In Bristol-town did Mary Anne
A little hilltop bedsit see -
Where Avon's murky waters ran
Beneath the Clifton Bridge's span
Down to the estuary -
O'erlooking Dundry's massy spire
(In all the city, no place higher);
With parks abundant perched on sloping hills;
And shops hardby to be reached easily,
And central heating 'gainst the winter's chills,
Reception really good for her T. V...
But oh! the light that poured in through the window
Brought blooms to grace the pot plants on that bright sill
And fill the air with odours rich and mellow
To make her feel like there was no tomorrow...
But in due course it came like others sure will.
At her flat-warming was a guy from Porlock -
A strange young man who deemed himself a warlock...
And as the party started to take off -
All wreathed in smoke, cross-legged, folk heard him cough:
"My Tarot 's here - I'll tell your Fortunes free!"
And from all sides rose: "Oh! It's FREE! Do me!"
He did just as he said - gave each a great thrill...
Then Mary Anne's turn came - but she felt quite ill:
Well stoned, but with an o'er awing sense of dread -
Would she be happy, sad; or rich or poor?
When would a tall, dark stranger reach her door?
Instead he fixed her with a long stare, then said:
"It's on the cards... It looks like you've been Sussed:-
Official voices prophesying: 'Bust!'"
The shadow of the doom of leisure
Cast its gloom upon her guests.
Deeming freedom more a treasure -
Fear of multiple arrests
Meant no-one had a moment left to waste
They nearly broke the doors down in their haste!
A postman with a visage dour
Stood a-knocking at the door:
"Record'd Deliv'ry." grunted he -
She signed, and then he gave her three
Letters with tidings from far.
Alack! Alas! And woe is us..!
Cry grief! And rue the day!
Her only bank had bankrupt gone - thus
No rent could she now pay!
She would lose her bedsit where
Her rare, exotic pot-plants blowed..!
Soon, all the road heard with despair,
The Bailiff's cry: "Beware in there!" -
His halitosis smote the air!
Furniture piled in the road...
(The Vice Squad wept through telescopes:
So near - yet far - their dawn raid hopes!)
...Evicted from her own abode!
J & K Taylor
Written: 1988, Bristol
Spoof of the Samuel Taylor-Coleridge poem Kubla Khan
A - X-Calibre, Volume V, 1988
B - The Finger Post , Issue 14: Oct, Nov, Dec 1989
Far have I travelled in the Heart of Gold,
And many hoopy froods and weird scenes seen;
Round many way out planets have I been,
A stowaway in Vogon spaceships' hold...
Of life (don't talk to me about life) I'm told
That Deep Thought made the Earth as a machine
To calculate what 42 might mean -
This by laboratory mice controlled!
It makes me want to drown myself in tea,
Or better yet, a Pan Galactic Blast,
'Cause, like shy Einstein, when, with wide eyes, he
Discovered where his towel was, and passed
Out from the realms of probability,
I've found the ultimate question - at last!
© J & K Taylor
Written 1989, Bristol.
Spoof of the John Keats poem On First Looking into Chapman's Homer
A - X-Calibre, Volume VI, 1989
© 1999 WordWrights.