A partly cloudy day befalls the stage;
Actors from left to night remain a page.
It looks to me like the iconic photo was shot on a Sunday
Behind an abbey that was soundless with loud prayers
The traffic was more human than mechanical
On the broad, asphalted spine of a skinned, dead zebra
Where four men created a useful, eye-catching scene
With their stern military march of youthful legs,
Coming together, yet drifting solemnly apart,
Each carrying that weight of something serious.
Why did the chicken cross Abbey Road?
Because it was there,
but which came first?
Obviously, not the egg,
as it has no legs.
The first chicken to cross the road,
feeling peckish,
not one to throw in the towel,
when told, 'Walk, don't run a fowl,'
and, faster than a speeding pullet,
or so it is said,
was one giant leap for poultry,
one small step
for a Rhode Island Red.
But, by the look on the freckled face
of the old speckled hen,
arriving alive on the other side,
her tranquility was not expanded,
when she heard the words announced,
'The Eagle has landed!'
The most recognizable album cover in history, the photo of the
Beatles crossing Abbey Road, taken in the summer of sixty nine,
fifteen minutes before noon on August eight to be précised.
An iconic album cover for the image resonated with the fans.
There are wall posters of this photo and it seems men, my age,
in music industry have one in their living rooms or studios.
The photograph of the most influential band in the world walking
on a zebra crossing became one of the most imitated of all time.
I am one of those who imitated it five months ago, 19 of October
at eleven fifty in the morning, when we had photos taken crossing
Abbey Road, amidst a busy road in northwest London in St. John’s Wood
in the city of Westminster, outside Abbey Road Studios, formerly EMI.
We crossed Abbey Road in single file with me leading, followed by my
daughter and my granddaughter with our fourth person, my grandson
taking the pictures so he was not included, kind of disappointing.
How I wish we were there on October 9, John Lennon and my birthday.
The Fab Four crossing Abbey Road in single file, led by John in white suit
and shoes, followed by Ringo in black suit and shoes, bare footed Paul
in gray suit and George in denim and white shoes, all in synced with left
foot forward, except Paul and their short shadows inside the crossing.
Tree and parked car lined road under a clear blue sky, brown flats
peeking or towering the green trees and a bystander on the right
side and cars in both lanes a long way off, no traffic, no pedestrians
on a sunny, midday, based on the shadows in Abbey Road in London.
No album title, no band’s name and no artist name, just an image so
simple and memorable, the band casually crossing Abbey Road in a
moment of stillness that became one of the famous artworks in
history and album cover of all time and one of the most imitated.
Westminster Abbey
if only it could speak
ah... the stories
Dawn to dusk
Redeems our chant
And Monks gather to thee
In Chorus we sing
Hallelujah power and glory be
Trumpets the Angels
Oh so heavenly
We drink of love the life of his blood
We thirst for peace on Earth
Amongst the tabernacle
Echoes the masonary
Our prayer of past in my heart
born are scriptures
Our history
The goat kneels upon the havoc
Witness the angels who see
To the left is his pew
Upon the velvet sewn
By fair hand
Mary Our mother
Praise she's coming home
The bread of life the blood in you
We feed to thee
In Chorus we sing
The lambs are we
Hallelujah power and glory be
Trumpets the Angels
Oh so heavenly
The lamb kneels upon the havoc
Witness the angels who see
To the right we sit
Upon the velvet sewn
By fair hand
Mary Our mother
She has returned
We are coming home
Buckfast Abbey
Stone, kissed by salt, sighs on the isle,
A Gothic spine, against the tide's guile —
eight centuries, etched in weathered stone,
A whispered prayer, a lonely throne.
Granite fingers, reaching for the sky,
Embrace the sun, as shadows fly.
As a timeless grace, the abbey stands as
A sanctuary in this watery space.
The sea, a restless, murmuring friend,
Whispers tales, to the tide's relentless end.
Each ebb and flow, a rhythmic beat,
A soul's lament, on an island's feet.
Columns rise, like ancient trees,
Reaching heaven in the salt-laced breeze.
Tranquil silence fills the air,
Faith's fragile bloom is beyond compare.
Granite heart, a watchful eye,
On shifting sand and moonlit sky.
Time, a tide, relentlessly sweeps,
The abbey stands; its purpose remains.
A whispered hymn, on wind-blown waves,
Hope, a beacon, on these lonely caves.
The abbey's soul, a steadfast light,
A testament, to human might.
In the abbey lived Friar McFunk,
Who pounded piano while drunk,
But to pay for his rye,
Was caught robbing the tythe,
Now they call him Felonious Monk.
Can a teenage girl possibly thrive
On six-inches of masculine drive?
If you can revive
Then you will survive
As six-inches chugs better than five!
Within these abandoned stone abbey walls
An old coffin can be seen on the site—
And strange sounds from the creatures of the night
Are heard echoing through the empty halls.
The vampire keeps sleeping until night falls—
Waiting for another victim to bite.
Once there is no longer any sunlight,
He awakes, and from his coffin he crawls.
Roaming the streets when the full moon rises,
He feeds on the blood of the innocent—
Then takes flight as a bat, flapping his wings.
Known as the Count that London despises,
From all his sins, he can never repent—
Closing his coffin as a church bell rings.
© 2020
Not often
you find such a landslide
of conkers
but my father saw them
glossy brown
among the hedgehog casing.
So we foraged
with the rove beetle, earthworm, mite,
lifting box-loads of mahogany jewels
into the back of the Riley.
Going home
I was ready to stage my strung shells
for the big fight
in the playground.
Time was short
and I was in a hurry
to catch all the fun I could hold.
Next term
it could be origami
or the sprung reel
of the Yo-yo
and then the winter snows.
Drama centered on an aristocratic British family in
Old times- early twentieth century
Waited on by butlers, footmen, maids and valets
Noble families lived wrapped in luxury, night and day
Tale of young suitors, attractions, loves and marriages
Of young Ladies with service class rocked the family carriage
Not uncovered till late-child out of wedlock added to the disparage
As World War and other world events stirred awakening
Barriers between lord and servant started fading
Butlers sought jobs as teachers, cooks sought education
Erosion of aristocracy was inevitably writ in the nation
“Yes My Lord” would not be heard by future generations
Written on :07/18/2016
Contest: "Your Favorite Habit-forming TV Show" by Tom Quigley
Horn Hiaku Triplet of Downton Abbey
Between you and me
Her knockers could hardly see
What a way to be.
She seemed to extreme
With no features that redeem
Part of a bad dream.
Bra was twenty-two
And more pounds lost quite a few
Which was end of you.
She set rapid pace
Did disappear into space
We could not replace
Were delirious
After many more queries
Had stopped whole series.
Wife sure was crabby
Now no more Downton Abbey
Stopped being happy.
I was even starting to like it.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
The rooms sit empty, disused as of late.
The worn, wood floors, now, creak without weight.
Halls once sang to the harmony of life;
To the steps of many – socks and sandals, rife.
The halls hum, now, to a different tune;
Soft tunes moving with the motions of the moon.
Still, there are the sounds of feet, near and far;
The feet of mice, little pink things, they are.
Still another step muffles all other.
Soft, padded toes on worn wood, cover
Great distance if needed, wished or wanted.
They are footfalls of a feline, taunted.
Those clever tricksters, also known as mice,
Are smart enough to fool any cat at least twice.
Though cleverness and trickery aren't needed,
Since fun is all that's ever been deeded.
It’s said that “when the cats away, the mice play.”
Well, these mice have never missed a day’s play,
Since their purring friend stays, wholly, at bay
(Dubbing her: The Tabby of the Abbey).
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