I wonder what the First of November is like In the depths of Hell ? A day, perhaps, when demons all go on strike And stay in their shell – A lazy morning, then walking the three-headed dogs And feeding the trolls, Or taking the chance to restock the brimstone logs And polish the skulls. Packing the trident away along with the horns For the rest of the year, And binging on soaps with the grandkid-demonspawns And an ice-cold beer. And somewhere, in some office, some poor devil Stares at a screen, And starts to draw up plans at the management level For next Halloween.
It was late o’clock in late October, I recall, As I buttoned up my coat and set off home – My hours in the library had still left no trace, The depths of my mind were whipped to foam. So, keen to sooner reach out to my waiting bed, I took a shortcut past the ancient church – And in my barely-woken walk I stumbled through the graves, As I fancied how their folks might up-and-lurch.
But I never thought they would… But I never thought they’d push the slabs aside… And yet, here were their skeletons Just walking round as if they’d never died ! Good thing I was overtired, Or else I’d surely have to scream and hide…
Paralysed by shivering and weariness, For the sight of all those bones had rattled me – But most because I’d spent all week to memorise On the finer points of man’s anatomy. And as I looked in horrified astonishment, A prayer had made its way onto my lips: “The head bone is connected to the vertebrae, And the metacarpals to the fingertips.”
But I never thought they could… Yet I never had the chance before to watch the dead. And yes, the hour was very late, But then, well, so were they ! Yet there they tread – And right there in the flesh… Or, excuse me, out the flesh, I should have said.
I saw upon those skeletons the marks of busy lives, Like bones that once had broken and re-set – I saw some more with fractures, some with cancers, some with spurs, In a lesson I could never now forget ! Their joints had lost their cartilage, yet showed no trace of arthritis, Where bones were grinding naked onto bones, And osteoporosis having tapered some so thin, Yet so carelessly they danced around the stones.
And I’ve never understood… But I suddenly remembered ev’ry word I’d read – These visions were impossible, Because of ev’ry fact that popped-up in my head And I was overcome, And I dropped down in exhaustion on my grassy bed.
And when I woke up, slowly woke up, propped against a gravestone, Quite alone in my new neighbourhood – Well, I dusted off the dew and I made my way to class, To a test I had to pass – and knew I would. Now I cannot expect you to believe a single word of it, Yet deep down in my marrow, there’s a shred… Though I looked around the churchyard on that morning as I left And saw ev’rything was still and very dead.
But I never said you should… Don’t believe my ev’ry no-word-of-a-lie – And as a trainee-medic, I will always trust in science till I die. But whatever did occur that night, I’ll always know one thing – dem bones ain’t dry !
I am a little bit embarrassed to admit that ‘arthritis’ above needs to be stressed on the first syllable instead of the second to fit the rhythm, but I can’t be that embarrassed since I haven’t removed it.
If you should ever find yourself Eye to eye with the Devil himself, If you should ever find yourself Face to face with the face of Hell, Then hold his gaze as long a spell As you can hold that gaze. And when you blink, (you will blink first), Then do not think your chances cursed, But show him as your eyelids rise A pair of still and steely eyes That stare out straight and sharp and wise, That no reflex shall maze.
Gaze into the gaze of Medusa And be forever transfixed, Petrified by our seducer, And the slither of her hips: Just a flick of the tongue and a hiss of a smile, Is all she needs to beguile her prey. With her sleek, sleek body and her big, big hair, And her cat-eyed long, long stare –
Back when slow-worms still had legs, Asklepios, a shy young god, Adrift without a cause or temple, Just a toga and a rod, Was blundering through Sarpedon, Up the valley, down the scarp, and on In search of sacred streams. And there, within a cave, it seems, While carefree and quite unawares, He found the girl of his nightmares and his dreams…
For they say that young Asklepios Had never found his way, Until he gazed upon Medusa, Fell in love that very day, And swore to heal all those who pray to him, On her behalf, And swore to ever after bear Her symbol round his staff. His temple was a shrine to her will, Where serpents freely slinked among the ill.
But these days, preachers rarely praise The grass-snake in the grass, The serpent in the Garden Isn’t welcome at the mass. Saints were crowned for banishing and slander – Or even worse, The mauling, groping, serpent-handlers, Just to prove a single verse – Snake-oil merchants, hick-wood hacks With diamond rings and diamondbacks.
But we who gazed upon Medusa, Goths and metalheads and geeks, Who don’t recoil from fang and coil, As steadfast as those ancient Greeks, Are blessed forever with her curse – To see in ev’ry child of hers Her beauty – deadly if unwise – In never-blinking eyes.
In the Beginning there came forth the bursting, With ev’rything rushing from ev’rything else And which is still pushing on all things today, Though no-one can feel this occur.
Then came the clouds that would slowly grow bigger By drawing in other clouds, adding their bulk, And the bigger they got, so the stronger they drew – For all things attract and concur.
Then the clouds shrank, but not in their weight, Till they’re thicker than stone and they’re thicker than gold – Their centres grew hotter and started to burn, And that is how stars were begun.
And in with the stars came there light and came heat, And those parts of clouds still left over became The planets that circle them, round and around. And thus, although later, our Sun.
A ball of great fire, a sibling to stars, But much, so much closer – with planets with moons All smaller by far than the Sun at their centre. And each, not a disc, but a ball.
And the third planet out – why, here lies the Earth ! In its earliest days, so another young planet Collided, and flung out much debris and rock, And the Moon was thus formed from it all.
The Earth was still hot, with no water upon – But one day it started to rain, and to rain, And to rain, until leaving its surface entire Now covered by one endless tide.
And the seafloor was cracking up, carving out plates – Floating around on the runny, deep rock, Barging around, bringing quakes and volcanoes – So slow, yet relentless their slide.
