by Pam Crane
Met the story of his life.
Other impecunious cousins
Of the Queen had petting zoos,
Opened rooms to daily dozens -
Scores - of plebs in gawping queues;
In this way they scraped together
Just enough to make ends meet.
Thus the Upper Classes weather
Times that tax the Family Seat.
Not, alas, benighted Binky.
Every bank refused a loan;
Mater wrapped him round her pinkie;
Park and paths were overgrown …
… Single malt and Pater’s pistol
Shone beside the dying fire;
Binky’s mind was clear as crystal:
He would join the angel choir.
As he bit the deadly barrel
Did he hear a distant bell?...
Stumbling out in night apparel
To the hall, he all but fell.
“Francis Egan from Cuadrilla,”
Said the stranger on the line.
“I delayed this call until a
Friend suggested you would sign.
Pocock Hall is built on strata
Rich in gas. I understand
You and your disabled mater
Need to profit from your land?”
“Yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!” cried Binky
Egan then explained the drill.
“Locals may kick up a stink,” he
Said, “But watch your coffers fill!”
Byron Ingram Kingsley Pocock -
Binky to his titled friends -
Drills into ancestral bedrock
As the media pack descends ...
“Stop the Fracking!” scream the headlines
And the women from the town.
Press are over-running deadlines,
Getting all the gossip down.
Paparazzi flash and scramble
Over bushes, walls and gates;
Binky takes a massive gamble,
Alienating all his mates.
Waving an impressive banner
In the centre of the crowd,
Mistress of the nearest manor
Rosy Moseley, blonde and loud
Shouts, “I always loved you Pocock,
But you never looked my way.
All you wanted out of wedlock
Was a cash cow who would pay.
Now I absolutely hate you,
Bringing ruin to the shire!
Yes, you’ll get some girls to date you -
All the ones for public hire.
I am also on my uppers,
But I utterly disdain
Any popinjay who scuppers
Love and happiness for gain.”
Rosy Moseley! Who’d have thought it?
Binky stares at Pocock Hall;
Ever since Cuadrilla bought it
He has had no peace at all.
Fracking drills, and fracking Mater,
Fracking builders, fracking din ...
Thinks again of joining Pater;
Let his adversaries win.
Binky turns to the protesters,
Grabs a banner from the crowd;
Clearly Rosy’s hatred festers
But he may still make her proud.
“Come on Rosy! Come on people!
We’ve had more than we can stand!
Ring the bells from every steeple.
We are taking back our land.
Please forgive me. I am sorry,
So ashamed of selling out.
Hijack every fracking lorry!
Block the village roundabout!”
Could his future still be Rosy?
Could he make himself content,
Married somewhere small and cosy,
Furnished for a modest rent?
Binky finds the Fracking contract,
Stands among Cuadrilla’s foes;
“The environmental impact
Means this piece of paper goes.
Can we cancel lifetime leases?
I shall take the legal blows!”
Binky Pocock flings the pieces
Like confetti over Rose.
Forward to Index
THE BALLAD OF WILHELMINA POMEROY
Now, Wilhelmina Pomeroy's
Obsession was for Little Boys.
It wasn't that she ... that ... ahem! ...
She simply liked to look at them.
So she, whene'er she found one rather
Docile, took him home to Father.
She stood them neatly in a row
And gazed at them with eyes aglow.
She soon had forty-two or so.
And when it came to fifty-three,
A few showed signs of jealousy!
At length - un coup inattendu -
A comely youth of twenty-two
Whose name we will forbear to mention,
Keyed to a pitch of nervous tension,
Struck the lady as she passed!
The chosen band looked on, aghast;
(Miss Pomeroy, I must confess,
Was put out by his forwardness)
And then with cries of "Insurrection!"
"This is done in self-protection!"
"Down with revolutionaries!"
"Equality is threatened! Where is
Social equilibrium,
Upset by antisocial scum?"
With yells and threats and kicks and shouts
They fell on him, unruly louts
And bea him up, and then they hurled
Him out into the lonely world.
They pinned a notice in the hall
Enforcing Equal Rights For All.
It was only fair and right
That she should kiss them all goodnight,
Said Wilhelmina, for she knew
That everyone would want her to.
So if she gave an extra squeeze
To one, her duty was to please
The others likewise - what is worse than
To feel you are a displaced person?
She little guessed there could be boys
Who do not like Miss Pomeroys ...
