Along the lane
towards Diddling
you stopped

and looked
at the church
on the horizon

between
the hedgerows
beneath

the blue
and white
clouded sky

Jane
stood next to you
her hand

holding yours
the softness
of her skin

against yours
her dark hair
tied

by a green ribbon
one of my favourite sights
she said

the church
becoming
more visible

the closer you get
her voice disturbed
birdsong

from the hedgerows
a blue ***
took flight

the flutter
of small wings
we never had hedgerows

in London
you said
no blue *** birds

no wide fields
or Downs
just streets

and houses
and pavement
and grass

around our flats
where pigeons
or sparrows

settled
for thrown out
bread

from windows above
Jane gazed at you
her dark eyes

focusing
I’d hate that
she said

I love my countryside
and fields
and birds

and open sky
she sniffed
the air

and you walked on
along the lane
she pointed out

wildflowers
and hedgerow plants
and talked

of the farmhand
who died
when his tractor

turned over
in a field
and the first time

she remembered
visiting
the small church

and her father
holding her high
above his head

so she could see
the expanse
of the Downs

and you listened
to her words
the language

holding you
and drawing you in
her lips opening

and closing
her summer dress
moving

as she walked
her sandaled feet
treading the lane

you wanted
to captured it all
to recall it

years later
all over
again.

They were like two peas in a pod
Holding hands
Exchanging tongues
Being prissy and laughing at those
Who long before saw their act
Though those two queers, they don’t see at all
They are midgets, and little, and erectly small
With puffed up chests
Stroking hens of the Cornish variety
All of them dregs of a social society


Slum lords and criminal minds
Under the sheets where no one sees
Which one is giving the other the shaft
**** and span they use after, oh so daft
One erotically whispered to the other
A Pain in the ***
As they kissed over their biblical wine glass
Seeking solace in each others arms
Licking their wounds with grammars charm


Grown men, committing sin after sin
Then blaming others for saying
God wants you to begin
Acting like men
And not emancipated boys
Stop diddling and twiddling
Leave alone your petite toys

One day Jehovah will make clear
Belittle others is worse than Queer
Little queens swallowing their own vile
While Ladies and Gentleman laugh
At the ****** and the Clown
In their lingerie and gown

God decried, let those two drown
Even Lucifer laughed under his frown

And Jane held the butterfly
in the palms of her hands
gently opening up
a mere gap
so that you could glimpse it

it tickles
she said
and she laughed
and that aspect of her

thrilled you
the way she held
her head to one side
her eyes in wonderment

of the captured butterfly
her soft hands
as if she were caressing
the head of a first born

see?
she said
see its beautiful colouring
and you glimpsed

the bright colours
it's a Peacock butterfly
she said
and she stood there

on the narrow road
to Diddling Church
in the grey dress
with yellow flowers

and the muddy shoes
and white socks
her hands opening
and you both watched

as the butterfly
fluttered off
across the hedgerow
out of sight

one of God's treasures
my father calls them
she said
still gazing where

the butterfly had been
a butterfly was a butterfly
to you
fresh from London

unused to the country fare
the clean air
the wide expanse of space
did you see many

butterflies in London?
she asked
guess so
you said

can't say I paid them
much mind
you are funny
she said

all this beauty
and it doesn't strike you?  
you stared at her
standing there

her eyes wide open
her hands gesturing
as if to include
all about her

her dark hair
neatly brushed
her dark eyes
focusing on you

getting to me
each time I'm with you
and you explain things
you said

she smiled
and o that
really held you
in a sway that smile

that spread of lips
come on
she said
let's go look

at the gravestones
in the church yard
and so you followed her
up the narrow road

feeling the warm sun
of the Saturday afternoon
wanting to hold her hand
feel her fingers

in yours
sense the smoothness
feel her pulse of life
and you entered

through the wooden gate
along the stones
which made a path
the tombstones

high and low
chiselled names and dates
she stood by the church wall
and stared at the

beyond the hedge
you stood next to her
and touched her hand
with yours

your fingers touching
warm
soft
and she looked at you

and said
you can kiss me
if you like
and stood there waiting

and you unsure
wanting to but shy
not wanting
to mess things

or get it wrong
but you kissed her cheek
and then her lips
holding her

feeling her arms
about you
and you sensed
her waist slim

your fingers touching
and lips to lips
o God
you mused

confused
moved apart
she smiling
you uncertain

and she said
my mother likes you
says you're different
from the local boys

something that sets
you apart
you frowned
and said

am I?
kiss good
she said
not greedy

or too passionate
or too sensuous
but like holding
that butterfly just now

something tickled
inside me
she said
you gazed

into her dark eyes
as a Peacock
butterfly
fluttered overhead.

