Two fictional characters
walk into a bar

in Malta
( * Marsaxlokk - to be precise ).

"To...be....tooo beee. . ."
stammers Hamlet.

"Oh fer Gawd's sake...two beers!"
J. Alfred Prufrock snaps.

"You really milk that
"To be or not..." thingy."
J.A.P. scolds Hamlet.

"Tsk...tsk!" Hamlet tsk tsks.
( sticking his tongue out ).

Two Cisks are plonked
down before them.

"No...I am not Prince Hamlet or
was meant to be..!"
J.A.P. quotes him self.

"Awww fer Jaysus sake...loooook
just for the fun of it...the gas of it

we swop
texts!"

Hamlet interrupts Prufrock's
protestations.

"Ohhhh....o.....K?"
Prufrock ponders somewhat doubtfully.

And, so:
Hamlet the Dane

( for yea it is indeed he)
dares

(1) to eat a peach (2) wear the bottoms of his white
flannel trousers rolled (3) parts his hair behind even

(4) dares
to aks

the overwhelming question

"( Oh, do not ask, what is it! )"

Oh & (5) gets to hear
( ** ** ** )

"...the mermaids singing...."

Prufrock "Hum...."
kills the king.

Becomes the king.

Beds.
Weds
Ophelia.

" Buzz buzz...come come..go...go!"

"It's a very foreshortened
Hamlet...I know

but - what the heck!

"See..? slurps Hammy
". . . now, that wasn't so bad...was it?"

"Another Cisk?"
"Naw...I'll have a Becks!"

"Jaysus Prufrock now
...what's up?"

"Don't know..."mutters J.A.P.
wearing a frothy beer moustache.

"HURRY UP PLEASE...IT'S TIME!"
roars the barman in Maltese.

"I can connect nothing
with...nothing!"
Prufrock almost sobs.

"Like that time
on Margate sands..."

Hamlet cuts him curtly off.

"Don't even go...there!"

"But I still get that squirmy
...you know...feeling

we are just
fragments of

the imagination of
some *long haired Irish poet

sunning himself by
the waters of

the shimmering waters of
a Sliema hotel pool

...up up in the clouds!

Hamlet sighs.

"Yeah, me too
spooky...innit?"

Hamlet looks behind him
checking for what isn't

there. . .

"Ahhhh well, never mind eh?"

Prufrock attempts an attempt
at being cheerful.

Fails miserably.

"Let us go, then
you and I...

when the evening is spread out
against the sky..."

Like a patient etherised upon a table!
they both sing outta time and outta tune

stumbling one
into the other.

A long hair Irish poet
smiles as he watches them

go.

"Għaġġel fil-għoli...wasal iż-żmien JEKK JOGĦĠBOK!"
the barman roars.

NOTES

Pronounced MAR SA SCHLOCK. Those Maltese Xs being really SHs in disguise.

* Pronounced CHISK but the new barman is obviously new to the language and pronounces it TSK which makes him think that is what our two fictional characters are ordering.

Not to be confused with mobile texting but rather the literary texts of which both of them owe their existence.

* The play bounded in a nutshell as it were.

One Donall Gearld Oliver Denis Dempsey is a good example of this sort.

* The No. 1 song all over Heaven...beating Sparks THE NO. 1 SONG ALL OVER HEAVEN  to the top spot.

** "Għaġġel fil-għoli...wasal iż-żmien JEKK JOGĦĠBOK!" Once again the new Irish barman hasn't got his tonsils around the Maltese lingo and comes out with this terrible mish mash of the typical barman's cry.

THE Colonel went out sailing,
He spoke with Turk and Jew,
With Christian and with Infidel,
For all tongues he knew.
"O what's a wifeless man?' said he,
And he came sailing home.
He rose the latch and went upstairS
And found an empty room.
The Colonel went out sailing.
"I kept her much in the country
And she was much alone,
And though she may be there,' he said,
"She may be in the town.
She may be all alone there,
For who can say?' he said.
"I think that I shall find her
In a young man's bed.'
The Colonel went out sailing.

