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					LEE RICHARD KIRSTEN

Poets Bible
Vol 1

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art P ne O

a letchard inc odyssey

The Bible

Published by Letchard Inc creative rebellion since 1991®
London, England.

editing and layout by Lee Richard Kirsten

Copyright © 2005 Lee Richard Kirsten isbn 0-9548420-3-0
All Rights Reserved. Protected by UK Copyright Service registration The Poets Bible: A Letchard Inc Odyssey: Vol. 1 The Bible cover concept by Lee Richard Kirsten
front cover artwork: ‘end of hue’ © 2005 Gavin John Kerrigan. All Rights Reserved.
printed in London, England by Panache 2000 Ltd

r o F

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l i e le Nng
ian e on ard lif u y g my ht in m ed v nig a o s ateful wh t f 991 1 tha

God
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To

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Let my imagination laugh for me, as I break into the world, poker faced as a stoned apostle, true to the flying invisible kingdom, I have outlined to build.

From Me And
My Friendly Demon

CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION (10)

THE POETS BIBLE (VOL. 1) THE BIBLE
THE BATH BLUE TICKET (IN) THE BOOK OF POEM LOST POEMS THE BLACK DOT THE ATOMIC BULLET COMIC (in three sections): a. HIGH TEA b. AN ESSAY AFTER A MOMENT IN HISTORY c. FINAL LOVE 74 84 42 43 13 15 19 32 41

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On the road, there is no need for imagination.

INTRODUCTION
All that I want to concern myself with is the rare vision of nature and to move amongst exceptional things, in the workshop of the imagination. I came down to earth and realised the intentions of the gods had been impressed upon me, a gem of reconstruction encrusted into my paper crown ... I had been rewired into a new fool: an agent of the gods, a symbol of dark deviant beauty, a poet whose soul lies now in shards. And so, I woke up just before the moon was expected to shine, then I went out to find intrigue and soon found myself tied to a gate with whip lashes across my back, it all didn’t make any damn sense ... but then the sun shot up and the ground started to burn my feet and the hot lord rose higher over my bowed head ... the birds began to jitter - the clouds began to litter - the drugs began to make me fitter; and then all in one high-octane adrenaline rush of appraisal for life, I dispersed the backropes and resisted the pearly gate and flew off richer, madder - more demented and most importantly free. I had come full circle. I had abseiled to the lowest cringe. I had solo climbed up to the highest reality and had returned happier, whole, whole-hearted - fierce, fierce. Lee Richard Kirsten (The Last Poet) THE POETS BIBLE a letchard inc odyssey Vol. 1-3

Opening Quote
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Talons in the veins of the wrist, grapple out from the falcons unbroken fist.

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Understand the heart of a man most, by his choice of weapon. This entire happening, was once a dream. Don t mind about dying, take the risk. ,

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The Bath

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Remember to reach the seas & beach your knees on shores of gold.

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A This is only the start ... AN INTEREST AT LARGE SEEN IN DETAIL Oh God bless this ... PICTURE PERFECT MOMENT The first time if it is not, make it!

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LEAD THE WAY - YOUR OWN EFFORTS THE HEART OF THE STORY

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So indecent but so “the-in-thing”, we worship the light of the decade ... AND BRICK DOWN FIRES Slapping down virtuoso money, in the knowledge of our involvement & the stakes going up EXPOSURE: Sometimes I freak-out so much, believing in the sights and the sounds - when it is only a world of order & beautiful chaos PRECEPT: Breathe in - breathe out - stay true to the dream BACK TO THE SCORE: Living it one little day at a time

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HOWL THE FRENZIED HOWL OF THE WEREWOLF GOD! There is a new diatribe to sponsor

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B The poem is as it falls SYLLABUS ABYSS There is eagerness in the versatility of restlessness AND THE THING DRIVES ON ...

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The innovator in fire, smoke and thunder assembled with demon and bohemian

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CONCEIVE OF THIS: Clouds pour bankless, over the street lamp looming over a quiet dark lonely road, hung & fritzing like a dying vein, underneath the collar of an outlaw, swinging from the gallows stage, as ... EVERYTHING IS IMAGINED IN ONE REBELLIOUS SECOND Manuscript of the moment BUT IT ALL DISAPPEARS JUST LIKE THAT AND LEAVES AN INDELIBLE STAIN, THE CRIME SCENE POURING INTO THE NEXT RECEPTIVE BRAIN, I IMAGINE C Grateful for dreaming & love; I must love THE PROPHET MOVES ON ... Appreciating the warm return of spiritual friends and places - but not for too long ...