When Leonard Cohen Met Charlie Daniels, The Devil Went Down to Georgia

~~~
The Devil Went Down to Georgia ¥
https://youtu.be/wBjPAqmnvGA

Charlie Daniels, the country music legend who died July 6, 2020, was part of the 1970 Leonard Cohen tour. (see notes)
                                            
This one is a gift to a recovering addict and a poet, for whom that peculiar, par-articulate, addictive passion, thank the Lord, got no cure.

                                                      <£>

two country boys, ok, so different countries, but both intimately
a-cquainted with the Devil, his song & music-making-copious
a-bilities, his other trois backup ***-sin-tants, The Sin Sisters,
a/k/a wine and women and sweet poetry...

now the Devil mostly gets his due, you pay his price twice, in daily
wear ‘n tear on body and soul, always trying to keep one step ahead,
taking his best, sometimes leaving the rest, but ha! not always cause sometimes a...

bargain needs keeping, gotta keep your word honest, still if you can find a wile e coyote-wriggle-way to be a tad faster, keep them ten  fingers crisscrossed, you might steal a tune or three, before you chanter la finale, sing/pay the last installment...

now these boys were multilingual, one spoke french, the other, southern, but two-gether, they could harmonize the Lord’s Prayer on a banjo, fiddle and a guitar, in une langue ancienne#, formerly spoke in those United States and Canada, now only in the heavens above...

cannot truthful say I ever saw them play on the same stage, no matter,
cause the parallels are clear as a night sky starry moon, the stories they told, in lyrical verse, different cuzins, slightly incestuous, and
infectious too, cause you catch yourself singing redneck in a foreign
language and you’re liking the way women looking at the big star on
a tour bus...

now the devil wanted these bad boys real bad in his pantheon, went
down to Georgia and back up to Montréal au paradis, said to them “no more diddling, just fiddling and singing, time to make that finale payment, principal and interest, come to collect my country boys  and all what they got left...alors allons en enfer mes bébés..”##

now the sounds they made was just too good, the Lord heard it, it was like Picasso painting the sky, and came to collect Charlie yesterday, (07/06/20), Leonard had come up earlier, and if you need to learn how this story ends, well, there’s a poem listed down below avec tous les détails.

but as my straight laced pappy, use to say in his German accented english, in his morning suit, striped pants and Homburg hat, all’s well that don’t end in hell

or something like that anyway.

Jane waited for you
by the narrow road
that led to Linch farm

the water tower visible
against the afternoon sky
of pale blue and white

cold clouds
she was dressed
in a grey coat

and her dark hair
was pinned back
with grips

you noticed
blueness
about her lips

the cold taking toll
wasn’t sure
if you would show

she said
the coldness
and such

I said I would
and I say
what I mean

you replied
once you were close to her
she took her hands

out of the coat pockets
and linked her arm
through yours

where shall we go?
she asked
you know it better

around here than I do
you choose
you said

let’s go up
the dust track
to the hollow tree

on the way up
to the Downs
she said

ok
you said
and so you walked along

and up the dust track
side by side
and she talked

of the wintery trees
and what birds
there were still about

and how she liked
spring best with the coming
of flowers and birds nesting

and you listened
looking at her
as she spoke

watching her lips move
how when she spoke
her white teeth showed

and now and then
her tongue would show
and it reminded you

of that kiss she gave you
up by Diddling church  
as you stood looking

at the grave stones
and she gazed at you
and then kissed

and her tongue
touched yours
and it was like heaven

as if someone
had opened up
your heart

and stuck
their tongue in there
and as you thought

about that kiss
she talked of some girl
of a cowman

who’d got pregnant
and how did that happen?  
she asked

and you said nothing
but listened on
and then you reached

the hollow tree
and climbed inside
and sat down

looking out
of the hole
in the side

and it felt cosy
in there
like a small home

and she leaned
in against you
and there was silence

and you looked at her
at her eyes
and hair

and how her lips
were parted
and her white teeth

showed and her tongue
waiting to speak
and you wondered

about that kiss again
and whether
it would happen this time

there in the hollow tree
out of sight
of others

and she showed you
tucked between
her small *******

a small locket
which used to be
her mother’s.

Flippy Hippie, what the heck is your trip?
We get things going fine and then you flip.
Your political lips are criminally zipped.
Because you are obviously losing your grip.
Tripping hipster, what were you thinking?
The ship of state is so obviously sinking.
Are you diddling with your own erections?
And too good to vote in our elections?

Hippy dippy, Flippy Hippie, you’re mental.
