a hundred more - Till time ran out on the bar-room floor.... .................................................................. The Return In the holy of holies in thick dark smelling of birds and stone my blind hand’s pilgrimage unveils the symbol of life I have come back my trails of four thousand years and all their images twist to a single focus, spin to one fine brilliant vibrant point this Egypt this temple this soft dancing-ground of yellow dogs echoing sparrows and buried shame I have come back in shadows my long strange face shockingly beholds me The sun and my son haunt me in the reed baskets jostling crushed notes, cats cheap azure scarabs ubiquitous images of my peerless wife where is my city flat hot dust a rubble of stones between the holy cliff and sun-caught sails trekkers stare from donkey-back at the gates of death that swallowed me my hymns my sweet children flying and creeping creatures music all I knew pilgrims cluster in temples, in musty tombs tracing my broken features in the torchlight following with their finger-tips fine rays slim hands of the sun I have come back like the dog to its vomit I cannot undo naivety cannot erase stupidity cannot abase myself before my golden boy weeping begging his pardon cannot unmake the silly myths of heretic as hero nor can I dissuade a thousand souls from wanting to be me For I am he stripped of imagination’s glamour dispossessed of eyes name scraped away in the king list bones vanished regalia food for thieves I am he trapped in another life and pinioned to this shock newsreel ancient failure abject penitent powerless to plead to all these enchanted eyes my god delusion Drowning in memory grasping my own debris as it passes Begging the last feather to outweigh my guilty soul ..................................................................... THE MISTAKE All people that on Earth do dwell Have made themselves a living hell. Hence the admission I must make: Creating them was my mistake. I made an error once before - I bred the dreadful dinosaur; I thought my dragons would be fun With scales that glittered in the sun; With mighty bodies, tiny brains They fought and foraged on the plains And some with feathers learned to fly Through Gaia’s prehistoric sky. But after millions of years With nothing much between the ears And only fit to be destroyed I zapped them with an asteroid. Began again. I made an Ape. A bigger head, a better shape. They seemed to know that I was there, And soon were swarming everywhere. “Come on!” I said, “Be more like me! I’m hungry for your company!” We painted caverns in Lascaux, I breathed on Michelangelo; Their voices overflowed with words And music richer than the birds. They made so many, many things, They filled the sky with metal wings, Their cities with expensive light No longer wanting sleep at night. They went from slates and scrolls and prayer To sending pictures through the air, From foot and horse and sailing ship To travel by computer chip. Now they are choking in their cars, Their litter orbiting the stars. Too late to save the forest trees, Too late for fish and manatees, Too late to stop the melting poles, To re-establish gender roles, Too late to stop them wanting more, To halt inevitable war. I visited... I will again, Disguised as ordinary men. But will they listen? Not a chance. I won’t get a second glance On local hustings, on TV; No-one now believes in me - Or even in the smart machines That model on dramatic screens The choices and their urgency That now besiege humanity. They hear the scientists’ advice But carry on. And pay the price. Yet, if they want to have their cake And eat it, this is my mistake. I said, ‘Go forth and multiply!’ Now half will freeze and half will fry, These billions struggling to be Immortal and a match for me. Amid the greed, amid the waste, My dereliction must be faced; I let the species dominate And sealed the lovely planet’s fate, As rarely has it ever been My policy to intervene. Must this creation be no more, Just like the hated dinosaur? Shall I now let a meteor crash? Or tomb them in volcanic ash? Or drown them in the rising tide Of filth that is their suicide? Shall all their tears, and hope, and prayer, And love, not get them anywhere? I am the God to whom they turned In vain when ancient cities burned - But I am the God who tried to teach Them grace of life and grace of speech. What can I do? I made the rules Kept by the wise, ignored by fools. What can I do? It’s nearly time, And still the temperatures climb. What shall I do? I must not make My third, and very worst, mistake. ............................................................... THE CHAIR Old Mrs Husband wonders where She can buy an electric chair. Does she need help with rising, sitting? Somewhere comfy to do her knitting? Or does she need a seat on wheels To whizz through Markses for bargain meals? Old Mrs Husband laughs and answers, ‘I can swing with the Strictly dancers. I can outpace the smartest feet From top to bottom of Mostyn Street, And lunch is at an hotel - my chief Indulgence, fillet of rare black beef.’ Old Mrs Husband smiles and rises. ‘Life should be filled with nice surprises. I like to party and love Design. Friends are coming for cheese and wine; I want to hear a delighted shout As chairs light up when the lights go out!’ Old Mrs Husband winks and adds ‘What would really excite the lads Would be a proper electric chair To strap them in for a trendy dare. But all the Gruesome Gerties had gone When I went looking on Amazon!’ Old Mrs Husband’s evening Do’s Are in the papers and on the News. Her centrepiece is a heated couch, A fit masseur in a posing pouch - And oldies queueing from everywhere For treatment in her electric chair! (... Old Mrs Husband is still on-line Implementing a dark design; She keeps in touch with a Texas jail Hoping they’ll have a chair for sale. She has the cellar with mains supply, And her life-long list of who must die ...) .................................................................. WHODUNNIT? Next to the gatepost, by the tree, Messages wait for Sniffy and me - Enemy poo or friendly pee? Whodunnit? Follow the perfume round a bend ... Out for adventure we find our friend, Pleasure expressed at either end, Whodunnit. Off to the woods, beside the stream, With bones to bury and dreams to dream, Three escapees are the perfect team, Whodunnit. Chasing tails in a badger hollow, Marking trails for our friends to follow, Who can resist a stinky wallow? Wedunnit! For lunch we find an exciting farm, Chivvy the sheep but do no harm ...? Outrun the shouts of enraged alarm - “Whodunnit?!?” Rapt in splendour of wool and mud, Only the tiniest hint of blood, Sniffy is dancing respect to Spud Whodunnit ... Down to the town for a scrumptious tea: Soulful eyes on a human knee And off with the plateful - it was we Whodunnit! Then into the square to greet the pack Smiling to have their heroes back, Eager for all the hunting craic; Wedunnit. BOXES 19 Senryu Boxes everywhere Closed, open, inside, outside Empty, full of air * Inbox outbox mail Pillar to post redacting Filing shredding us * Think out of the box Where you can cut to the chase And other clichés * Beware of the box Lest sprung free grimacing Jack Give you a heart attack * A box on the ear Damaging but in the groin Saving your lunch box * Junction boxes or Box junctions - you enter them both on pain of death * Serve your penalty - Finally out of the box Hope springs eternal * Into the black box Secret thousands of Xes Kisses or crosses * Orange in the rocks Not human debris this time Witness the Black Box * Box ... box ... box this lap Don’t kill the lollipop man Win from the pit lane * One green Ferrari Parked F1 Hybrid never Leaves its box * At the theatre Poor folk sit up in the Gods The Queen in a box * Raising the Tempest Needs a taller Prospero Fetch an orange box * Get on the ladder Choccy-box cottages tick Box after perfect box * In your Jewel Box Nothing to match the cluster Of heaven’s diamonds * Shoe-box cigar-box Gift box squirreling treasures Nothing is wasted * Next to the toy box A dressing-up box - watch out For teddies in drag * Without the one man In the box trains crash queens die And no Dr. Who * In front of the box Watching your world go by - soon You will leave in one ____________________________ MA'S MISSION A lady in the dock today Was charged with causing an affray, Criminal damage, and assault - But swore it was her victims’ fault. The pensioner told our reporter She was shopping with her daughter When a fascia caught her eye: FISH & CHIP’S AT SUPAFRY. “Now, I was taught to spell,” said she, “And handle the Apostrophe! My parents didn’t fight the Hun For all we built to be undone. If we are to be civilised Our English Grammar should be prized. Staring upward, getting madder, I said, ‘Susan, get a ladder.’ Flexing bi- and quadriceps We stole a window-cleaners’s steps. As Susan footed, up I went, And scrubbed until my breath was spent ... In tiny falling flakes of red The rogue apostrophe was dead! Too late the fryer and his queue Ran to the doorway; I and Sue Had quickly taken to our heels ... And then we heard the whoosh of wheels Behind us. How could I resist Copping a pavement cyclist? My blood was up; now I would do Something I always wanted to. My bag of eggs and milk and butter Toppled the blighter in the gutter. What a fracas! What a scene! After the police had been, The paramedics, biker’s Mum, While waiting for a brief to come, I took the chance to really hammer Home the need for proper grammar; Someone had to take a stand To get bad punctuation banned. And as for cycles on the path ...! I vented years of bottled wrath On PC Jones, who didn’t seem To care, and simply let me scream. And so I whacked him with my brolly. Yes, I was a total wally. Yes, I’ve had to pay the price - Six months suspended isn’t nice. But I shall keep a beady eye, Young man, on your report of my Crusade, and I shall tell the nation If you botch your punctuation!” Well, thats us told. Your Editor From now on in will honour her Grammatical authority, And make it’s rules priority. ............................................. THE VISITORS What a boom! Crack of doom - Every room Is quaking And shaking Things breaking From the club from the pub village hub running feet people meet in the street as they stare at the flare in the air Any light in the night is too bright To ignore and they saw more and more In the sky flashing by very high - Did a shock shatter rock and unlock Living light green & white on the night? Did a star fall too far leave a scar? Or a craft? Don't be daft they all laughed Was the fire in a gyre something's pyre? Academe Sent the cream Of their team Men in suits Shiny boots In cahoots With Whitehall Had a ball With it all - What a joke! Harried folk Never spoke In the drama One farmer Stayed calmer Took a swig Slew a pig Cut a twig From the boughs That allows You to dowse (With a fork) Took a walk With the pork In the night To the site Of the fright By an orch- ard his torch hit a scorch And he found Something round In the ground On the hill Farmer Bill Lit a grill Oh the smell On the fell wrought well - Only then Nine or ten Tiny men With noses Like hoses On roses Guts grumbling Feet stumbling Came tumbling To feast On the Beast Deceased Bill’s bacon Was taken Unshaken He set His net For a bet Purple eyes Silver thighs Were the prize But the farmer Sans armour Had karma - Raw meat Was a treat Razor jaw Silver claw Simply tore At the mesh And the fresh Human flesh How he bled As they fed On his head Not a stain Of his brain Would remain Not a hair Of him there Anywhere ... The police found a piece Of his fleece It was day- Light so they Got away No-one knows What still goes On in those Silent fells No-one yells No-one tells But each year People here Disappear ....................................................................................... SURVIVORS Spawned in a constellation Deep in the heart of space A wayward alien nation Grew to a master race. Trapped on a wasted planet, Damned by a raging star, They built their craft; but to man it Took them a step too far. They picked all the politicians, The cream of the world’s elite, Great scientists, skilled clinicians - But nobody off the street. They left the poor and the sickly With barely a month’s supplies And left for the stars too quickly To see the shock in their eyes. Silence came to the planet. A billion souls had died. Gone were the fools who ran it; Now the survivors tried. Gentle with plant and creature, Braving the Polar sun, They followed an ancient teacher In treating all life as one. Rain came back to the furrow, Fruit returned to the tree; New eyes blinked in the burrow, New fins flashed in the sea. The star in its violent cycle Moved on to a blissful calm, Promising men like Michael Hope for a struggling farm. Communities met and traded And centuries had gone by. Even the folklore faded Of the great escape to the sky. Heading for home one twilight After his flocks were fed Michael’s thoughts were of firelight, A welcoming wife, and bed. Nothing prepared him for drama, The scream of metal in air, And searing the eyes of the farmer A light no human could bear. Something the size of a nightmare Exploded through field and grain; Michael lay shaking in fright there, His soul and body all pain. How could he know what landed Was full of women and men Who, hopeless, lonely and stranded In space, had come home again? Time had warped on the voyage; The ship crashed into an Earth Struggling into the new age Bringing itself to birth. How could he know the wonders That under the hull were sealed? The plans, the dreams and the blunders That ended in Michael’s field? How could he hear the crying Or know that before his eyes The last of his kind were dying Who conquered the earth and skies? ... Their final act of destruction The crater that was his farm, Its years of scanty production Aborted; destroyed its charm. After the conflagration Villagers came to stare At the grave of an ancient nation That nobody knew was there. In time they gathered the metal Strewn over Michael’s soil, Learned how to work and fettle For tool and girder and coil. And metal became a token, Contending came with the skill. Ambition and fear were woken. Their future awaits them still ... ................................................................................................. VISITING TIME I wandered, lonely as a cloud Of smoke outside a cancer ward Where cigarettes are not allowed, And wondered where the drugs were stored. Inside that safe? Behind this door? I’d never cased the joint before. I sauntered through the coffee shop, Down disinfected corridors, On past the sluices, man with mop (I wonder if he ever scores) Averted gaze from turning heads In rows of most un-private beds. At last I found the pharmacy. “Hallo my love!” the lady smiled. “Who is it that you’ve come to see? Your Mum? Your Dad? Another child?” Behind her, stacked on every shelf The stash I needed for myself - Barbiturates, and methadone, And other stuff that I could sell. (I couldn’t pull this job alone; I’d have to bring a mate as well.) I would impress her. I’m no fool! “I’m learning medicine at school. I’ve done the body, done the brain; I’ve started on prescribing now. I really need your help to train - Miss said the doctors would allow Me in your store to make a list So I can be a specialist.” I don’t know why she rang the bell Or why the docs and coppers came. My spiel was going really well Until she asked me for my name. At dawn they raided my old crowd... I wander lonely in my cloud. .................................................................................... A LOVER’S PASSYONATTE REPLYE ( a metaphysickal sonet) Whereas two appels sittynge on a gait Do mounch eache othere, and do slyly mait, Do I oft wyshe thatt wee more often coulde; And synce wee cannot, I am verry wood. I looke upp att the Moone; shee ful wel knowes, Thy beauteous forme to mee shee sholde disclose, And I sholde drynke the honey of thyne eyen, And lie wyth thee, and mak thee wholly myne; But synce the dayes must Tortoys-lyk crawle bye, And nott lyk swyfte swallowës y-flye, Onn theyre harde bak moste paciount I must ryde, My wyngës clipt, my povre tong y-tyed; And wyth the swallowes sende my litel verse, And numbely wate for thee upon myne erse. ................................................................................................. EVER-DECREASING CIRCLES... Though I can be nobody else but me, If I were not myself, how would it be?... Myself would serve the soul of someone other - Not me - and I myself would rule another! Yet if I occupied this other I, I still would wonder how and where and why This other person lived who wasn’t me ... And so run on in circles endlessly! There is some consolation in the thought That someone somewhere equally is fraught With puzzlement - since he alone is he, Then how on earth can someone else be me??? ................................................................................................. REDISCOVERING RABBIT WEEK Does he think? Too small to be real, bearing A marked resemblance to the trousered rabbit; Apparently knitted, The only clear distinction between him and the thing with which He holds communion being The cap of golden fuzz over the ears And definitely fingers. Rabbit is an artifact, however. Verily knitted. Rabbit, flung, sprawls Uncomplaining. Rabbit chewed Is mercifully bloodless; Rabbit, Inspected and abused, deserves A medal for patience. As for the other Small cuniculomorph, Agent of these ritual indignities And muttered spells, There is more behind the Blue-bead eyes than bears question, Far more than old nylon stockings and foam chips, There is (and wonder at it) Sufficient Unto itself and still enough to spare Of magic mind Wherewith to gaze life into his woollen ally So I could swear The beast reciprocates the stare. - And does he think?? ................................................................................................. Christmas Letters Sue Robinson, Editor Radio Times 80, Wood Lane London W12 0TT November 16th 1996 Head of TV Drama’s New Year Sonnet I promise to announce the start At the beginning, and not part- Way through the hour’s dramatic art. I promise not to wreck the plot, Parading its climactic shot For weeks in every trailer slot. I promise not to fray the nerves Of those the Corporation serves By throwing fancy camera curves. I promise not to over-run, Delaying what should have begun, Spoiling the nation’s video fun; And promise - after the Star’s Wardrobe and Stunts - To credit the catchy theme music for once! Yours sincerely, pp the above-mentioned, Rev. Pamela A. F. Crane ................................................................................................ SARSAPARILLA My husband had to come to see How Pendle was - but minus me! And here acquired the pleasant habit Of sucking a Sarsaparilla Tablet. A friendly, enterprising chap, He dropped two packets in my lap On his return, and watched my face For signs of pleasure or