I TOLD YOU THERE’S NO ONE THERE
Some folks on the road to heaven
Are tempted to go astray.
All knew Parson Brown was one of these,
And golf what he wanted to play.
For he was only human.
But his flock didn’t see it that way.
“A vicar succumbing while we’re around?
Say, that’ll be the day!”
So every time he drove past the course
He saw the windows wide
And knew well that his stern parishioners
Were watching from the other side.
His frustration raged within him
Till he woke one morning at five.
The weather was fine and they were all asleep
As he crept down to the drive.
He quickly made his way to the course
And headed out for the first green,
Chuckling at the thought of what he was doing
And all without being seen.
But he’d forgotten the Angel Michael,
Who roused God from his forty winks
And said, “Wake up, Sire, it’s Parson Brown
And he’s out there on’t links!”
“Then I must punish him,” said God.
“As you know, it’s my wont with men.
And I promise you one thing, Michael;
That he won’t do this again!”
The vicar meanwhile was teeing off
In the early morning sun
But what a surprise he got when he found
That he’d scored a hole in one.
“Lord have mercy,” he exclaimed,
“Mercy upon my soul.”
But he’d even stronger language
When it happened at the second hole.
He went on to complete his hat trick;
Such golfing must astound.
The only man in history
To achieve an eighteen stroke round.
Even Michael, who’d watched the whole thing,
Couldn’t quite take it all in.
“But … but … but …” he spluttered to God,
“Tell me, how will THAT punish his sin?”
A wicked smile traversed God’s face,
And he answered, “Extremely well.
You and I may know what happened
But who can Parson Brown tell?”
~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~
Note that both God and Michael have broad Yorkshire accents.
There is no real “No”
To the ultimate question
Just “Yes” or “Later”
OPEN ALL HOURS
Caught without an idea
Alive in livedness
Covers her breasts and crotch
An untamed voice cries out
“Here’s to awakening”
And the clink of glasses
Resounds from shore to shore
POUR ME A STIFF ONE
Black cocktail shaker
Timespace is shaken then stirred
It’s all in the mind
The conductor cries
“End of the line! All change please!”
Passengers wake up
Look round for their possessions
But no pockets in a shroud