A Story thus far

Chaucer was that gentle parfett knight.

Travelling as he went on his pilgrimage

Like a beautifully medievel Kerouac

With a bunch of others on their progress

Telling tales as they went on the holy journey

To that place of worship on the road to poetry

Nothings deep everything is scenery an’ heraldry

Lovely on its pilgrimage to Canterbury

Then some silver stuff takes you on to genius

Written by that bad bad bald guy

In that age of written geniuses

When everything went Einstein in colour

Every relative had an absolute poet

Dreaming of theatres in the round

And other kinds of geometric fashions

For strutting the stuff of the written culture

Beggars were borrowed and the acting got better

Dressed for dying beautifully to a paying audience

Things were on the up when written downtown

Across the boards and curtained signs saying exit

Selling stuff in the aisles to increase the margins

And other kinds of existentially profitable existences

For the written word and the acting sin tax

Made a buck or two worth turning up for

In the bear pit of the wooden O’s auditorium.

Then the lights went out in a very puritan fashion

Of iron buckles on high and mighty hats

Inside heavy shoes were emptier soles

Nailed art to the boards in crucifying style

Paradise was lost but that light still shone

In those dark and dismal times of religion

Where even god was proclaimed a heretic

For daring to be one of life’s creative souls

With an occasional very flashy revelation

Flasing the light and other stuff so fantastically

Behind the shed in the basement of the other Eden

Johnnie was mixing up the stuff from the garden

Still tripping the light show quite fantastic

Transforming colour from darker spaces
That kept the puritans in their prurient places

A voice alone inside the high hat revolution

Didn’t quite do everything all write on the night

Because he thought about it twice in the daytime

Thinking about is okay but seeing it is better

A tale of genius smothered by intellectuality

Was wee Alexander’s thoughtful contribution

Butterflies and wheels and other kinds of deals

Set the scene for the future enlightenment

In the shape of ghosts to haunt eternity

With a grain of sand and a redder rose

An’ other stuff both wonderful and dangerous

Its appeal was so magically tremendous

It remains today to haunts us all so beautifully

In shapes that become everything around us

The surrounding beauty is so alchemical

Transforming water into wine and flowing poetry

The miracle of pouring words transforms us

From passengers to charioteers of fire

On the battlefield for a worlds tomorrow

Where our sweetest songs still remain

Our tears of joy from fleeing pain

Played upon the fields of destruction

Where yesterday will never be tomorrow

Unwritten the sun sings it on the morn

Because tomorrow wants to be here

It’s there on the rise before our very eyes

And nothing’s stopping it except ourselves

The poets wrote it so long ago

And now’s a better time than most to sing it

All together now, ‘the future can be beautiful’

Author's Note

Looking for reviews...