grimace! To cut a happy story short, We soon were through the few he bought. It will be miles and months before We come back North and buy some more! So, could you post to us in Kent Enough to meet the cheque I’ve sent?... To last till Pendle calls again? Yours sincerely, Pamela Crane. ................................................................................................. MANALYSIS Obsessed and upset by the inexplicable fact, We live - a yellow sun between two darknesses That shadow and touch it with something infinite there, An Always inescapable where something precious is; But hidden under Time. Oppressed and beset by the inner splitting of fact We give a narrow - unforseen though hardness is - And shadowy muchness of nothing definite there, An all-ways inextricable and clumsy preciousness That isn't worth a dime. ( A bit of fun to rhyme!) ................................................................................................. SELF-SUFFICIENT Shouting between islands How Are You Signalling from peak to higher peak I Love You - whensoever the mist may clear - Shaking hands With a fellow briefly in a passing plane able to speak to you on several wavebands Happy Birthday Dear taking a turn as compère of the week I say again I wish you happiness in your sea-girt Sanctuary Wiping guano and turtle-dirt away from Beethoven and Vera Lynn with plenty of reasonably clean Sand to bury your head in I hope you enjoy Your cave No doubt you will employ a great deal of native ingenuity In making the most of such an opportunity To Save Have fun Among the birds, up in the Seventh Heaven And give my regards to Angels Eleven You won’t fall down; the fuels you will need are only words and a front seat in the Sun - Hot Air will keep you there Safe out of real touch real sight real sound Tucked away in a high womb you deeply care for the lack of loving-room Responsibly and gratefully aware of Us who wave and wonder from the ground with whom you share astounding Wisdom over the air We love you Yes we listen avidly to Number One for his Opinion amid the static Bones wither away under the skin a soul begins to Feel The cold and comes down out of the attic to make up on the missing Joie de Vivre Hot Pants Passion Emphatic Communiqués press handouts Lone Yachtsman kissing Miss Erotic Plastic Nineteen-thing Fell Flat we walk straight through you we never notice you we know you were never real visiting gods are inconceivable and in Spring hermits are out of fashion ................................................................................................. ARMAGEDDON The day the moon fell Music screamed up a nerve in the world The robins crowed like cockerels And the wind blew all the air away The day the moon fell Ice cracked the face of the sun There were blue strawberries And a rampant worm bit a sparrow in half The day the moon fell Love and hate collided and blew up The last Pope ran for Parliament And God met the funny side of hell ................................................................................................. ROMANUS ROMANO O come to the shade Of the cool colonnade - Don't bother with vestimenta! What use is a tunic To Roman or Punic? This is the community centre! Vel Gallic, vel Grecian Your friend Diocletian Invites you to bathe at your leisure. It's such fun to swim in (As well as the women!) The scenery promises pleasure Diverting to play with; And you have a way with The ladies that seems to amuse them. So let's make a foursome. Ointment? I'd adore some! But never mind clothes - we don't use them. ................................................................................................. ON THE BRINK ... to breathe this element of muted sound and think only the things that fishes do ...! I, squat on the parapet, look down. My mind, lapped in that weed-lucent brown Mapping the mossy under-arch with light hereunder shimmering ... lean over! Look! See? Touch it! (Not too far. Don't fall. Not yet.) Trickery, you see. The bright thing, like all wind-spun happiness, shook and left you to the darkness ... yea my mind moves to the slap and the sway of it. ... shall I be feeding the fishes, now? Or will the fishes give me to eat corals, rocksand, sunlight filtering, turtleshell, chilled fringes of moon; weed-broth from the crab's mouth and mud sifted in silver, seasoned with seed-pearls, served in a mussel-shell with a spoon? Come come, itty-bitty man! Come come! The fishes sing. One for Mummy, one for Daddy, eat your nice pudding! Ha! The blue waves. New and drinkable sky. Out there where the rainbow lives and soon shall I. The men who poison the rainbow poison the mind of me with an ill wind, and a sick rain, and they drive me to the sea; and the sun lies in a crooked way, and gods die