"Ancients' Nuisance"

Ancients' Nuisance

Velma's in her armchair, 

smugly sitting reading,

Sophia's in the rocking-chair, 

humming as she's knitting.

Morgana the Fairy's gone to pot 

to pour strong coffee for her tea.

Ancients' Nuisance is New Aeon,

Sayin' "Ancients Knew Sans - 
Let me just call my Uncle",

Sained and Sainted, 

Christened and Painted,

Whores rose as Horus, 

the road is smooth to Babylon.

In dawn's golden light 

the Damask rose glistened, 

plucked, pressed and fastened, 

it's dead and cannot grow. 

Ian Newman said it was a bookmark.

Morgana fell, cried for losing 

the dewblush, 

beautyfilled, 

Rose. 

She saw in a dream, of a Garden.

Binnie and Chocky seem to sleep 

like the dead, gripping hands tightly, 

feet twisted together, 

Their dreams are troubled, 

their shoes do not fit; 

grow Klifotic, Necrotic. 

Cut them off to save their toes?

Awaken them to their extremities' needs?

Are the inmates the nurses? 

Are they all radiant angels?

Do they come from outside? 

Do they wait on, do they assist?

Do they write new stories?

There are many apples growing 

from the flowering trees that 

bide well through every season, 

for seasons run not here, 

the twilight of the afterlife 

before reborn they will appear.

Through the gold and green wooden gateways, 

under grey and blue heavenly vaults, 

in our temples bejewelled by silver and gold, 

wearing the pelts of humans as our ritual robes, 

losing our fears, inch by inch.