somewhere twixt groovy Camelot and a formative Montparnasse

sits a broken down fortress, parched moat, crippled drawbridge

where lives a floozy Queen with a penchant for abandoned infidelity

a troubled King with a taste for calvados and sweetest fallen angels also

outside the castles oft breached fortifications, a hopeless milkmaid

covered in desiccated mud, malodorous cowplop and aspirations

dreaming of her leaky passé bathtub set before a cackling log fire

of revolution and the place where the fallible cavaliers are caged

her short attention span her pestilent curse, her mind floats off

now sat cross-legged on a mound of something green and debatable

she studies keenly a prowling tabby stalk an off guard jenny wren

is bedazzled by subliminal fear of silhouettes, rainbows and visions

“The world is at a standstill pending a serf insurrection” her offering

to fuddy-duddy grandma, handing her a scrapple and tepid ale lunch

“Never forget when governed by dint of iron rod anything is possible

makes a reality of your doctrinaire, has you relishing in oppressing the oppressors

yet make wealth and notoriety your quest and you will be as bad as they are”

“How do I get to make better then, secure liberty for one an all, when since

the Black Death, all our serfs do is dribble, fart and complain?”

a hard thing, sympathising with the spellbound when the truth is obvious

harder still to be a torched martyr to a deserving ideal when cavaliers are fallible

when a treacherous crowned head lays claim to the Divine



  1. The last line spelled it out; the irony of life. The fallible lead us and the dignified stay silent for fear of becoming notorious. It’s like someone once said, if you want to win, don’t play the game.

    1. Thank you…appreciated. I’m still waiting for the great leap forward…then again I think I said that back when Thatcher was destroying the working classes!

      1. That is a massive philosophical point you have raised. If there is a simple answer (and I doubt mine is correct) those that wish to have advanced have yet are held back by morons (at least half to planet’s population) who can only look back and marvel at the great days of yore that never really were ‘great’. Bloody good point you made nonetheless!

      2. That’s what the judge said when sentencing me to life imprisonment for thinking aloud as it happens! I jest, my apologies. Have the most splendid day Sabiscuit!

  2. subliminal fear of silhouettes…
    a cackling log fire …of revolution

    While reading I always get distracted because I love the combinations of words you use. Delightful~!

      1. Oddly after her last vindaloo (very hot curry in case you’re not familiar) I suggested to the missus she may well be a terminal farter. Twas the case she beat me with a rolled up newspaper once more.

      2. My husband has declared, and apparently convinced himself, that his farts smell like roses. Just for the record, they do not.

      1. Al Stewart song, ‘In Brooklyn’ comes to mind. That said, convents everywhere would welcome one so pure whatever code or creed! Oh, by the way, just remembered, Shirl let speakerless me listen to your new song on her crap speaker IPad. Splendid stuff and hints of Bowling for Soup thought I. Still want my speakers back…my son told me he’s using them but they are crap and he supposes they’ll have to do until the weekend!

    1. Forget the revolution. We’ll take Bernie to lead our Labour Party. His sort of socialism isn’t the ticket for the US. Bernie needs to be where despots and Divine Right monarchs ruled over peasants and where war and revolution are/have been commonplace. Don’t suppose you could send him over please Paul?

      1. I’d be happy to pay his passage for him – but don’t think we haven’t our own brand of monarchs – to wit, the Bushes and Clintons

    1. One day, perhaps we will have an organic revolution, although looking at the far right, beer bellied, tattooed, shave headed types who regularly march through our town such a revolution is unlikely.

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