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.
Is this cup I hold here half empty
Or else, as some would have me think, half full?
A troubling conundrum, eternally insoluble
Yet quickly resolved by simply letting go
Full of confidence, the tortoise
Challenges his friend the hare to a race
“Just give me a ten yard start,” he says
“And you’ll never catch me,” he boasts
And he’s right, for whenever Hare reaches the spot
The tortoise has already gone
Still … When the hare has gone twenty yards
Where is the tortoise then?
Imagine a goose in a narrow-necked glass bottle
How can you get the goose out of the bottle
Without either of them coming to any harm?
Easily … There; it’s free
A puzzle you might find more tricky
History professors can’t answer it
Scientists still haven’t solved it
Which came first: the chicken or the egg?
MADLY IN LOVE
Her life redrawn as a comic strip … sans comedy.
No longer that dynamic duo. Batteries flat.
Bats in the belfry, robbin’ bewildered senses blind.
And … adrift might best describe it. Hooked, blind and snookered.
…..(He is the one?)
Even lying beside her, not truly here, he lies
oceans away, behind cold fronts, lines of icy bars,
biting winds, squalls of temper, hurricanes of contempt.
Comforts herself with poetry and sweet memories
…..(He is the one!)
that turn to nightmares where he’s drowning, calling her name.
Then she is there, reviving him (mouth to mouth, of course).
Waking to find him gone she recaulks her leaky fancies,
sets her sails for yet another day tacking upwind.
…..(He is the one!)
Eschewing havens, but never her hope, she soldiers on,
soiled sails reduced to tatters, she rows from pole to pole,
trawls the seven seas. Her treasure? Nowhere to be seen.
He has unfurled his true colours: the skull and crossbones.
…..(He is the gone.)
CRY OF LOVE
The matchless triumph of surrender …
Beside the queen’s pavilion
The shriven mendicant
Waits alone for execution
Staring into space out of the deep unknown
His will to immolation
Touches a sudden spring
That opens a secret door
Gateway to reminiscence
Dreams that come to nothing revisited
Ghosts shimmer in the walls
And say: Yes, I came this way
Dismantled all my posits
Reappropriated my a prioris …
The truth has no talons
In an ocean of aimless pursuits
Give me the strength of arms
That I may embrace the fear
Give then to me a great fortune
That I may embrace the small change
Give me the disciplines of art
That I may embrace the unruly
Give me your stockinged pillories
That I may embrace the sweet smile of God
Come here, dear sister, whose eyes
Beckon timidly but nonetheless
Back at me from the mirror
Lay down, my love, and be at ease
If love to living lends the flavour
You would be tasteless not to share
This cup where two as one may savour
The mystery beyond compare
The seasoned year time’s greed devours
As sweet with bitter intertwines
But love works sorcery with the hours
Like the fermenting of rare wines
Yet love’s no splendour quite so splendid
Nor seems to promise quite so much
As when its flavour hangs suspended
Between a suspicion and a touch
I know now why it is
I was born with two hands
The first is to beckon you
The other to push you away
A BETTER FUTURE
Let us dream a better future into life
That life that lies inert unenvisioned
Let us breathe it into manifestation
In words and thus in time into flesh
You should … er … Do this
You should … er … Not do that
Thus you should-er the burden
Responsibilities … A heavy weight
Two parallel worlds
Spin out of control