"The Great Bazooka"

he was a clown once,
he used to thrust chairs
into the jaws of stuffed lions
and extract a flower,
walk the tightrope
fall.....
hang by his teeth
and raise his eyebrows at the crowd

but now he plays
solitary tricks with memories
in the gloom of his old caravan,
his costumes gather dust in the cupboard,
his faces fade in the drawer,
children press against his window
and stare at his empty mirror
their breath clouds the glass

meanwhile the circus prepares for the show

suddenly
the children scream and back away
the door explodes........
a strange figure emerges from the billowing smoke
resplendent in an enourmous striped swimsuit
complete with flying helmet, goggles and snorkel,
a large pink flipper tests imaginary water,
the great nose quivers and tilts to the sky
his arms raised high
he dives..........
and swims through the crowd,
and the children dance and cry:
"Bazooka's back!
Bazooka's back!
Bazooka's back!"

The Healing Sanctuary

at the
N.F.S.H.
Cirencester Conference
September 1999

Music of angels' footfalls
Delivering soothing balm,
Restoring and refreshing
The jewel of inner calm,
As incense curls aromas
Around about the scene
All swallowed in peacock's colours;
Indigo, turquoise and green.
A womb of meditation
Where a single candle's flame
Holds the reins on /Here and Now,
That the rush of Time be tame
In one eternal moment
To touch Forever and feel
Blessings of tranquility
To enlighten and so seal
The Sanctuary's healing
All encompassing the whole
From the aura's outer edge
To the marrow of the soul.

(February 2000)

Ibby Bluebell

Ibby Bluebell lives
In both light and shade
Beneath the dappling of the leaves
At the edge of the glade
Where the sun's intensity
Shines outright
At the constant burn
Of yellow and white
Alchemical flames
Of creative fire
Where writer and Muse
Meld to inspire
With sentences, gramar,
Peace and soul
From hearts and minds
Alert and whole.
Both muse and wordsmith
In one conflagration
Of earthbound and immortal
In divine integration
Through the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over marshes
And the meadows
To the tree of words.

(An extract from the Flower Quartet)

Feel Your Beauty

I feel your beauty
Running through me
So many secrets
Leave our love sleepy and tongue-tied

I want to fly with you
Through cirrus sea
To wake up in sweet summer
Feeling your mystery close and alive

Two teas
Both with honey please
And let my naked magic flow
For it refuses to lie still
Under green moss.

(June 1981)

night and day

night and day

in my sleep
there was a frozen waterfall
caught
like a sudden splash of a huge white moon,
and later
there were fireworks and rainbows
that gave out wonderful music
as i danced and sang
on the shore of a wide black river.....
this evening
i walk in the door
of a house full of strangers
the air full of slow jazz and wine,
a woman, wide eyed and solemn
turns in the lamplight
like the earth towards the sun
and greets me
and aah!
the magic ripples between us thicker than silver
and i laugh and shake my head
like a beggar who finds jewels in his soup -
oh, what days and nights these are!

Writer and Muse

I am the vessel
That carries her voice
She embarked on my journey
And left me no choice
She came aboard quite suddenly
How could I refuse
I am the writer
And she the Muse

I am the child
Who is loyal to no other
She took me for a daughter
Though she is no mother
She adopted me quite ruthlessly
And began to enthuse
I am the writer
And she the Muse

I am the prisoner
Waiting for bail
She is the judge
Who threw me in jail
My sentence may be life
Bid who can I accuse
As I am the writer
And she the Muse

I am the dove
That flies from her sleeves
She the magician
Whose timing deceives
Plucking quills from my tail
How she does abuse
I am the writer
And She the Muse.

(January 1989)

Muddle

It rained.
I rushed.
Confused.
Recent conversations
Bleach my brain.

Thoughts grow,
Muddle,
Disperse
And are lost

The sun glares on puddled-pavements

Walk towards another problem.
Try to solve it
Before I meet it.

(July 1977)

'The Great Bazooka'

he was a clown once,
he used to thrust chairs
into the jaws of stuffed lions
and extract a flower,
walk the tightrope
fall.....
hang by his teeth
and raise his eyebrows at the crowd

but now he plays
solitary tricks with memories
in the gloom of his old caravan,
his costumes gather dust in the cupboard,
his faces fade in the drawer,
children press against his window
and stare at his empty mirror
their breath clouds the glass

meanwhile the circus prepares for the show

suddenly
the children scream and back away
the door explodes........
a strange figure emerges from the billowing smoke
resplendent in an enourmous striped swimsuit
complete with flying helmet, goggles and snorkel,
a large pink flipper tests imaginary water,
the great nose quivers and tilts to the sky
his arms raised high
he dives..........
and swims through the crowd,
and the children dance and cry:
"Bazooka's back!
Bazooka's back!
Bazooka's back!"