III
The Colonel met a pedlar,
Agreed their clothes to swop,
And bought the grandest jewelry
In a Galway shop,
Instead of thread and needle
put jewelry in the pack,
Bound a thong about his hand,
Hitched it on his back.
The Colonel wcnt out sailing.
The Colonel knocked on the rich man's door,
"I am sorry,' said the maid,
"My mistress cannot see these things,
But she is still abed,
And never have I looked upon
Jewelry so grand.'
"Take all to your mistress,'
And he laid them on her hand.
The Colonel went out sailing.
And he went in and she went on
And both climbed up the stair,
And O he was a clever man,
For he his slippers wore.
And when they came to the top stair
He ran on ahead,
His wife he found and the rich man
In the comfort of a bed.
The Colonel went out sailing.
The Judge at the Assize Court,
When he heard that story told,
Awarded him for damages
Three kegs of gold.
The Colonel said to Tom his man,
"Harness an *** and cart,
Carry the gold about the town,
Throw it in every patt.'
The Colonel went out sailing.

VII
And there at all street-corners
A man with a pistol stood,
And the rich man had paid them well
To shoot the Colonel dead;
But they threw down their pistols
And all men heard them swear
That they could never shoot a man
Did all that for the poor.
The Colonel went out sailing.

VIII
"And did you keep no gold, Tom?
You had three kegs,' said he.
"I never thought of that, Sir.'
"Then want before you die.'
And want he did; for my own grand-dad
Saw the story's end,
And Tom make out a living
From the seaweed on the strand.
The Colonel went out sailing.

black pools of passion
born out on her smile
full lipped waiting
for that first kiss
whisper saying yes, yes
falling forever
in eye-blink quid pro quo

-cec

There once was a man named Pop,
Who always went out to mop.
He thought his mop was too chubby,
So he went to give it to Bubbie.
Bubbie went out to mop,
When suddenly she halted to a stop.
She thought her mop was too thin,
So she dumped it back in the bin.
Bubbie accidentally stepped in some gue,
But didn’t know what to do.
Picking her foot up didn’t work,
So she went to call the clerk.
The workers came rushing over,
As to playing the game Red Rover.
They went to get the mop,
When surprisingly, they fell to a plop.
They quickly picked up the mop,
And started to swop.
Bubbie’s foot came twirling out,
Then Pop walked out cheering about.
Pop fooled Bubbie,
She now got really mad,
Then Pop had realized,
What he had done was bad.

My summer sweats bloom from a grass rag,
Scratch another hardly blasting out a calibrate,
Can I break, strap out hacker doozy bluemoors,
Caught from an out sound, an out frowned
Blackening the coffin sweet cough lubricate,
Shackle high tops on pipe dream loft shakers,
Clover feelers, four hitter on lucky seven collar,
Depth sin protector, **** I ain't wrath looter,
Nor do poppa sizes on some puke lips locker,
Key switch for gates hellish donor, back loner,
Course you see, I seek seep suckled *****,
Not some subtle soul (gap in skirt) poker,
Forever reaching lines, bust knuckle lifters,
Cracked rage like Nile is flooding wealths curlers,
Jewel duplicate for ruby cuts on roofless lust,
Symbolise another and I'll grabble force an honour,
Sober up soppy crotch rummage coper,
Scan cell prison ament Scholar's "repent!"
Mace battle X axel swop blunt round passel,
Cost more on pepper rubber rock relation,
Patient prep operation, cramp dilation,
Dial engage **** sudden blocked injection.
Cast nocturnals ominous above monuments,
Men fall like weak's race for joy's division,
Attend pro's vision, pure as skies probations,
Pack pampers protection tracks premonition,
Flat lines before lap times, clenching half rhymes,
Hop hotter than blues croft in dusks knots,

