How alive you still are, Hercule!
Your mustache perfectly coiffured
The rain has come,
to my mediocre town tonight
We were all holding our breath
as if waiting for more than water
My small mind
still works out puzzles
that are answered
by wiser women than me
Agatha Christie, I wish I could
treat you to Devonshire tea
Would you take the bait?
You are worlds ahead of me,
in the head, in the heart
of submerged, unchartered
understanding
Call Hastings!
There is no time
for remonstrances
We are not dealing
with ordinary criminals
today
I was waiting for you to catch me,
Miss Christie
is more than a life
"half-lived."
The Australian film
inspires me to dance,
break away from herd
of commonality,
learn the Pasa Doble,
rethink convention,
be me
in an ostentatious way
and remember to laugh
and live
everyday.
"Love is in the air"
by John Paul Young
Let's dance onstage badly
with everyone else
who feels inspired
tonight.
“This is the final warning
for Scott Hastings
and partner
To please leave the floor!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
O crooked architect of thrones,
who stacked your realm on children’s bones~
How shall I curse thee?
Not with fire, nor with plague’s black breath,
nor with the slow unspooling of your death
(though history grants you that).
No. Let the curse be this:
that every mirror cracks before your face,
that every hound you feed still wears York’s scent,
that every victory tastes of Hastings’ blood
that your crown grows thorns.
that your prayers be answered,
that the ghosts arrive punctually~
no missed entrances, no skipped lines
and let them stand just so,
in perfect blocking,
downstage of your guilt.
And when at last the horses fail,
and the crown is traded for a nail,
may you hear,
beneath the drumbeat’s battle royal,
the same question, endlessly rehearsed:
Was it worth the play?
The Donner's left Springfield in forty-six,
but they took Hastings Cutoff and got in a fix.
Things got a bit tense as they continued to tramp,
but they found themselves a nice place to camp.
Their Winter hideaway scenery was inspired,
but the food, they say, left something to be desired.
If Harold had spied with his little eye
the arrow flying his way
at the Battle of Hastings in 1066
the English may have won the day
but the French bastard William the Norman
prevailed and won the upper hand
to conquer the last Anglo-Saxon king
of this green and pleasant land
when King Henry V led his army of archers from Wales
at the Battle of Agincourt in 1415
in revenge the English to the French did bid 'Adieu'
which began the tales
longbowmen were first to finger the V-sign 'pluck yew'
but it's merely a myth it's not true
Here he comes
That little man
Nattily dressed
Spick and span
His funny accent
A dead giveaway
He won't get me
No, not today!
He's clever though
But not more than I
He does not know
How much I lie
I've tricked him well
For years and years
He thinks I'm thick
Wet 'tween the ears
It suits me well
To play the stooge
While on the side
My crimes are huge
Gold and jewels
My stock in trade
I'm light fingered
Fortunes I've made
So I play the game
A friend of Poirot
I am Hastings...
Poirots' my foe
The Vikings surviving
Travelling fighting
All were uniting
Ending enlightened
invasion surprising
England arriving
Provided a King
Fought and did win
The Normandy Vikings
My family were tied in
aligned with the timings
Madness my mind thinks
Extraordinary findings
All of it binding
From Norway as Vikings
Invasion and fighting
winning exciting
crowning the king
Battle of Hastings
History writing
William the Conqueror
Past paths wonder for
The first to the pinnacle
Witnessed a miracle
My Family ancestry
Walked with the best I see
very impressed I be
My life depressing me
Could be Hastings Street,
or Lenox Avenue.
Could be 18th and Vine
And still be true.
Could be 5th and Mound,
Could be Rampart:
When you pawned my watch
You pawned my heart.
Could be you love me
Could be that you don't.
Might be that you'll come back
Like as not you won't.
Hastings Street is weary,
Also Lenox Avenue.
Any place is dreary
Without my watch and you.
1066 and all that by
Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
King Harold and his army, marched all through the night
William the Bastard, was looking for a fight
He had landed close to Hastings, with at least 10000 men
He thought he was, King of England, so let him prove it then
The Battle fought at Stamford Bridge, had left Harolds army drained
but they had to march to Hastings, William had to be contained
The English formed up on a hill, and the arrows began their flight
One hit Harold in the eye, I think it was the right.
There’s been a few invaders, who have tried us on since then
but none have been successful, since that dark day when
William won the battle, but he didn’t win the war
The English still speak English, and will for ever more
Uncle Mike's news from the past - - - Sometimes the News Bugs Me
July “57, in Hasting Minnesota
Fish flies flew in way over their quota
They covered the roadways
They covered the bridges
They covered the lowlands
They covered the ridges
They clogged carburetors
They caused cars to stall
The townsfolk were stymied
Just who could they call
They called out the cops
And the youth auto club
To clean out the town
To give it a scrub
The bug drifts were deep
About two point five feet
Slippery and slimy
They covered the street
And wouldn’t you know it
In mouth, ear and eyes
The youth of dear Hastings
Were soon filled with flies
But nobody backed out
And nobody gave in
They just hosed themselves off
And got at it again
So the youth and the cops
Finally cleared all the bridges
Let Mother Nature take care of
The lowlands and ridges
The fish flies that year
Was the town’s cause célèbre
And that’s what I learned today
Out on the web
If I touched the lid on the candy dish in the living room My Grandmother could hear the clink of glass on glass in the kitchen " Michael !" she would exclaim softly There was a rummer in the family that she was physic That she had seen two of her children after they had died Before anyone had told her they where gone I don't know about that but I can tell you No one touched the lid on the candy dish without my grandmother knowing
Assembly.
Disassembly.
Reassembly.
When the bell tolls
it tolls for me.
Alone I walk in crowded
concrete corridors;
feet, doom-laden,
slapping thermoplastic
floors.
Years we will do this.
Years we will be taught.
Years we all will walk in
concrete corridors.
Walking unto the light,
freedom's light;
walking unto the world of
women and men.
Armed with bestowed knowledge
that two and two makes four,
the Battle of Hastings was fought in 1066,
energy can neither be created nor destroyed...
wandering lonely as clouds...
Freedom fighters,
guerrilla's armed with this
potency
and so much more.
The echo of the concrete,
of slapdash feet on thermoplastic,
may well reverberate,
reaffirming their message of
doom.
Yet that is further away than
the eye can see.
Now is sweet honeydew Summer,
the best years of a life
yet to come.
Assembly.
Disassembly.
Reassembly.
Man,
are we up the
Swanee.
And though we know it
now is not
the time
to
care...
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