Pinocchio's Palace

Stefan Von Krass, known as Pinocchio on account of his long nose and his lies, was an evil man with spite's glint in his grey eyes and hatred's thin curl upon his lips. There was a dark storm in his pinched heart forever leeching on the soft malleable generosity of those he fell upon and devoured.
- "To Happen Upon And Destroy" - Stefan's motto, technique and vocation. Von Krass was in essence vampiric. His raison d'être was based on an innate need to take the life out of the living. The pure he would dissolve, the good he would suck out and spit away, the actively creative he would lay back down to its latent form, the positive he would obliterate past negative and into void. He could pinpoint a particular passion in an individual, a social group or a business concern and he would stride into the middle as one who shared it and slowly, impreceptibly he would turn the heat of their passion against itself so that it was rendered down like pig fat into nothing. Two or three of these projects would be run in concurrence to maximize profits that were reckoned up in terms of satiation. His momentary gains, though often large, were secondary.
On waking one crisp winter's morn just a little way past the midpoint of his life, Stefan knew it was time to seek out greener pastures. The name Pinocchio had been bandied about within his own earshot too often too carelessly. He supposed he had worked the same game over and over far too long in too small an area and his cover had now blown. Recent victims were filing cases he did not wish to answer. No hard evidence could be found against him but nevertheless it was time to go. So he abluted using unguents of violets and cosmetic creams of cucumber and avocado, he blackened and oiled back his hair and nattily applied the faintest touch of pink blusher to his pale drawn cheeks. The fop in the looking glass peered from the high arches of his eyebrows, right the way down the length of his authoritative nose and sneered at the world beneath. Adhering to a staunch perfection designed to intimidate, he dressed in a dark grey three piece, a cream silk shirt and a paisley dickie-bow. His ox blood shoes were over shiny and his suit pristine. An outfit hard and sharp in crease and cut wards of curiosity. It speaks for itself, no one contests it. His clothes were his armour. He packed a leather travelling bag, each item folded with a geometrician's neurotic precision. The bag snapped shut. He settled a camel hair coat across his shoulders, placed a white silk scarf about his neck, pulled on black leather gloves, angled his trilby and set out.
Lazily submitting to the rolling gait of the Trans-European Express, Von Krass, gazing through his compartment window from one heavy lidded but still resting eye, espied the Palace. In a moment it was gone and Stefan, wide awake now, had gone with it, captivated by that split second's glimpse of its strange medley of turrets and bulbous spires and outdoor spiralling staircases all perched like an eyrie atop a steep and forested mountain. He had to see more. But unfortunately for Stefan there would be no sightseeing party or guided tour, for this was a private Palace owned by and old and dying man who had a beautiful daughter, still too young and naive to have hardened herself against the wickedness of the world, would inherit all in a matter of weeks. I say unfortunately, because although here was a situation for the taking and take it Stefan surely would, unbeknown to him and indeed to anyone for the past five hundred years, the builder of the Palace had instructed a sorcerer to lay a curse on the stones that would come into effect should he ever be vanquished and his palace be inhabited by a rival baron. The wizard had stood at the edge of the quarry and over each large stone laid in a cart pulled by six donkeys, he uttered these words;

"Fool a Cuckoo with a welcome,
Watch a Jackdaw steal the gold,
A Magpie roost amidst its plunder
And a Cockerel strut so bold.
Pay no heed to a Peacock's vanity,
Of a Vulture have no fears
As its talons tear through carrion
For four full years.
A year of acquisition,
A year of gain,
A year of arrogance,
A year of disdain.
At a feast of Victory
See an Eagle soar.
See an Eagle plummet
When the Feast Day numbers four.
The foot that crossed the threshold lamed,
See a Gander stumble,
The hand that pushed the door will claw
As its bones begin to crumble.
A bird lies crippled in another's bed,
Madness in its soul.
A bird imprisoned in another's Palace,
Caged in the cage it stole."

The spell was still intact.

A gingerbread station waited. Its window boxes abloom with geraniums, its shutters all daintily painted sky blue and dusty pink to match the decorative woodwork that edged the eaves over the platform and the low surrounding picket fence. The train pulled in. One passenger alighted, none embarked. Bag in hand, Stefan Von Krass hailed the one awaiting cab to his terrible end.

Mermaid

MERMAID

Chapter The First

I

Myth of the ocean,

Nymph of the sea.

Half fish, half sprite,

Aquatic faerie.

Perfectly formed

From skin to scale,

Strangely conjoined

From flesh to tail.

Cutting through water,

Streamlined and sleek,

With powerful thrust

And perfect physique.

A swish

Through a swirl,

Diving deep

For a pearl.