One evening she was halfway down
The line, with kisses duly blown
And planted with a dose of passion,
When ... TwentySix refused his ration!!!
Exasperated by the way
She gloated over them all day
He bravely pushed her face away!
He shared his predecessor's fate.
And then they saw him pass the gate
One day, with a delightful girl -
Not plain and Pomeroid; a pearl!
She was no means to easy wealth
But simply loved him for himself,
And (which the idle are empty of)
She gave him manliness and love.
No bribery could stay them then!
None but the silliest of men
Could fail to see what they were missing,
Hindered by Wilhelmina's kissing.
… Broken glass lay on the floor.
They had been gone an hour or more.
They'd even jammed the wretched door.
So now, alas, although she saw
What she had been forsaken for,
She couldn't try to understand.
Ah! Bitter the revenge she planned!
With fury trembling, she took
Her blunderbuss from off its hook
And saw her face distorted in
Its surface to a horrid grin.
The muzzle cold upon her breast,
Her arms strained to the butt, she pressed
The trigger…
… Wrecked beyond repair
They found her - but they didn't care.
Forward to Index
Winners and Losers
(with apologies to Nelly The Elephant's original
lyricists, Ralph Butler & Peter Hart)
U. S. A:
The regular c
aucus came.
They chose an intelligent President -
Obama was his name.
One dark night
He had to leave again;
Two terms were spent and off he went
Never to serve again.
Barack Obama has packed his trunk
And said goodbye to the White House,
Making way for the Donald the Trump,
Trump, Trump, Trump.
Hillary Clinton has packed her trunk
And left by car for Chicago -
Off she’s sent by the Donald the Trump
Trump, Trump, Trump.
The end of the road was calling;
Soon came the day
When parties fight in the TV light
And the world can only pray.
So ... Barack Obama has packed his trunk;
But who says Hi to the White House?
Cruz? Or Sanders? Or Clinton? Or Trump?
Trump! Trump! Trump!
Night by night
They wooed the divided land
With Hillary leading the poll parade
But Trump so loud and grand.
No more tricks
Could Hillary perform;
He’s forced her now to take her bow
Amid the media storm.
Many a Democrat packed his trunk
And said goodbye to the caucus -
Off the back of the Donald the Trump,
Trump, Trump, Trump.
Every Republican packed his trunk
And said Hallo to the Congress;
In he went with the Donald the Trump,
Trump, Trump, Trump.
The rest of the world appalling,
Trump won the day!
His latest bride at his bloated side,
And the pressmen kept at bay.
Desert is spreading and ice has shrunk,
We wave goodbye to the jungle;
Life has lost when the winner is Trump.
Trump…
Trump. ..
Trump
Forward to Index
THE BALLAD OF UNCLE GEORGE
Uncle George was very smelly,
Bright of eye and vast of belly,
Moving like a mighty jelly
Through the sea of our surprise.
Rolling on to pass a hundred,
‘Why is he alive?’ we wondered,
Wincing as his bowels thundered,
Covering our furtive eyes.
Was he ever pink and tiny?
Helped to paddle in the briny?
School-excited, birthday-shiny?
How did Uncle George begin?
The baker’s wife, a trifle tipsy,
Broke her vows and jumped a gipsy.
Weathered finger to his lips, he
Sowed a secret in her skin.
Forty weeks of floaty dressing
Hid the sin at last confessing.
If it were a curse or blessing
Not an angel came to tell!
Daisy’s brat was strange and skinny,
Lost behind his mother’s pinny.
When he sang, his tone was tinny
Like a tiny cracking bell.
He could make the horses whinny,
Fondle foxes in the spinney;
All the furry things and finny
Knew the baby, knew the boy.
Coaxing some bewildered creature
Into school to meet his teacher,
Up to church to hear the preacher,
Was his mission and his joy.
All the local dogs adored him -
Ran to him and smiled and pawed him.
Human children really bored him.
He was of another kind.
Many mocked him, found him frightening,
Palms and fingers full of lightning!
Tongues were wagging, knuckles whitening -
What help could a mother find?
Down the street there lived a lady
(House and reputation shady)
Known to all as Psychic Sadie.
George and Daisy went along.
Moons and stars hung from her ceiling.
Sadie said, “You should be healing!”
Told him that the fizzy feeling
Meant that there was something wrong,
Somebody in pain or sorrow
Needing urgently to borrow
George’s vital Chi. Tomorrow
Nobody would laugh at him.
