The Letter

[MystyrMystyry]

She had penned me to come get her which she had, for want of better
Judgement, sent to where she met me in that old pub, yonks ago,
It was raining when she knew me, so she sent the letter to me,
But "Grainy", addressed as follows: "Grainy, of The Ghost and Glow"


Scripted I my reply as directed in a handwriting unexpected,
And I think the same was composed in the tongue of Zanzibar
It were her fevered hand what wrote it, now word for word I'll quote it:
"My ornithopter, it's crash-landed, in the jungle, and I don't know where I are"


"In my untamed chaotic dreaming a dream had come to me of seeming,
Going nutty even fruity where the other sky pilots go;
With the slowtrain spinning bringing, my mind flies before it singing,
As the flyer's life has adventures landlubbers can never know


"And the jungle has dangers to meet it, and unkindly voices greet it
With the jibbering of its rivers, endless whispering of its leaves,
When I spy a sight so splendid through the dappled trees extended,
Through the rain the exquisite sparkling glory of its majestic eaves


"Low I crouch in my dingy little clearing, where a stingy
Beam of moonlight bounces gleaming off and over the palace wall,
Far from acrid smoke and gritty of the grimy dusty city
Across the whole forest drifting, spreads its perfume over all


"And instead of endless prattle, I can hear the happy rattle
Of the carriages and the horses clomping through the streets,
And the screaming so inviting of the children playing, fighting,
Rising faintly, fitfully through the endless stomp of feets


"And then two of them they found me, shivering unsoundly,
Shaking beneath my bough all soggy, with a fevered brow,
I was carried by them inside, in the glistening compound we glide
Along a carpet of rose petals toward a house - where I am now


"And the chattering people daunt me, as their happy smiles haunt me
As they laugh with one another without rush nor nervous haste,
With their big bright eyes not greedy, and their towering forms not weedy,
These townsfolk have only time to grow, and never time to waste"


Then I gazed out through my window and watched the road far down below
The grey drab town and dirty with muck high up the adjacent wall
Buses, trucks, cars, trains honking, hooting - symphonic cacophony of tooting,
Air thick, foetid and greasy, buildings blocking out sunlight - so insanely tall


Of a sudden I do ponder that I'd not mind to switch with Rhonda,
Like to swap for proper living where the seasons come and go,
I faced the clock eternal on the infernal dial, then my journal -
"I'll be there with bells on, coming quickly! : Grainy, of The Ghost and Glow"

[Delta40]

MM you have an extraordinary talent. I love how you rhyme words whenever you feel like it. and the story is such an adventure. I am pasting your poems to my favourites folder and if you're ever published I can say 'I knew that guy!' (sort of)

[Hawkman]

Hi MM. I think the idea behind this poem is fabulous. If the meter was a little more even it would have a Kiplingesque beat like Gunga-Din or J Milton Hayes, The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God.

I hope you’ll forgive that I doctored your opening verse to illustrate. :D

“She had penned me come and get her which for want of someone better
She had sent to where I met her in that old pub yonks ago,
It was raining when she knew me but she sent the letter to me,
calling Grainy in the lounge-bar of the trusty Ghost and Glow.”

Live long and prosper - H

[MystyrMystyry]

Thankyou Delta - all these compliments these days, what's going on? :)

Thankyou Hawk - your suggestion is noted, and without trying to discuss the subtlety of my humour or of my verse, I feel a stricter metre removes the sense of sponteneity, which is what this poems really about


I was laying in a hot bath thinking about the dog eat dog day I'd had, vowing to never go through it again, but knowing that it will recur eventually and my brain and nervous system will once again get tied into knots beyond anything I can do to prepare to avoid it

Wanting to change the narrator's outlook was a secondary choice to give it more 'ness' - originally it was going to be a pure nonsense poem, but I'd done that too recently, and with a few lines noted mentally (like the description of the city, and still wanting to feature an ornithopter) I began writing

A couple of hours later this is largely what emerged - I've edited it a couple of times as one does, and will probably continue to until I cark it

But isn't that strange too - how you want a poem finished so you can move on cleanly, perhaps so the essence doesn't flow through into the next? But with some you keep seeing faults and how to repair them and improve bits, but you don't want to overmuch because then there's a risk of ending up with a mess and the initial inspiration for the composition is lost along with the memory


Damn but this poetry lark can be a tricky riddle!