From surface to seabed

In a descending spin,

Countering currents

By the flick of a fin.

II

Sea goddess

From head to hip,

Extraordinary fish

From navel to tip.

All human above

With voluptuous torso

Merged in iridescence

To the tail below.

All mother-of-pearl

And aquamarine.

A coil and a flip

Too fleet to be seen.

Rarely glimpsed

By human sight,

The mermaid swims

Too fast for light.

Preserving her myth,

Her legend intact.

Is she the fiction?

Is she the fact?

III

True apparition

Or fanciful lie?

A corner sighting

From a sailor's eye

Of a beautiful,

Fishtailed female form,

Diving through the surge

Of an oncoming storm.

A water angel

Who will save his life

By guiding the clipper

Through the broil and strife

Of an angry squall

And hurricane wind

Until the tempest abates

And the waves rescind.

Are those two blue eyes

And long golden hair

Merely a figment

Of a sailor's prayer?

Chapter The Second

I

I know a mermaid

Alive on dry land,

With two shapely legs

On which she can stand.

But her golden hair

And sea blue eyes

Betray her

Lower limbed disguise

As she walks her way

Upright and able,

Through her own

Human fable.

A parallel story

Of life and line

Already well known

Beneath the brine

Where the water kingdom's

Legend of old

Is a favourite yarn

Frequently told.

II

A tale that

I must now relate

To put an end

To all debate.

A narrative bound

To astonish all

Delivered to excite,

Intrigue and enthral

As cynicism melts

Into sheer delight

Where sceptic and romantic

Inadvertently unite

Under the orators

Word-woven spell.

The magic that logic

Fails to quell,

Rendering an audience

Unable to resist

The undeniable truth

That mermaids exist.

III

Once upon a mermaid

In a kingdom marine,

Far from terra firma

In the deep blue and green,

Where coral gardens

And seaweed sway

Set a scenic backdrop

For theatrical display

Of a shoal's precise

And unanimous concern

As stripe and colour

Twitch and turn

Beneath patrolling shadows

Of long-tailed doom

As rhomboid harbinger

Stingrays loom

And omen misfortune

Is but a fin's breadth delay

As danger's ever presence

Paves Calamity's way.

Chapter The Third

I

Unaware of Calamity's

Impending whims,

Our underwater heroine

Gaily swims

Up and down,

Along and across,

Happily ignorant

Of future loss.

The world is her oyster,

That oyster is supreme,

Its pearl of circumference

And radiance extreme.

Her prospects tremendous,

Her reputation grown

As the fastest mermaid

Ever known.

Able to swim

At a pace so bold.

Passing bronze and silver

To certain Gold.

II

But on her way

To The Great Mermaid Race

Calamity struck

And stole her place.

Before the contest

Had even begun,

Misfortune competed

And consequently won

By injecting poison

From a sea urchins spine

Into her tail

So sleek and fine.

Her perfect speed

Stopped dead in its tracks.

Her mirror to the future

Criss-crossed by cracks,

Poised to shatter

What should have been

And reflect that loss

In each smithereen.

III

Each shard embedded

In a broken dream

Unravelling to the silence

Of her internal scream

As pain explodes

Beyond threshold's scope

And the poison spreads

Dissolving all hope

To leave in its wake

An unforeseen dread

As her arms and tail

Turn to lead,

Anchoring our champion

To depths unknown

Where her heart aches

In its breaking zone

But somehow resists

That final tear

Of hopelessness

And utter despair.

Chapter The Fourth

I

A courageous heart beats

At a pace so bold

Passing bronze and silver

To certain gold.

Our mermaid possesses

Such a heart

Forestalling despondency

With a clear head start,

Outpacing the sea urchin's

Toxic traces,

Putting disappointments

Back in their places,

She flicks her tail

And starts to swim

Out from under

Calamity's whim.

A golden resolve

Misfortune forgot

From molten flow

To pur ingot.

II

Our heroine radiates

A love and joy

The injected contagion

Can never destroy.

She laughs, she frolics,

She jumps, she dives.

Her smile lights up

A thousand lives

As shoals turn

In her direction

And dolphins provide

Their playful protection

To an unattained spirit

The venom cannot quell

As she rides the seahorse

Or the turtle's shell

And all acknowledge

Her magical presence,

All mother-of-pearl

And iridescence.

III

While her golden heart

Is worn within,

The once begun

Must again begin,

To capture the gold

She will wear without,

To continue the quest

And quash any doubt

That she is a mermaid

Of some renown,

Destined to wear

The laurel crown

A gold medallion

Around her neck,

A prize the sea urchin

Can no longer wreck

As smote but undaunted

She reclaims her place

And swims towards

The Great Mermaids Race.

