When the pen takes control.

Although Mary Poppins it’s plain to see

did not possess a medicine degree

as a person she seemed so nice

we all should listen to her advice

and have a spoonful of sugar.

Walking on the crack in the pavement

when young was the path to bereavement

but if you take a look at this picture it’s clear

the reason why for us it used to hold such fear

if you stood on a flower before it opened in the sun

of food for the bees then there would be none.

For those who are interested in history

cast your minds back to seventeen seventy three

because in that year far across the sea

we had the famous Boston tea party

on the throne of England was young George three

and some rich men formed the East India Company

who controlled parliament or so it would seem

who were granted an unfair monopoly

it had to do with the lucrative trade in tea

and in the end lost Britain a major colony

starting the war of Independence you see

I say he but in truth there was an androgenous figure dressed in a silver-white shimmering toga-like cloak. A pair of bare legs ended in pale brown leather sandals. Two black, unblinking eyes stared at me from a white, bloodless face. My first thought was angel but there was something unsettling in the softly uttered, “Please come in, we have been expecting you.” My surprise was even greater when I realised that as I passed through the doorway it did not lead into any form of room, indeed there was no building at all, instead there was just a short passage of what looked like medieval tiles which lead to an open stone archway, through which I saw an unkempt grassy garden bordered by an overgrown hedge. “But, but,” I started to say but my host placed an arm around my shoulder and gently pressed me forward.

I can sense again the restless river

with tumbling torrents rushing over

gorges carved through granite boulders

we silver salmon leaping, falling

our ancestral urges calling, calling

and I recognise the beds of shingle

where with the hens I meet and mingle

briefly there we all do pause

and consummation our sole cause

now my race is run, new life begun

For many months, perhaps even years we had admired the old brick wall, with its coating of many coloured lichen and the apparently bleached patches, seemingly caused by the leaching of salt over the years. Although looking relatively new, the dark-stained door which we had never seen open conjured up all sorts of stories in our minds as to what terrors or even delights lay behind the intriguing facade. The bell pull was like something out of a Hammer vampire movie and it was just my luck that I had been picked to pull the bell, not to run off as with so many other doorbells but to wait and see who would answer the call. Whilst the others waited at a safe distance I approached and trying to show complete unconcern gave the handle a long tug. It moved easily and after a short while the door opened slowly inwards and to my amazement there he stood.

There was once a quite comely wench

who would often come and chat to all on this bench

she had inviting red lips

and her skirts just covered her hips

to say goodbye was always a wrench

Atop a pedestal a plate of metal shows

In sharply incised lines and holes

a skyward stele using shade and light

each daily path of Hyperions flight