Of all the seasons, summer
is timeless.
The summerblown cornfield,
windwaving sunbleached white gold,
is forever,
and the time of wild strawberries,
small and freely given,
is outside time.

Happy dreams too
are timeless.
On waking I am filled with
an oceangrey
mistgrey
cloudgrey
regret
that the dream was not reality.
Yet I am glad to have felt joy,
and the beauty overcomes the sadness,
as the sweet wild sound of the pibroch
transcends the lament
that gave it birth.

Take a group of chimpanzees
used to swinging through the trees,
and sit them down at keyboards in a row;
lots of paper, lots of ink,
lots and lots of time, I think,
and what the theory says I’m sure you know.

Yes, along with all the junk,
all the gibberish and bunk,
somewhere there’d be the full works of the Bard:
As You Like It, Cymbeline,
Richards 2 and 3, the Dream,
though Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, might be hard.

But I’m sure the little blighters
would get on fine with Titus
Andronicus, The Taming of the Shrew,
The Moor of Venice (that’s Othello),
the other Merchant fellow,
and Antony and Cleopatra too.

The Winter’s Tale would hold no terrors,
nor The Comedy of Errors,
and Verona’s Gentlemen would turn out right;
Love’s Labour might be Lost,
or it might be Tempest-tossed,
but All’s Well That Ends Well, even on Twelfth Night.

Lear, King John, and Much Ado,
Henry 4, parts 1 and 2,
Henry 5, and 6 (in three parts), Henry 8,
Troilus, Timon, Measure for Measure,
Pericles (a neglected treasure)
and how Romeo and Juliet met their fate;

all the Sonnets, and the ****
of Lucrece (typed by an ape!)
and if they worked for ever and a day
they could fit in Julius Caesar,
that Coriolanus geezer,
the Wives of Windsor, and the Scottish play.

I grew more and more excited –
even thought I might be knighted
if I could be the one to make it work.
But to realise my dream
I had to try a pilot scheme,
to prove I wasn’t just a reckless berk.

I bought one chimp from the zoo -
didn't have the cash for two -
and gave him a typewriter, just to try
for a short while. Well, a fortnight
was the time-scale that I thought right.
You see, I’m quite an optimistic guy.

Now everyone who heard
of my project said, “Absurd!”
when I told them of my striking new departure.
“Get a chimpanzee to type
the works of Shakespeare? Oh, what tripe!”
Still … he did produce the works of Jeffrey Archer.

Very early in the morning we were woken from our sleep,
We were going on safari, being driven in a jeep,
We went out before our breakfast, we went out before sunrise,
We went out before the sleep had fully vanished from our eyes.
We had to dress quite quickly, and we went out in a rush,
And after we'd been driving through miles and miles of bush
For an hour or two, I have to say - forgive the way I speak,
But the roads were very bumpy - I was dying for a leak.

The driver stopped the jeep and kindly offered us a drink,
But it might have been more kind if he had only paused to think;
We had seen a herd of elephants, some vultures in the sky,
Several wildebeest and zebra, a hyena passing by,
Giraffes, a pair of ostriches, a buffalo or two,
And we'd taken lots of photographs (well, that's what tourists do);
We had even seen some lions lazing underneath a tree,
But ... we hadn't seen a toilet ... and I really had to ***.

Beside a water-hole at last we found a pair of loos,
And I hurried to the gents', 'cos that's the one I have to use.
Yes, I went up to the gentlemen's, and pushed the door ajar,
But I didn't push it hard, and it didn't open far.
There was something in the way, you see. I did a double-take,
For it looked just like a tail, the last six inches of a snake.
I decided not to panic - I'm not that sort of bloke,
And it could have been a rubber one, left there for a joke -
So I pushed the door wide open, to be sure of no mistake,
And what should I clap eyes on but two yards of living snake!

I closed the door, quite firmly, and went to tell the guide,
"I was going to the loo, but then I found a snake inside."
He didn't quite believe me, but he went across to check.
- Not just a snake, a cobra! - "Gosh," I thought, and "Flipping Heck."
For the snake looked very supple, and the snake looked very strong,
And if it would uncurl itself, the snake looked very long,
And a cobra's bite is savage, and a cobra's bite is quick,
And if that snake had bitten me, I'd be feeling rather sick.
"It might even be a spitter, judging by the size,
"So don't you go too close, and please be careful of your eyes."
But I had to take a photograph, for that's what tourists do,
And, warily, I took a snap of the cobra in the loo.

The driver wrote a notice "Danger, Big Big Snake Inside",
And the lady with the first-aid box took out of it with pride
A strip of sticking plaster to stick it to the door,
To tell anyone who came, there was a cobra on the floor.
By now the snake was moving, it was climbing up the wall;
It hid behind the cistern, and could not be seen at all;
It came down again, and wrapped itself around the waste-pipe neatly,
Then slithered right inside the pan and disappeared completely.

Now I was on a mission to tell others what I'd seen,
But I was very conscious of the fact I'd Still Not Been!
So in that situation, though most times I wouldn't dare,
When I found the ladies' empty, I quickly popped in there.
I'd had a narrow squeak, but now (in every sense) relieved,
I had to write my story, which I hope will be believed,
For every word is gospel truth, I fully guarantee,
And it's even got a moral, which is very plain to see.

    (Moral)
If you ever see a man who's coming from the ladies' loos,
Please don't jump to conclusions, he might have a good excuse,
- "I went to spend a penny, for my need was quite intense,
"And I had to use the ladies' - there's a cobra in the gents'!"

I wake to bright sunshine
streaming in at the windows,
and look out, it seems, on a vast snowfield,
a white plain with rounded hillocks
reflecting the brilliance of the light,
extending to the furthest horizon.

A few minutes,
and the snowfield is invisible.
Everything outside is invisible
but the dampness on the windows,
and an all-pervading fog,
shutting me, claustrophobic, inside.

Soon the fog too is gone,
and now a steady drizzle
beats on the glass.
I have to leave the warmth inside,
descend the steps
to the grey gloom
of an English morning.

But looking up, I know
that the clouds that cover the sky,
darken the earth,
are mere vapour,
and above them the sun still shines.

When you left this room,
or a room somewhat like it,
stepping into the light
you were dazzled by the sudden brilliance,
only gradually coming to terms with it.
Now, overwhelmed by the darkness,
by the stillness, dazzled still
by the light you learned to take for granted,
(impossible in this quiet room to see
what faces you) you ***** for a chair.
The thought of turning back passes briefly
through your mind, you refrain
from opening the curtains, knowing,
telling yourself, the moment will pass,
the after-image fade, the echoes
of outside be absorbed in the silence.
Be still in the dark,
listen to the silence,
understand
this room was waiting for you.