This was quite a shock for Daisy
As her grasp of Chi was hazy.
Through her mind ran all the ways he
Might go haywire. This was grim!
George however was ecstatic;
Now his life would be dramatic.
Fasting in a rented attic
He prepared for God’s demands.
Word went out. At first a trickle
Came, of people in a pickle,
Throwing him their notes and nickel
For the magic in his hands.
Then the flood of people fighting
For a glimpse of this exciting
Youth; the cameras, the writing
In the red-tops, on the wall ...
Dicky backs and laryngitis,
Measles, migraine and phlebitis,
Scrapie, glanders and arthritis -
George took on and beat them all.
Farm and zoo had found a hero,
Infestations down to zero.
Local ponds and streams ran clear - oh,
Blessings rained on George’s Chi!
He could banish coughs and sneezes
And all kinds of weird diseases.
Some believed that George was Jesus.
He was a celebrity!
George’s soul was brightly burning;
Everything he touched was turning
To pure gold. But was he learning
Vital lessons? Would he fall?
Daisy watched him at a meeting.
She could see he wasn’t eating,
And the attic had no heating.
No, he wasn’t well at all.
All the healing, touring, courses
Took their toll on his resources.
“Puddings, sausages and sauces,”
Daisy thought, “build up a man.
But how to coax him home to feed him?
Steal him from the folk who need him?
Save my boy from those who bleed him?”
She devised a little plan.
Three strong lads in her employment
In her debt for past enjoyment
Would abduct him. For her boy meant
Utterly the world to her.
So poor shrivelled George was taken
In the wee small hours, to waken
In his old room - very shaken,
With a soaring temperature.
(You may ask, “Where’s Mr. Daisy?”
He was dull and frankly lazy;
Drove his wife and children crazy.
Waste of time and waste of space.
Once he had the ovens roaring
Any thought of work was boring.
Customers could hear him snoring
Through the hanky on his face.)
“Right,” said Daisy, “Now I’ve got you
I shall be in charge of what you
Eat. You’re running far too hot. You
Need to cool it, simmer down.
Now the Press know you adore them,
They will pester. Just ignore them.
They will see there’s nothing for them,
Find some other media clown.”
What a shock to George’s ego!
Most of us unwind when we go
Convalescing - how could he go
As The Greatest Healer, sick?
Daisy locked him in, protesting.
Thirty years she kept him resting,
Systematically divesting
George of all that made him tick.
/>
Week by week his mother’s baking,
Buns and crumpets she was making,
Gorgeous cakes and pies, were taking
Captive George to supersize.
Garlic raw with every supper,
Drops of Rescue in his cuppa,
Guaranteed to balance up a
Life devoid of exercise.
Nothing now could harm the Healer.
Daisy died, but George could feel her
Close - and then she sent him Sheila
Who would let him out again.
So many years had passed! A giant
George, both nervous and compliant
Asked if he might see a client,
Help a person in their pain.
From the ether in a vision
Daisy whispered her permission;
Strictly on the one condition -
That it must be clandestine.
Every night as owls were flying
Once again the sick and dying
Came in secret, far from prying
Eyes and ears, and stood in line
Waiting for the magic fingers,
Murmuring the words that bring us
Still the holiness that lingers.
Yards away, they caught the smell ..
Ancient garlic sent them reeling;
Some would flee, but others feeling
Bold enough for George’s healing
Held their breath, and then were well.
And so was he. The Chi he gave them
Came from Paradise to save them.
Cameras? He ceased to crave them.
His reward was not to die
For twelve decades - enormous, smelly
Superstar without a telly.
Now the Bakery’s a Deli;
George a secret in the sky.
Forward to Index
BIG BANG
One day which never existed,
God
in solitary rage surprised Himself with a Thought
so unsustainable in the here-to-fore
He cracked the unflawed sheer shimmer
of Monad in Equilibrium,
He broke Mind
mirrored in all directions,
He shivered Infinity
and the incorporeal mighty Hand that held it,
thus beginning seven days of Bad Luck
as Time was born in the vortex.
Being God,
Resourceful, He stretched forth His other hand
upon the vortex, with an opposite charge -
And Said: LET THERE BE LIGHT, and There Was Light
flashing from splinter to splinter, aeon to age;
suns of a shattered hand blinked fire into and out of a myriad million dizzy reflections
glinting Godhead back,