Isabel Mary Wallace 01/01/2009

For Stephanie Millward

GRANNY CELANDINE

Granny Celandine in myth
Was forever old,
Or so her grandchildren
Were always told.
So the legend carried
Spoon-to-spoon-fed
Of an entire life lived
At a quarter to dead.
Celandine's vocation
Began at crone,
Wizened and wise one
We called our own.
Her childhood, her youth,
Her middle-aged fiction
To our eager hearing
Of her detailed diction
On earlier stages
Of her pronounced longevity
Appealing to our own
Inconsequential brevity
Through the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over the marshes
And the meadows
To the old oak's hollow.

We absorbed all evidence
Of descendancy designated
In our very own lives
Where her lifeline resonated.
We back tracked in time
To stand in her shoes
Imagining ourselves
Where Time's lines lose
The straight and narrow
Of distinct definitions
To warp and blur
Between generations.
Her eyes could twinkle,
Her frown could scold,
Her timidity was defiant,
Her indignation bold.
Granny Celandine had withdrawn
From a society she despised
To shelter where her values
Were not compromised
Through the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over the marshes
And the meadows
To the old oak's hollow.

Granny Celandine was a stranger
To pompous vanity,
Abhorring its concept
She considered it audacity
A blasphemous waste
Of human potential
Where arrogance usurps
The plainly essential
In a world misaligned
And unable to atone
She would neither collaborate
Nor condone
Actions in the name
Of advancement and prosperity
For the sake of too few
At a cost to too many.
She could not abide
Nature's decline
To industrial aspirations
Considered divine
Above the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over the marshes
And the meadows
To the old oak's hollow.

Imbalance surrounded
Granny Celandine's haven
Where her garden grew
By a lore engraven
In Gaia's own stone
Of sustainable commandments
Preaching an adherence
To nature's investments.
Keeping fish in the sea
And nutrients in the soil
Should be part and parcel
Of mankind's toil.
But vain impatience
And ham-fisted greed
Had prompted Mother Nature's
Need to recede
Where Granny Celandine joined her
In abject disgust
Warranting support
And a shared distrust
Through the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over the marshes
And the meadows
To the old oak's hollow.

While commerce raged
With excitable force,
Granny Celandine cherished
Mother Nature's source
By building a temple,
Her honour to esteem,
In the old oak's hollow,
Her worship to redeem
And here begins
An extraordinary tale
Of wondrous events
With which to regale
The reader of
A specific bent
Who is able to sense
The magnificent event
Of Earth's own magnetism
In one concentrated well
Rising from the ley line
Crossing hill and dell
Through the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over the marshes
And the meadows
To the old oak's hollow.

Granny Celandine's oak
Hand magical properties
Offering dreams and insights
To seekers of prophecies
Carefully chosen
By select degree
To enter her garden
And visit the tree.
The credentials of the few
Allowed through the gate
Were great in spirit
And connected by fate
To amass reinforcements
Of compassion and care
To combat economies
Of global despair.
And when Celandine's life
Was finally to cease,
Her name and position
Were passed to her niece
Through the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over the marshes
And the meadows
To the old oak's hollow.

Granny Celandine's mission
Is amply fulfilled,
Now timeless in legend
And mythology instilled
In the repertoire
Of ordinary folk
Whose lives will be healed
Via the voice of the oak
Softly spoken
Into appropriate ears
Of leaders in rebellion
Over the years
Until such time
As the power-craze shifts
From the stealers of souls
To the bearers of gifts,
From the vantage of greed
And the viewpoint of gluttony
To a judicious presiding
Over a common harmony
Through the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over the marshes
And the meadows
To the old oak's hollow.

The Great Granny Celandine,
Chelidonium majus,
Was once a reclusive
Yet ultimately famous
For her dowdy dress
And frugal ways
At odds with the wealth
That shone from her gaze,
Wide and bright
With an impish grin
Enjoying an irony
She kept within
While modernity ran riot
Towards its own fall
Beyond the sanctuary
Of her dry-stone wall
Surrounding the garden
Handed down her line
To Granny after Granny
After Granny Celandine
Through the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over the marshes
And the meadows
To the old oak's hollow.

Old crone Celandine's
Guardianship of the oak
Was entrusted to her
For her ability to revoke
The corporate world
She came to despise
With a three quarter drop
Of the lids of her eyes
beneath which her savvy
Shone in slithers
Of inner knowing
That slowly withers
The Establishment's hold
Over you and me
As our gathering numbers
Flock to her tree
Where Green Man, Jack Frost
And pagan sprites recline
Beneath the steadfast protection
Of Granny Celandine
Through the woodlands
And the hedgerows,
Over the marshes
And the meadows
To the old oak's hollow.