Once again Parker and I trudged the city streets, weaving through the living, tho' not one of them was alive. We ventured further afoot than we usually do, not that one area of London particularly differs from the other. A fevered repetition of aching hearts and sorry souls. We walked for miles, my soles nearly worn right down. Our journey had to be cut short, as walking bare foot would certainly have encouraged that well known heart ache to set in! On the way back to camp we were confronted by urban pirates with gold teeth and daggers. Parker and I knew what had to be done. I flickered my eyes in the direction of my worn down boots, my miniature copy of Paradise Lost just peering out from beneath a woollen sock! I could feel Parker trembling in my holster.
As swift as Oscar Wilde’s whit ;I plunged my hand straight down the side of my leg, grabbing my book with my writing hand. The Pirates stood in disbelief and confusion. Through his own words Milton was conjured and ready to assist. Armed with apostrophe and rhyme we were to fight these sorry creatures. I threw an apostrophe in their direction, as one would spin a boomerang. It very tidily knocked one greedy dagger from an angry hand. We threw rhyme and verse in a well rehearsed response to this madness but the pirates were standing strong. John now balancing on a crumbling wall to my right shouted in a slightly panicked tone:
“ L’Allegro “, L’Allegro.”
I knew instantly his train of thought. Both lovers of music as well as word, we hit hard the faces of misery with a melodic might. Gold teeth now resonating, the pirate’s hands lost grip. Blood hungry daggers forced to the floor, blinded by insight, as Milton himself was in his earthly life! Shocked and shaking like a tuning folk finding a vibration; the pirates ran for their lives and their supper. I turned to John and thanked him without words, as he then became them.
I wrote this for us:
London
Thrown into the pits of hell,
Ravished by flesh eating hounds,
Devoured by sorrow’s serpents,
A place called Lost and Found.
Putrid roads soaked in death,
Gold teeth and daggers but guns are best!
Blood filled waters sipped like wine,
Supposed freedom and rights divine.
A dancing temptress and lustful queens,
Dirty boys with dirtier dreams,
A people plagued solitude and tumored minds,
Death breeds death, as the blind lead the blind.
Dance with the minions, then laugh when they fall,
Make you punish yourself; the worst pun’shment of all.
Welcome to the pits of hell, even God can’t save you now.
Tread carefully my dear…
…in glorious London town!
By Spirit de la Mare aka Li’l Literati. London 2009
Poem from 'Poetic Justice -Politics, Pride & Purgatory.
A selection of nursery rhymes for adults
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2009.
'Wait'
Photograph by Spirit de la Mare aka Li'l Literati.
C. Spirit de la mare 2009.
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