Moving mountains
Time has a way of counting itself as it unravels. Here is a poem that's in time as it happens...
A random breath of fresh air
And figure skating on the number eight to boot
Was moving mountains
And coming in to land
To the tune of
A lawsuit in September
Is better than bringing a flame thrower to a ball game
At a boxing match
Unless you’re fast Eddy who can stop on a dime.
This, of course is an abbreviation
Of what really went on
And shouldn’t be confused with how it is now
Or at any other time
But suffice to say
A personal dagger with a different attitude
Had gone as far as it could shout
Before it ran out of puff
And dropped to the ground exhausted.
The very wind of its passing
Had shook a small tree to surrender
The roots of twenty five bucks
Into the hands of a thousand words
Who’d been entertaining the sugarless cry
But could now afford Candy.
It was a European thing
That had jumped across the pond
And infected the minds of the unwary
Who didn’t know what day it was
But could always be relied upon to tell you
Even when you were out walking the dog
Of a Sunday
With your hands in your pockets
And minding your own business.
Long was the winter
And cold and dark were the nights to come
And deeper still the snow
That would cover the land from end to end
With its white indifference and beauty
But was a long time away from the now
Of a hot sweltering summer
Where fifteen jars of mustard
And don’t talk to me now
Were arguing over a suitcase full of money
When the bell rang for the end days
To come and change everything.
Spilt milk
Who was a survivor
And had a funny face
Patented over at the patents office
Was watching the flies buzzing around his head
When he heard the bell
And so ran as fast as he could for the shelter
That was only accepting those
Of the highest personal values and calibrated attitudes.
They had run out of mustard for the chips
And so were glad to see fifteen jars
Of mustard coming
But not so much his friends.
When don’t talk to me now
Rolled up in his new jag
He was given a security pass
And told to go hide under the stairs
Where the god fearing lot were holed up
Full of fear
That was making the stairs shake a little bit.
“Keep it down in there,” boomed out done for a bonus
And banged his big stick on the door
That rattled it like the hand of god.
Calling out for more were the audience
Who were a daft lot from Wisconsin
Who were prepping themselves for the final ending
That was long overdue
And checking their tickets
To see if they were in the right theatre or not.
Shirley Dolly from south of the border
And her team
Were making sandwiches out of greasy chickens
When fifteen jars of mustard came in
Carrying the suitcase full of money
And so were put to work most laboriously
Mending fences
And collecting coupons of old junk
That said the revolution was spent
And it was now time to pray
Which no one took any notice of
Because they’d heard it all before.
Going for a song put some music on the music machine
And everyone felt at home
In the church of the empirically insane
Which was the first religion ever invented
By the hand of man
But had been lost until now
Because of all the other ones
That had come along
Over the last twenty thousand years
And had displaced it
But was now going strong again with all the new members.
When never dance on Sunday
Put her head around the door and said:
“We shall be blasting off in five minutes so better get ready,”
Everyone cheered and ran for their blast-off seats
That were bolted to the floor
And had been put there for the second coming
And so that everyone could get a good view
But were now seconded for the great escape
“I’m of a mind to put in a good word for you,” said Flavius
Who was at the controls
And talking to a strange looking guy
Who kept saying he was the second coming
And so had been put to washing the windows
And was doing a good job of it.
Don’t look now was the co-pilot
And was warming up the engines
And eating a greasy chicken and mustard sandwich
That he’d found in his pocket
And was quite prepared to die trying
If he was called to do so by the captain
Who was a burly man and had been first cabin boy
On The Arc so long ago now
That his beard had grown to his knees
And was bowing in sympathy to the arthritis in them.
The unopened letter from the queen of England
Had a seal of approval
That only the captain could break
But he was saving it for a treat
Until after blast off
And also too, the guards of prophesy
And nine inches long
Were keeping a close lid on things
Just in case the conspiracy theorists
Had a blabbing spy in their midst.
Come by yur
From Welsh Wales and a tourist
Had won his ticket in a card game
And was now making up the numbers
In the greatest endeavour of all time
To escape the Earth
And leave all the troubles behind
In a space ship made out of crystals
That had been discovered in a cave in Mongolia
Of a hermit
Who had disappeared without trace.
No end of trouble
Was in the engine room pushing buttons
And pulling levers
And had red sauce on his chin from dinner
While dragon Billy from Dunfermline
Was down the sump hole looking for a lost spanner
And give me sixpence for my fallen teeth
Was swinging back and fore in his carry cot
Suspended from the beams
And oblivious to everything
But the judgement spider
Who was off the job
And would get called out for it later.
“Look sharp,” said the captain
To bumpkin Jim who’d just got out of bed
And who was from the Outer Hebrides.
The rest of the crew grinned at this
With rusty broken teeth
Ruffians all
Picked from out of the worst bruisers
The police could supply
To keep order in the deep darks where they were headed.
“Can we have some silence please,”
Called out a voice through the tannoy
And with nothing new to say
Went back to bed
And just as she was nodding off there came the order:
“Now hear this; now hear this,”
Said the captain with a frog in his throat that went:
Rivet, rivet, nee deep.
Sorry for a dog and bone who was from London
Came close to surrender then
But held it back out of embarrassment
For fear of reprisals
But needn’t have because nobody was looking.
“Can I have my ball back?”
Said running for a fever
And playing with the Holy Ghost
To the captain who waved
The request away without any thought.
HC who was a coconut for Mary in the typing pool
And fresh off the tree
Was doing the ole one two in the gym
When he was bumped into by the mad bomber
From hell
Who was scheming to blow up everything.
“Watch out,” said HC
Who was also a mind reader
And apprentice escape and snake artist from down below.
The mad bomber drew his sharp tongue
And was just about to lunge with it
When the five fingered hand
Who was from another story
Came over
From where he was drawing the curtain on his life and said:
“’Ere, what’s your game then?”
To the mad bomber
Who fell back in surprise
And then turned about and fled
Down the corridors of the ship
And was in close pursuit by the five fingered hand
Who began to gain on him rapidly.
On coming to an open window
The mad bomber dived through
And hitched a ride to Sausalito
Where a back-up ship was ready to go
But is top secret so we can’t talk about that yet.
The five fingered hand gave up running
After a while
And retired into the gravy business
And that’s top secret too so we can’t talk about that either.
Not since the great earth quake of sixty three
Had no bones for jelly been moved so much
And now, helpless in laughter
Was beginning to wonder how to calm down
And if it was a permanent state.
Tally ho, the crunchy flavour of the day
On the other hand had found his missing wheel
And was so overjoyed to be reunited with it
That after phoning up the police to call off the search
He began tap dancing on the wooden floor
And so forever more shall be remembered for doing just that.
“Not that it’s any of your business,”
Said the long dark winter from its hiding place.
“Oh go back to sleep, I like tap dancing,”
Said the son of man
Annoyed that the long dark winter
Was creeping into this story so much.
“And I like ice cream,”
Said the resignation letter of the day secretly wishing for rain.
Anyway, after the space ship blasted off
For the dark deep
The Earth was quiet for a time
And then all returned to normal.
“PS, don’t tell anyone about all this, it’s classified,”
Said the mermaid
To the fairy in the ocean of longitudinal surprise.
“Of course I won’t,” said the fairy, smiling.
Out for the count was monitoring the ship
As it made its way out into the dark deep
When he saw a bright light
That had the signature of a time delayed bomb
And then the light winked out
So he closed the curtains of his bedroom window
And went back to sleep.
And so the comical farce of all this is
Make sure you have a good ending to round it all off
Or the gremlins will come out of the woodwork
To make you sing for your supper.
Image from Pixabay