I shutter in the nights moon.
I hide my self way before noon.
I fear, I fear, night will drift me away.
Moon! I gasp! Do you see me,
turn your judging face from me.
I shutter in the moons glow.
I fear! Which way should I go.
I see the morn only in my mind.
Its solemnly burrow within the trees
like a spy. Yet the cannot escape
my keen eye.
Day light!  Blasted day light!
Sneeks its glow upon me.
Yet,  comforts like a blanket!
But though I shutter in the moon light
And yet, I welcome a  
pleasantly new days sun,
Woot! Whoo! Comes my weak calls.
For by days sun I hunger no more.
I just peck lustfully blood from my
fluttering feathers, of nights telltale gore.
I am just a hungry owl,
Whoot!  Whoot! I cry.  
My beak shutters to softly croon
My calls fierce, again in nights moon,
Alass!  Shouts of fear from the mice.
from chipmunks from the baby racoons.
Hide! Hide! Hide!
For I will stalk you in the night.
You shall be my dinner before
day light.
Comes now too, my endless fear.
I float over fierce brown deer
Its mighty weight, yet, of me
it does not flinch,
Yes, even with my nightly, whoot!
Whoot! Over it  my eyes gauntlet glare
It just looks me over as if I am not there.
I flutter full, to appear stronger, but though
I am mighty to the new birthed young,
I am desolate to the ones more than I, so strong.
Whoot! Whoot! Whoot! I cry out.
I cry strong and brave,.
Yet, not a small beast does not fear as it
shows its self to me
They scamper, Ha! Ha! I laugh.  
Do they not realize their tiny legs will
not free them from my swooping outcome.
I swop, Ha! Ha! Silently I am upon them.
I since their heart beats like a drum.
Soon it is over. Their will is no more, but mine.
As I perch way up in this tree
Shutter I do of beasts, but so do they.
For in the woods all too is fair play
For that is nature's contract
guaranteed, to all forest prey.

For the Heads of Heads

holdings are a game, marbles –


you swop, so boring!

Sanmati, my messenger, is no more a milksop.
Ardent though is she never will yawp.
Nagging sometimes though in some shop.
Merrily walks in crowd alone till atop.
Amends her needs; tackles one with strop-
Till he agrees with her, else does lop.
In always high spirits, ready to swop
Joy or sorrow equally treats like gumdrop.
Angry if treats us like a bellhop
In our home or out, but never plop
Nor cry in public to show us flop.

Book is the only stop
Where all halt from top
For knowledge or whop
Of all sort and thoughts slop.
Though it clear drains prop
For teacher or for carhop.
They are vaguely clear lop
Whenever read makes plop
Of cognition to take you atop.
This is for money a great swop.
These are sooth in great strop
For those who keep at doorstop.
What a pleasure they are as sop.
I loved to have ignorance to mop.

'brickin it'
but
still in the thick of it
getting sick of it
time
to go fishin'.

Mississippi.
it's
Tom and I because
Tom always gets top billing
but
I'm willing to bet
he'd swop.

Sunday
rode in on a white horse
pale and drawn
before dawn,
dismounted
counted the hours
until dusk.

I saw myself from a distance drowning in
reflections
in a playground with my best friends
on a see-saw on my own.

I waded through the ripples and
found a girl I used to know
but
I don't think she remembered me
just the way that some things go.

I could photoshop some memories
but it would not be the same
for I need to see the whole truth
and I need to feel the pain.

On Sunday Jesus saves me
he's got quite a collection of me
but
I'd swop it all for a crystal ball
to see what I might see.

That which we anticipate in a heightened state with our feet on the ground is, at any rate, something we anticipate,

it's good to want?
I
wanted the fountain of youth
even at the font.

Thursday and I are not there yet.
**************
Writing the picture

2018


I saw myself from a distance drowning in
reflections
in a playground with my best friends
on a see-saw on my own.

I waded through the ripples and
found a girl I used to know
but
I don't think she remembered me
just the way that some things go.

I could photoshop some memories
but it would not be the same
for I need to see the whole truth
and I need to feel the pain.

On Sunday Jesus saves me
he's got quite a collection of me
but
I'd swop it all for a crystal ball
to see what I might see.

