Gimme The Noonlight

A riff and a rap on Edith Sitwell’s ‘Façade’

Dame Edith Sitwell ..’ British Poet … 1887 – 1964

gimme the noon-light
gimme a twirl
I’ll come up trumps
my banner unfurl
that Edith was mad
yet made us all glad
with Beelzebub’s story
all hunky-dory
to consider her metre
ashes and saltpetre
anything dare
her nonsensical verse
both a boon and a curse
rapper extraordinaire
meaning averse
step-laddered verse
my first prolonged affair
to do and to dare
over our heads
but like newly weds
always a-bed
whim-led
vital yet dead
while known only to me
the waves of the sea
thrash
crash and smash
on the cusp of the shore
sea-elephant glum
mindless on rum
… but none of them come
forevermore dead
in Beelzebub’s bed

Many recorded versions of Edith Sitwell’s ‘Sir Beelzebub’ (‘Facade’) can be explored on YouTube.
The link below will take you to a version read by Anthony Burgess . . .

Omen Of Doubt

ON OMEN OF DOUBT

He caught my eye in the heat of afternoon
Transfixed my gaze for seconds
A cardboard cutout of a man
Alone and palely loitering

Transfixed
Imprinted in  that fleeting glance
The bespoke figure etched in my vision’s glass
Brought a faltering wisdom

Leaning on my sense of time
Disturbing my sense of normality
Suggesting some bizarre fantasy
Relating to Old Father Time
A reminder of both past and present
Yet warning of what is to come
A comment on my state of mind
And on my own unstable sanity
A pronouncement best left to fade
To curdle in the whey
Of a newly felt despondency.

The sense that age had brought me no peace
Only an uncertainty
That caused me to doubt
Not only my present vision
But my once accepted faith
in a sure future
Hitherto grounded in certainty
But now clouded in the unknown
And coloured in the shadows of doubt

Photo: WHB – Surrey, England – 2020

The Sting of the Serpent

Photo by Jan Kopu0159iva on Pexels.com

Oh the thrill
it is with me still
As the dream persists
for good or ill

But to recapture its flavour
each time it occurs
is never to savour
the tang
that taste
of the original

The first touch
was always the best
for then
before the sting
had been sucked
before the loss
of its life blood
now decayed
the essence that made
the sharpness that gave
the serpent’s bite
the bitter tang
of its toxic fang

So little remains
to colour that
repeating dream
its haunting theme
that stays
to haunt
my dimming days
to drown my
darkening nights

A Reverie

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Reverie

Woebeguileful
Slake my thirst
Kiss me quickly
But hurt me first

For that’s the way
The cookie crumbled
Feet up first
Safely rumbled

Try to take me
Test my twitch
For as long as it lasts
My heart will itch

So tell me teacher 
Tick my box
No more teasing 
Suck my socks

Test my oompah
Play no tricks
Take the tablets
Have a fix

Rid me of all misconception
Stick my pallid interjections
Take them where the sun won’t shine
No half measures
Taste the wine

 

Book Swap – Red Renaissance

Photo: WHB … In a Devonshire Village – 2019

Book Swap – Red Renaissance

Why not? 
The phone now silenced
Calm contemplation
corners the kiosk
The urgent queue
becomes now
The Silence of the Library

Culture creep
now succeeding conversation
Cerebral centre for sure
Telephone Exchange
gives way to
Book Exchange

A new purpose in life
for the
candid kiosk
Lifeline for the lonely 
Book Barter 
brings back to back
book for book
blood red fervour
to the village

Once the life saviour
Now given
to silent contemplation
Shilling meter
and B button gone

Silence Of The Lambs
and Passage To India
now broadening 
Lost Horizons

Gormenghast
and Shades Of Grey
fostering Fantasy for 
lonely locals

A Rebirth for
communication 
Red Renaissance
for both Book and Booth

 

My Fantasy

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I’ve lived outside my fantasy
But now I’m moving in
Reality removes itself 
No chance I’ll let it win

The safe distance I have kept
Recedes, becomes the past, 
And dreams become the truth for me
My day has dawned at last

Life and love are now as one
Merging desire and hope 
Becoming all that promise meant
Ensuring I will cope.

 

 

The FOLLY

THE  FOLLY

 

It might well be a fancy flight
a seemly sight
to pierce the night

The ruin stands by planned design 
stately in its verdant dell
beside the lake
a tableau there 
no history to tell

Reflections guaranteed to please 
float beside its stones
imaging false contrast
in the water’s mirror
a mirage of a potent past

To build a ruin seems absurd
why would you do it
the thought occurred

Perhaps to glory in the past
show time has passed
and nought can last

But as I wander within its wall
dark and damp
and weather worn
stained in moss
and ivy clad
I feel that here
real history lies
a tale so sad
a mystery

I do recall how
in its recent age
it yet was young
was burnished bright
both stone and tiles
a comely sight

To see an abbey in its prime
no sort of crime
merely a jest with time

Fanciful, a fantasy, 
undoubtedly a fallacy
yet
reflection of a legacy
portrayal of a history

 

MIND GAMES

MIND GAMES

Enigmatic
Covert
Whimsical and wild
Such are the games I play
Whilst mentally beguiled

Hidden within poetry
In discursive verse
My clandestine love affairs
Short
intense
And terse

Give to me a reason
Why thus I can’t express
My mind’s adventurous spirit
My need to seek excess

To open up
Revealing all
Whilst midst the subterfuge
My ego seeks adrenaline
A haven
A refuge

Its all a nonsense
Words at play
Fending off my fears
Seeking to screen my inner hurt
Reality kept at bay