No. Not Muddy Waters, Nor even Crystal Waters. It was Still Waters. Yes, that’s what we called him.
He called himself Walter. Walter Waters from Watford And places South of the Gap. My one-time boss Head man Big chief of the Trendy Tribe Leader of the Pliant Pack.
I could never fathom him. Not him Nor his fawning hangers-on. Still waters run deep they say. I’d say that still waters are stagnant, Not much running there Algae-filled, dark green and smelly – Rancid in fact, And deliriously avoidable.
Yes, that’s him without doubt. Going nowhere – fast or any other speed. Him to a ‘t’ ; a Capital ‘T’. I’d say that fits his bill.
Yet he thinks he’s life and soul of the party. God’s Gift to the Agency.
Some party! Some life?! Worth a dream, But never a second meeting.
Magic is the catalyst for change It stirs the open mind Bringing meaning to Mystery Blessings to Belief
And when the cauldron of mist is stirred Then both the Gloom And the Glitter are captured Restrained Resuscitated Then allowed to flourish
To become hope for the future Of the world’s Sorcery The creation of a new reality The super and the supra-natural essence Of what has been The foundation of what will yet be Channeling the birthright of an abiding And more fulfilling Necromancy.