This caused for the granite to well from beneath – Far tougher than seabed, this new kind of rock Would form up the heart of the massive landmasses That rose on up out of the sea.
Life in that ocean was also beginning – So tiny and simple, and so it remained. But ev’ry new offspring was just slightly diff’rent And ev’ry slight diff’rence was key.
The better did better, the lesser did less, The better spawned greater, and so did their young. So slowly life changed into myriad forms. Then life got much bigger and complex.
For came there a time when these tiny lone beings Did better by working together, by losing Their selfhood – to building a single large creature. And some gave up budding, for sex.
Some became plants, who could not move themselves – And some became animals – these ones, they could. So many animals, so many strategies – Hard shells and soft shells and backbones and more.
Shellfish were rampant, they’re moment had come. Many would die out, they did not survive, While others still thrive – and small is the diff’rence. They filled all the sea from the waves to the floor.
The first on the land were the plants on the beaches, Spreading thence over the virgin terrain, And bugs were soon following, creeping and flying, As coal was creating from dead tree and fern.
The fish had grown out of a wormlike beginning. Some pulled themselves out of the water with fins, At first only briefly, then longer and longer, Until came the time when they didn’t return.
Unlike the insects, these creatures grew larger, And larger, and larger, and ever more so. But when the Earth changed, they could not survive it – Except for the birds, who flew on.
Now came to prominence more fish-descendants, Who bore their young live and who nursed them with milk – They filled up the landscape the giants had quitted, But stones still remain of those gone.
Some were the monkeys, who lived in the trees, And some had grown larger, and some had come down, And walked on their hind-legs, and upright, and tall – These were the humans. So now you all know.
And all this had taken so many years, many. More than a thousandfold thousand of lifetimes. And still it continues today, and tomorrow – And so days will come, then, and so days will go.
But all that I tell you is not the whole tale. Parts have been left out that need to be told – Parts to be sought out, to draw back the veil, And parts yet to happen, that wait to unfold.
When the news is full of more beheadings, Bombs on busses, boots on deserts, holy war, And drones attacking family weddings From Benghazi to Lahore, I turn to Senator and Mullah both, And ask them, have they any peace to barter ? Is there any hope for growth From Casablanca to Jakarta ?
But each calls the other a shirker: Says the Senator “Ye see that Ayrab ? He’s nae Rab, he’s a dirty Sassenach.” The Mullah snorts in his tartan Burqa: “That Yank’s nocht but a flithy Irish ! Aye, aw pish, an’ a plastic Mac. Now, I am a Jackobite rightly through, As ginger as the white-on-blue, From Samarkand to Timbuktoo !” At this, the Senator gives laldy: “Listen, pal, I may be black, But I still can gie ya heid a crack, And I’ll see youse, Yaqub, if ye’s lookin’ a’ me !”
Hey, I hear you’re godless – And your universe is empty, And this life that you are living Is your only shot at plenty, And your death will be your ending, And your birth was just a chance, And your soul is just your neurons, And your story is a minor space romance. But are you happy ? Or is your logic just a bluff ? When you’re only made from dust, Is this lonely world enough ?
Hey, I hear you’re godless – But you say the Heavens wallow In a myriad of wonders, With a thousand more tomorrow – And although our death is scary, So much more-so is the chance Of our ever even being, To be living in this epic space romance. I guess you’re happy, It seems you’ve really found your style – Hey, I hear you’re godless, But it’s great to see you smile.
Obey in All Things your Masters According to the Flesh
When even Jesus shrugs his shoulders, Utters not a word ag’enst, And Paul is rooting with the holders Over people bought and fenced – All these chattels in their fetters Must submit unto their betters. God had cursed the sons of Ham – So help yourself – he just don’t give a damn.
And thus were Haitians much maligned By France, the Pope, and even God, (Who spat upon their Negro kind And swore to keep them ’neath His rod.) Till after ev’ry prayer had failed, They struck a pact which countervailed – It’s such a sorry state of works When Satan saves and idle Jesus shirks.
One god, two gods, Sitting on a cloud, But we killed them both for dead When their wrath was disallowed. Three gods, four gods, Lurking in the gaps, But we winkled all them out When we stole their thunderclaps. Five gods, six gods, List·en·ing to prayers, But we did them out of jobs When we always dodged the fares. Dead gods, fled gods, Nothing left to show – Five thousand down, And one more to go.
One man drifts upon a door – Too far from home, too far from shore, Without supplies, without an oar. Or so I’ve heard it told. Both he and raft, three days ago, Were languishing upon the deck – Now all the rest are ten below, Yet he by chance has fled the wreck. Instead, he gets to starve and stare At water, water ev’rywhere ! Beneath the fierce, unflinching skies, He waits his death and hungry flies – When shadows cross his salt-caked eyes… A figurehead in gold !
So weigh the anchor, hitch the stay, We’ll blow you back to yesterday – We’re all adrift and outwards bound, An island’s waiting to be found. So dance with the carambola, By the fair isola of the giorno prima, Ev’ry newborn gleamer.
One man drifts below a prow Too far from home – but safer now, If he can only climb somehow… And so our yarn sets sail. Up top, he finds no sign of life, Yet down below are cages crammed With birds, and beasts, and flowers rife: As live as he, and just as damned. A hold here to behold ! All brought From out the land he sees to port. But where are they who stocked this store ? If only he could swim ashore, To the island of the day before… Ah, therein hangs a tale…
So drop the anchor, be becalmed, We’re porpoised, parroted and palmed In paradise, in distant climes A long long way from Greenwich times. So dance with the mola mola, By the lost isola of the giorno prima, Ev’ry shipworn dreamer.
This is based on the opening of Umberto Eco’s novel.
Rhyming Couplets 