They departed the harbour of Reason,
set sail across the Sea of Madness
with no prospect of making landfall any time soon;
” Come with us to the edge of the World “,
” Voyage with us into the Unknown “;
And the Sailor looked at the King’s
shilling which he held in the palm of his
hand,had exchanged his liberty for it
and after mature consideration
tossed it into the waves.
In the valley of the idiots where a half-wit was King, it was ordered that:-
the use of the letter “E” will be made illegal from to-day onwards,
an official spokesman said that
the letter “E” was identified as the main cause for the exponential growth of words in the language;
and has in the past been responsible for numerous mis-spellings and confusion surrounding its usage in words also containing the letter “i”.
The order takes into account the expert advice of independent literary academics and is seen as a necessary step toward making the language leaner and fitter for purpose;
Again following expert guidance, words of 6 or more letters will no longer be permitted in public discourse but there will be no additional restrictions on their use in conversations held in a single household or with neighbours.
Police have been granted special enforcement powers to issue a 10000 pounds fine on those caught flouting the new rules on word length and use of the “E”.
In the valley of the idiots
where a half-wit was King,
it was ordered coal-scuttles to be worn
on peoples’ heads when out in public
to prevent them seeing
things as they really are;
The whistling of merry tunes
was also prohibited,
lest joy was spread unannounced
and took others by surprise
who in turn might smile involuntarily
and so give rise to mirth,
and cause questions to be asked
about the edict on the wearing of coal-scuttles.
Author’s Footnote:
This is a companion piece to “The Ban on Straw”.
“I don’t recognise that potato!
what is it doing here?”
enquired the perfumed Duc de Charlatan
with ineffable aristocratic mien;
To disturb the quotidian equilibrium
of this pastoral mise-en-scene
with the inclusion of an errant vegetable,
was in the Duc de Charlatan’s estimation
an inexcusable faux-pas traducing
countless centuries of natural order
and its attendant requisite deference;
To impugn the ethereal harmony
of form,subject and proportion
in such a profane manner according,
that is,to his Excellency,
necessitates the perpetrator of this act
once apprehended be subject to
the full penalties that the Law allows,
which the Duc de Charlatan opined,
requires,
“Death!”.
I dream of,
I have dreamt of
Mountains and those
who’ve climbed them;
I dream of,
I have dreamt of
Seas and those
who’ve sailed them;
I dream of,
I have dreamt of
Clouds and those
who’ve flown above them;
I dream of,
I have dreamt of
a lonely boy and those
dreams he dreamt alone.
” Quick !”,
” The camera !”
aim,
picture;
before the buildings all
up skirts and run away;
tourists huddled in gloomy
noonday shadows of The Belfort.
Nearby they’re exhibiting Dali,
though I can’t quite determine
its precise geographic location,
the blind waffle-vendor tells me,
indirectly that Dali has been
relocated to a nearby aubergine;
” You’d scarcely believe it had sufficient
room to house all of Dali’s effulgent textuality”
at that the midnight grinning tabby-cat
pronounced itself satisfied with its
idiomatic translation of the
sightless vendor’s account;
” unlock the secret aubergine portal and
you’ll never need to approach any lemon again,
citrussy traitors the lot of them!”
hectored the petty feline demagogue
in the spirit of an alfresco symposium;
I antithetically posited that not all
lemons were conspiratorial and was,
” I tawt I taw a puddy-tat” aware
that Belfries emphasised a deep human
urge for freedom and democracy ?
disquieted in that Sylvesterine manner
that all Cats display he reiterated
that Dali extricated the snot
from his own nose,flicked it at
the world and the critics said,
that it was art,truth and beauty;
” yeah,but what about all those conspiratorial Lemons?”
we concurred, the Feline and I.
The Spanish speaking tabby cat
is reciting poetry at the door,
whilst mice in the cellar are
rehearsing ” The Barber of Seville “;
Our memories are scattered
and refuse to come home when called,
crimson has been voted most popular colour
by Old dutch masters who no longer paint;
We avoid mentioning the room in which
the elephant sits for fear of embarrassing
those who are about to leave;
All of our spelling mistakes have been corrected
by those who cannot read,
and for the sake of unity with dunces
we’ve hidden all our wisdom
in a box in the garden shed;
A giant broom of ignorance is sweeping
away the detritus we called learning
leaving the kitchen floor spotless once again.
What do the numbers do when calculators are switched off ?
And when they are switched back on again ,
will the sums add up the same as before ?
Have numbers taken to redefining themselves ,
their values ,their own worth in the hidden realm
where we can’t see them ?
Are addition ,subtraction ,division ,multiplication
set in their ways ?
Inviolable .invariable ,inexorable or are they
a matter of conjecture ,interpretation ,uncertainty ?
Only the numbers themselves can truly know
what the consequences are of those policies
and principles decided upon in secret conclave ;
far from our gaze ,beyond our mortal comprehension
the sum of two plus two hesitates to give an answer .
Dolphins don’t recite poetry
Pandas never discuss Kant ,
Seagulls are rarely eloquent
and Hyenas do nothing but rant ;
Orangutans like listening to Brahms
Piranhas enjoy Winter sports ,
Mountain Lions are socially maladroit
and Kangaroos never wear shorts ;
Chipmunks are big fans of Sinatra
Rhinos look good in Wellington boots ,
Basking Sharks frequent public libraries
and Gazelles favour three-piece suits .
The Hours wait,
impatient
for the day
to start.
One,Two and Three,
begin to count
and count again,
the seconds
the minutes
every one of them.
Four and Five,
stare stolidly at those before
and at those to come,
knowing that it is early
and it’s their time
in the Sun.
Six,Seven and Eight,
march the morning past
circadian,quotidian rythm
round and round,
round again until;
Nine and Ten,
hastening toward Noon
for whom the bell tolls,
that hour that is doom,
thine and theirs
and those of men
expedited by Nine and Ten;
until Eleven
arrives announced,
unwelcome harbinger
of the fading morn,
long forgotten dawn
passed by and waved at,
for one last time as
Eleven struts and frets
its three-score minutes
upon the clock,
and then its chimes
are heard no more.
Twelve
comes at High Noon,
on the Train,
a decision to be made
by someone stuck
between a hard place
and a rock,
all becomes clear
at Twelve
O’Clock.
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