It's been a long time
Albert,
since we sat in the
Yorkshire House,
chatting and
having a sherbet
aye
Forty seven years
if memory serves
which is more than the
barmaid did
when she found out
I was sixteen.

That was sweet beer
but
I'd swop an ocean of it
if you could be here.

hugz.

"...THE WEPYING TYME..."

my 9 year old self
bargins with God
"Let me die in her place!"

Christ on the cross
snickers with candlelight
at such impudence

"If you want a life
...a death...take me!"
"Straight swop!" I explain reasonably

I urge God again
to accept my offer
the silence deepens

the silence enters him
fills him to the brim
only a tear escapes

God un-god-ed
by my sister's death
I tell Him to go to Hell


*

The title comes from a phrase of Sir Thomas More whilst he awaited trail and execution in the the Tower of London.

Here we come
Clanking up the path,
We are the jailers.
Find a closed door
No problem
It's not even locked.
On we go
This one is though,
No problem
Try the first key
Easy
Keep moving,
Another door already
First two keys don't work
Third one, perfect fit
Keep going.
Another door
And nothing fits it,
Strange.
Ah a window
Opens easily.
Climb up two storeys
A bit scary
Just make it
Hope it is worth it.
Keep going
Next door is padlocked
It wants us to know
It is locked,
No keys for this.
Do a swop with the people behind us,
They've got what we need
Maybe ours will help them
Who knows?
On we go
Another padlock
And no windows.
Turn around
Back out the door
We came in,
Keep going.
Another door
No lock, just won't open
Strange
Turn around.
The door we came in
Is locked too
Side door, see where this goes,
More padlocks.
Then a door opens
In front of us
Opens easily
Opens even as we approach it
The last door always does.

"...THE WEPYING TYME..."

my 9 year old self
bargins with God
"Let me die in her place!"

Christ on the cross
snickers with candlelight
at such impudence

"If you want a life
...a death...take me!"
"Straight swop!" I explain reasonably

I urge God again
to accept my offer
the silence deepens

the silence enters him
fills him to the brim
only a tear escapes

God un-god-ed
by my sister's death
I tell Him to go to Hell

*

The title comes from a phrase of Sir Thomas More whilst he awaited trail and execution in the the Tower of London.

NEVER LOSE YOUR HEAD

"Ok...to go?"
roared the headless tiger.

"Eh...roger that!"
the headless elk nodded.

Now in their headless-ness
they took to telepathy.

Anything is possible if
you put your mind to it.

The legless elephant
brought up the rear.

It said nothing.
It couldn't get the hang of telepathy.

Suddenly the big house loomed up
all lit up like a Christmas tree.

It was the eve
of Christmas Eve.

The humans
were having a ball.

Fat old foogies
lolling about

large brandy glasses
cupped in hand

drunk as skunks
although that's unfair

to skunks
they never touch the stuff.

Still bragging about exploits
out in In-deee-ahhh.

Pointing with a nonchalant
large cigar - the very finest.
.
"Bagged that blighter in
blah blah blah....wot!

A tiger snarls
in silence.

A rich man's trophy
upon  a rose coloured wall.

A lion growls
enraged to be

merely a head
and nothing more.

An elk appears as if
it had ****** its head through

the snooker room wall and
had somehow got stuck.

Its antlers grazing
the chandeliers.

Now the army of the headless
smash through the French windows.

Brandy glasses and half smoked cigars
fall from palsied hands.

Old buffers dying
where they shat...sat.

"Egad...I say...wot!"
the last words uttered.

The big game
tore their heads from the wall.

******* them back on
"Ahhhh that's...better!"

"Eh elk dear chap...I appear
to have your head...swop?"

So they exchanged smiles
and heads.

The legless elephant
threw umbrellas here..there.

Glad to get back
on its feet again.

"What **..!" roared tiger
throwing aside the telepathy.

"Anyone for a game of pool?"
"Me...me!" trumpeted the elephant.