A child of ten years
Near Albion's River Peck
Gazed up from the earth
And witnessed a hazel tree
Adorned with sparkling angels
(William Blake's mystical childhood vision while in Peckham Rye)
Pink squid woman hopped out of her ship.
She swam the ocean, then headed toward shore.
Albino woman asked, “how was your trip?”
They counted their seashells; there were thirty-four.
Pink squid woman thanked Albino woman for the good time.
Her friend gave her a hug and seashells numbering nine.
Hope to see you again in the next century, she said.
But alas, by then both of these creatures were dead.
when Merlin
knelte to Æthelstan
he bid'th wealthe
acrosse the lande
an' lo thy King
giveth his hande
presidin' o'er all Albion
from Alfred
in whose shadowe ran
emerg'd the court
of Æthelstan
an' on to rule
the state-ly man
for all the souls of Albion
Alba and Albion are just the same, but the White Isle is all inflamed
going barmy with boredom hoping or fearing the ballot of 9/18 that
could make or break the Kingdom by the Sea, if independence or
separation it be: Gordon and Ray had their day as comrades in the
Royal Artillery as NCOs. Gordon worked the big gun positions -
twenty-one milers - in his clever head as Ray sketched the target,
one a Scotsman, one an Englishmen, both Britons fighting the only
'good war' against the evil Nazi regime, but whichever side they would
have taken brothers in arms in war - and peace -would surely have
been their order of the day that others should emulate I should say.
The Aegean of Albion ends its longest day. Islands of hot yellow sands, bright foliage and
mountains light grey, all cosetted by the blue sea floating by me above as I swallow the
the white wine in tired alacrity at the end of long day of making love, watching the **** of
sailing yatchs going by that I could never afford or have the nerves to worry about if I did;
tasting the simple fare that makes us southern full not northern bloated, watching the
dancing so fierce and so true - ah! we in Europa's northern climes can dream as our fellow
the Greeks do of our relative recession compared to their unhappy depression; but we all
have to have faith in ourselves, our duty to starve off the false gods of greed and envy.
Here there's nothing else to explain or remember,
Exclude the magnificent thing: An Umbrella.
It tricky transforms 'Girl' into 'Cinderella'
And perfectly can hide your face.
Through grave, unavoidable sky's tears shower
This land everyday drinks a portion of power
And stand strong and brave on the edge out of nowhere
For centuries to win the race.
The only path here which has once been taken
Can't end or erase unless you have made it.
But without the strongest intention to break it
You won't see the future ahead.
However, to read hundreds of ancient stories,
Antheming the National Grandeur and Glory,
And want to forget them because they're boring
You must be completely a Mad.
20.07.2012.
NikA
My spiritual umber a-rose
Full in bloom, as in an erupt!
There was the a sweet scent of flora
Too… the frisk, of spring feeling fauna”
I viewed through that verdant screen
From my bough brushed tranquil dene
As all on the Easter time
golden daffodils silent bell ringing did,
in innocent pantomime."
© Joe Maverick 3/3/2013
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