Apparently your adulthood is experimental.
You’re just tourists in your own realities
Blathering a lot of brainless banalities.
You make excuses not to use your brains.
You’re making choices you can’t explain.
To you all politics is just a boring game.
When we ask, you say they’re all the same.

Flippy Hippie, you make not much sense at all.
You’ll die too when they stand us to a wall.
We know you quit thinking in elementary school
And that explains why you’re such a big fool.
We understand the reason you are so dim
You don’t see it’s us or them. You’re not them.
Later, if they get their way and the US is dead
Just remember a lot is because you stayed in bed.

go to sleep
godless heap -
goddess leap
...gotta sleep

It's 2am,
for Siddartha's sake,
you ain't gonna find zen
at the other end of this computer screen.
******, I mean -

No creative dam is gonna break open tonight
(this morning)
you're all stopped up, or drained
so just stop drying.

Seriously, quit diddling with your self
doing that horrid poemry
(po-mory? poor-merry? potpourri? poopoory?)

just fu-cking
go
     to                                     (*******)
         sleep.

Look at that Tortoiseshell
Jane said
as you stood
in the churchyard

of Diddling Church
you watched
the butterfly
pass by

and took in
its beautiful
colouring
don’t you just love butterflies?

she said
holding her hands
together as if
she were about

to pray
she was wearing
a short sleeved
flowery dress

and her dark hair
had a pink slide in it
which you gazed at
as she turned her head

to follow the progress
of the Tortoiseshell
along the sky
Never saw many butterflies

in the part of London
I came from
you said
mostly white things

with patterned wings
well now you can see
many different kinds
she said

turning to look at you
her eyes settling on you
like the butterfly had
on the flowers

in the churchyard
sure I can
you said
maybe I’ll get a book

on them
you added
she smiled
and came to you

and took your hand
and you sensed
her warmness
in your hand

felt her skin
touching yours
and she led you
over the grass

and you both lay down
a little distance
from the nearest
gravestone

and she said
my daddy says
the sky above
our heads

is the promise of Heaven
and you gazed at her
as she studied
the blue sky and white clouds

moving above
and you sighed softly  
at her nearness
and an unfathomable love.

Once you entered
Diddling’s small church
it cooled you both down
from the summer heat outside

Jane looked about her
she’d been here
many times before
but wanted to you show you

and let you feel
the coolness
and silence
and peacefulness

I came here first
as a child
she said
but more often at St Mary’s

at the other side
of the village
I wouldn’t have thought
any place could be

this quiet
you said
the church smelt
of flowers

and old plaster
some one had placed
a mixture of blooms
in the vase by the altar

she walked forward
her hand brushing
against the tops
of the wooden pews

on either side
one could get married here
she said
if you had few guests

and friends
you said
gazing at her dark hair
pulled tight

in a ponytail
tied with red ribbon
her light green dress
fitted loosely

her sandals held
her bare feet
maybe one wanted
few guests

maybe just a few witnesses
and the clergyman
she said softly
turning to look at you

her dark eyes
captured you
and held you fixed
for a few moments

one day perhaps
she said
doesn’t your father
come here?

you asked
occasionally if the need arises
she said
mostly he’s at

the other church
come and stand
at the front with me
she said

you walked towards her
watching her eyes
and her mouth
the lips slightly open  

you stood next to her
at the altar end
the light coming through
the high windows above

she smelt of lavender
you could breathe it in
your head swayed with it
imagine us here

she said
pretend it’s our
wedding day
and we are here

and the pastor
and a couple of people
as witnesses
she held your hand

in hers
her warm flesh
her thumb
on the back

of your hand
stroking slowly
would we sing hymns?
you asked

yes two
she said
closing her eyes
and we’ll pretend

the ***** played
at the start
and finish
she added

she sniffed the air
and plenty of flowers  
around us
and bridesmaids?

you said
she thought
in silence
for a few moments

yes two small girls
from the village
she said
her hand got warmer

the dampness
linked you
and who
will give you away?

you said
father of course
she said frowning
she opened her eyes

and looked at you
too many people
have come
she said

it crowds my mind
and dream
then let it just be us
and the parson

and two others
you said
she nodded and smiled
it’s good to pretend

and imagine
she said
maybe one day
it will be real

the sunlight played
and danced
upon the floor
at her feet

her thumb rubbed
deeper in to your skin  
and you both walked
down the aisle

in silence again
outside
came sound
of warm summer rain.

This old man
rolled his thumb
in the door
of a beehive
while diddling
his knick
knack
into this shoe as
he sat at heaven’s
gate
knocking with the
spine of a
dying dog
chewing on
a bad bag of