as people pray, and fear spreads fungous through decay. But I shall soon be free ... ... soon in the sun-silk water I shall drop away, leaving my clothes behind, for there is blight on them. Soon I am ready. Are you coming with me? ... leaving your clothes behind, for there is blight on them. Why don't you take them off? Take off your clothes, I say! Your soul is rotting with it - I can see the mark, mark of a madman. Stay behind and save the world! I shall be under the bridges that you burn crowned with a crown of swimming sticklebacks to keep the twisted thorns out of my hair. Washed in the running radiance of pearls I'll have sweet skin, and I shall laugh! as stern Nemesis chokes you in your deadly air. ................................................................................................. PAINTWORK Cradled in the Mayor's Arms So many happy years, We knew our Dulux Weathershield (Affordable - we're not well-heeled!) Would last; but now the paint has peeled As the Millennium nears. It held the Hurricane at bay, It shimmered through the Drought, But lorries pounding through the night Shake wall and window, southern light Has bleached the blue and aged the white And cracks are opening out. Friends and strangers come to share A sanctuary here; Their welcome needs a shining door, Bright windows to the bedrooms four Whatever storms we have in store, To shelter and to cheer! ................................................................................................. THE BALLAD OF WILHELMINA POMEROY Now, Wilhelmina Pomeroy's Obsession was for Little Boys. It wasn't that she ... that ... ahem! ... She simply liked to look at them. So she, whene'er she found one rather Docile, took him home to Father. She stood them neatly in a row And gazed at them with eyes aglow. She soon had forty-two or so. And when it came to fifty-three, A few showed signs of jealousy! At length - un coup inattendu - A comely youth of twenty-two Whose name we will forbear to mention, Keyed to a pitch of nervous tension, Struck the lady as she passed! The chosen band looked on, agahast; (Miss Pomeroy, I must confess, Was put out by his forwardness) And then with cries of "Insurrection!" "This is done in self-protection!" "Down with revolutionaries!" "Equality is threatened! Where is Social equilibrium, Upset by antisocial scum?" With yells and threats and kicks and shouts They fell on him, unruly louts And bea him up, and then they hurled Him out into the lonely world. * * * They pinned a notice in the hall Enforcing Equal Rights For All. It was only fair and right That she should kiss them all goodnight, Said Wilhelmina, for she knew That everyone would want her to. So if she gave an extra squeeze To one, her duty was to please The others likewise - what is worse than To feel you are a displaced person? She little guessed there could be boys Who do not like Miss Pomeroys ... One evening she was halfway down The line, with kisses duly blown And planted with a dose of passion, When ... TwentySix refused his ration!!! Exasperated by the way She gloated over them all day He bravely pushed her face away! ... He shared his predecessor's fate. And then they saw him pass the gate One day, with a delightful girl - Not plain and Pomeroid; a pearl! She was no means to easy wealth But simply loved him for himself, And (which the idle are empty of) She gave him manliness and love. No bribery could stay them then! None but the silliest of men Could fail to see what they were missing, Hindered by Wilhelmina's kissing. * * * Broken glass lay on the floor. They had been gone an hour or more. They'd even jammed the wretched door. So now, alas, although she saw What she had been forsaken for, She couldn't try to understand. Ah! Bitter the revenge she planned! With fury trembling, she took Her blunderbuss from off its hook And saw her face distorted in Its surface to a horrid grin. The muzzle cold upon her breast, Her arms strained to the butt, she pressed The trigger. Wrecked beyond repair They found her - but they didn't care. ................................................................................................. THE BALLAD OF UNCLE GEORGE Uncle George was very smelly, Bright of eye and vast of belly, Moving like a mighty jelly Through the sea of our surprise. Rolling on to pass a hundred, ‘Why is he alive?’ we wondered, Wincing as his bowels thundered, Covering our furtive eyes. Was he ever pink and tiny? Helped to paddle in the briny? School-excited, birthday-shiny? How did Uncle George begin? The baker’s wife, a trifle tipsy, Broke her vows and jumped a gipsy. Weathered finger to his lips, he Sowed a secret in her skin. Forty weeks of floaty dressing Hid the sin at last confessing. If it were a curse or blessing Not an angel came to tell! Daisy’s brat was strange and skinny, Lost behind his mother’s pinny. When he sang, his tone was tinny Like a tiny cracking bell. He could make the horses whinny, Fondle foxes in the spinney; All the furry things and finny Knew the baby, knew the boy. Coaxing some bewildered creature Into school to meet his teacher, Up to church to hear the preacher, Was his mission and his joy. All the local dogs adored him - Ran to him and smiled and pawed him. Human children really bored him. He was of another kind. Many mocked him, found him frightening, Palms and fingers full of lightning! Tongues were wagging, knuckles whitening - What help could a mother find? Down the street there lived a lady (House and reputation shady) Known to all as Psychic Sadie. George and Daisy went along. Moons and stars hung from her ceiling. Sadie said, “You should be healing!” Told him that the fizzy feeling Meant that there was something wrong, Somebody in pain or sorrow Needing urgently to borrow George’s vital Chi. Tomorrow Nobody would laugh at him. This was quite a shock for Daisy As her grasp of Chi was hazy. Through her mind ran all the ways he Might go haywire. This was grim! George however was ecstatic; Now his life would be dramatic. Fasting in a rented attic He prepared for God’s demands. Word went out. At first a trickle Came, of people in a pickle, Throwing him their notes and nickel For the magic in his hands. Then the flood of people fighting For a glimpse of this exciting Youth; the cameras, the writing In the red-tops, on the wall ... Dicky backs and laryngitis, Measles, migraine and phlebitis, Scrapie, glanders and arthritis - George took on and beat them all. Farm and zoo had found a hero, Infestations down to zero. Local ponds and streams ran clear - oh, Blessings rained on George’s Chi! He could banish coughs and sneezes And all kinds of weird diseases. Some believed that George was Jesus. He was a celebrity! George’s soul was brightly burning; Everything he touched was turning To pure gold. But was he learning Vital lessons? Would he fall? Daisy watched him at a meeting. She could see he wasn’t eating, And the attic had no heating. No, he wasn’t well at all. All the healing, touring, courses Took their toll on his resources. “Puddings, sausages and sauces,” Daisy thought, “build up a man. But how to coax him home to feed him? Steal him from the folk who need him? Save my boy from those who bleed him?” She devised a little plan. Three strong lads in her employment In her debt for past enjoyment Would abduct him. For her boy meant Utterly the world to her. So poor shrivelled George was taken In the wee small hours, to waken In his old room - very shaken, With a soaring temperature. (You may ask, “Where’s Mr. Daisy?” He was dull and frankly lazy; Drove his wife and children crazy. Waste of time and waste of space. Once he had the ovens roaring Any thought of work was boring. Customers could hear him snoring Through the hanky on his face.) “Right,” said Daisy, “Now I’ve got you I shall be in charge of what you Eat. You’re running far too hot. You Need to cool it, simmer down. Now the Press know you adore them, They will pester. Just ignore them. They will see there’s nothing for them, Find some other media clown.” What a shock to George’s ego! Most of us unwind when we go Convalescing - how could he go As The Greatest Healer, sick? Daisy locked him in, protesting. Thirty years she kept him resting, Systematically divesting George of all that made him tick. Week by week his mother’s baking, Buns and crumpets she was making, Gorgeous cakes and pies, were taking Captive George to supersize. Garlic raw with every supper, Drops of Rescue in his cuppa, Guaranteed to balance up a Life devoid of exercise. Nothing now could harm the Healer. Daisy died, but George could feel her Close - and then she sent him Sheila Who would let him out again. So many years had passed! A giant George, both nervous and compliant Asked if he might see a client, Help a person in their pain. From the ether in a vision Daisy whispered her permission; Strictly on the one condition - That it must be clandestine. Every night as owls were flying Once again the sick and dying Came in secret, far from prying Eyes and ears, and stood in line Waiting for the magic fingers, Murmuring the words that bring us Still the holiness that lingers. Yards away, they caught the smell .. Ancient garlic sent them reeling; Some would flee, but others feeling Bold enough for George’s healing Held their breath, and then were well. And so was he. The Chi he gave them Came from Paradise to save them. Cameras? He ceased to crave them. His reward was not to die For twelve decades - enormous, smelly Superstar without a telly. Now the Bakery’s a Deli; George a secret in the sky. |