bones.

Your pessimism is poisonous
Your apathy a drug
That I inject into my eyeballs
And try to call it love
I hate the way you frown at me
When you smile at your friends
Your curly hair is a bouncing castle
I can't wait for your empire's end
I try to wallow in your silence
Love you in your wall of hate
When you're sad because your boyfriend left
In a tirade of hate
I cry crystals of despondence
As you whistle your world away
I try to love you from the outside
And when I go in, you don't let me stay
I feel you text me just to pacify me
To hold in my cries and ratify the inappropriate banter that I'm scribbling
My fingers in your body as we're both fiddling
Diddling in your causes of danger and your mind is the manger
Where the savior refuses to lay his head
You must not be in the mood for anybody or anything
I'm just a sad little girl, there's only trouble I will bring
The ways in which you want me seem to change like the weather
Something in my head says I want us to be together
But i recall how temporary your intricate happiness is
But it all becomes irrelevant when I'm near your warm skin
-zaba

I’m in the residential dining hall with my suitemates Lisa and Sunny. We’re talking about sausages.

Why? Because April 30th is ‘National Sausage day.”
Someone mentioned that when I complained about the beyond-meat hot dog atrocities they serve here, in the dining hall, as if they were food.
“Can we get some real food here?” I moaned.
“These are ok,” Sunny pronounced, examining hers closely.
“That’s what we want,” I went off, “the average, the acceptable, let's build our lives around that.”
“I think they’re Canada,” Lisa said.

“That’s why there’s no ketchup (in the dining hall) - they decided it was unhealthy,” I replied bitterly (with a few expletives removed here - I’ve really fallen into some obscene verbal habits) “What are we supposed to DO?” I asked rhetorically, “Start carrying our own ketchup packets everywhere? Noone here’s over 23 - will ketchup **** us?”
“I miss the ketchup,” Sunny agreed sadly.
“Nothing’s perfect,” Lisa shrugged.

“That’s true,” I said, “I’m thinking of a specific, textural issue I have with sausages - even though I love ‘em”
“Issue!” Lisa chuckled. “Major issue,” I added nodding.
“Conflict!” Sunny updogged. “Oh, No!” Lisa laughed.
“The really good sausages, like you get on a charcuterie board? Have this little bit at the end - the tie-off?”
“The casing,” Sunny named it. “Yeah,” I agreed, “those can be hard to chew but I usually do it anyway,” I said.
“Because what can you do?” Lisa added, “Spit it out in front of everyone?” she asked rhetorically.

“I took étiquette lessons one summer, when I stayed with my Gandmère - I was seven,” I grinned, remembering. "We were at dinner one night - she has this long table that’s always full of guests - when she suddenly looked down at me and pronounced, ‘You’re just a little savage, aren’t you?’"
"7-year-old me froze, unsure how to answer THAT."

“The next morning, I began ‘L'art de vivre’ (the art of life’) lessons, with an old, brusque nun - Sister Thérèse.”
“Too funny,” Sunny snorted.
“When did you forget all that,” Lisa asked innocently.

“Anyway,” I continued, “The rule is: if you get a mouth full of gristle or something, you just spit it out - you don’t make a show of it - you don’t go with a giant ‘blaah’ or something - but you don’t swallow it either,” I finished, shivering at the thought.
“Really,” Sunny said, watching me closely for signs of deception. “Chyeah,” I assured her.
“What else you got?” Lisa asked, fishing for more tips.
“Mmm,” I hummed, considering, “Elbows on the table - good - not bad.”
“Whaaaaaat?!” Sunny practically shreeked. Lisa chortled.
“If your hands are in your lap, at least in France, everyone assumes you’re diddling yourself, or someone else,” I said, grinning.
“Now you’re just making things up,” Sunny said, making a snarky face. Lisa looked dubious.
“On God,” I said, offering a Girl scout salute.
“Sister Thérèse told you that?” Lisa smirked.
“Nuns know all about ***.” I assured her, “It’s an occupational necessity.”  
.
.
Songs for this piece:
Glamor Girl by Louie Austen
Glitter of the City by Ron Everett
Anthony Kiedis by Remi Wolf
.
.
slang…
Canada = healthier, fitter, more Canadian
chyeah = f*ck yeah.
on God = swearing to God

By: Cedric McClester

With lots of forethought
And regal malice
Prince Andrew was kicked
Out of Buckingham Palace
For diddling underaged girls
Let’s call them Alice
Which the Queen deemed
To be unseemly and callous

See he became the best friend
Of a randy man
Who met a questionable end
A known *******
From way back when
Who surrounded himself
With girls little more than ten
He shared with Andrew now and then

So he’s been removed
From his royal duties
And he’s been reproved
Because mother’s snooty
And now due to the hand
That he’s been given
He’ll have to find another way
To make a living

So much for,
The life he knew
He’s got to wonder
What to do?
Now that his former
Life is through
He created for himself
A great big stew



        Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.