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SNAPSHOT OF REVOLT IN MY MIRROR: A desperate journalist of an accidental society SPOTLIGHT Let it all hang out - your artistic Faust A TREASURE WORTH FINDING ~

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The Book of Poem
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BIRTH OF A KING (The Year of The Fiend) Strange phenomena crowd my mind in the hot sticky nights of Augustine. I run to escape this enchanted madness, but my naked body is entrapped in a web of blind hate. It tears at my soul, draining the love I once knew, fulfilling it with destruction and hate. My name is Lucifer, King of death. UNTITLED

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Slowly the figure fades into the vastness, a shadow drags behind slothfully. The sun beats down, vapourising energy and will. Voices stab the figure, encouraging disbelief. Sweat pours down, running lines of exhaustion and tiredness. Dropping into the loose sand, the figure kneels and raging like the ocean, echoes out sweet blasphemy. Mirages dance in the distance, shimmering with deceitfulness. Slowly the figure dies, its ashes lay to rest, in saddened disfigurement. LET ME SLEEP THE DREAMLESS SLEEP I see narcotics in funny shapes, sizes. I see needles, veins. I see weird unexplained freedom.

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I stretch out my wings, feeling flight - death. Let me sleep the dreamless sleep, no pain, just a heavenly gain. I talk, my voice echoes in its box, my muted friends don’t answer; they’re dreaming themselves alive, leaving me to talk to God. My marrow dries, my skin dies. Let me sleep the dreamless sleep. UNTITLED Ancient warlords ride sturdy horses along dust blown paths. With bodies of armour and hands of sword, the army gathers upon a hill. Flags of cult whip in the wind. Ready to do battle the war trumpet is sounded, bellowing over the plains of Persia. The rumble of horses hooves beat the air, as the voices of men come together in the clashing of swords. Triumphantly the victor is crowned. Grievously the defeated is beheaded. BUDDED ROSE Romanticize all ye lovers. Read poetry, sing songs, drink wine, make love. Give a budded rose to her, when it blossoms - the time will be right. And just like the rose, you will open up to one another, smelling the essence of love. But be warned. If the rose is still budded and you open up, your

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relationship shall be pricked by the thorns of life and both your hearts shall bleed, Left to wither in the garden of weeds. SHE’S IN MY DREAMS Her beige back and thigh, tans in the mid-day sun. The sand clings to her toes. Running through the clear surf, the water almost eagerly splashes upon her breasts. Her voice like soft music, tenderly caresses my ears almost seductively. To touch her would be a treasure, but she’s so far in my thoughts, in my dreams. Come here, I love you. UNTITLED Satin lovers Mexican dreamers Swan lake dancers Spanish fly seductions Provocative woman with idol bodies, out for a trip. Can you trust them. UNTITLED In your mind, you imagine - controlling thoughts and time. You blow out the sun, You touch the moons face, You can sculpture mountains, Control nature, Destroy enemies,

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Your arms are wings, soaring through Currents. You are invisible, You are a god Creating your own world Your paradise. PENDULUM CHASE Indulge in something light. Observe panoramic views, linked with space and time. Sip the pink champagne sky with its bubbly delight, feel the creamy clouds melt slowly down, chilling your throat. Talk to the peregrines gods of flight. The pendulum is timing us. Walk in the palace of Sultan rule, smell the money, steal the jewel. Crush the grape - taste the wine, pure from the vine sweet divine. The pendulum is chasing us. Horizons are yellow, orange and blue. Gulls fly south. The water is shaking with lines of white, the night is blue, full of fright. Champagne turns the colour of the night, its bubbles bring out stars and comets. The pendulum is dimming. Serpents bite the moon, poisoning the darkness. If you are brave it will not bite, ease your doubts feel its painted cold, smooth skin; look into its eyes, protect your kin. Kiss its pout. Lick its fang, have respect it’s a King. Give him wings - he will fly like a dove. Give him spine - he will bite your heel.

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The pendulum has fallen. Our dreams are shattered. NIGHT The frailty of relentless thought fades, into the dark open night. The forest is wet and damp. Voices are heard through the trees as the wind passes gently, sending a chill all around. The eeriness of crept up haunt, stalks its lonely and horrified prey, as wild beasts are formed in the clouds arrayed. On the earth, hasty footsteps crackle to the sound of withered leaves, scattered across the unwary trail, to defeat, to destruction. THE COMING (As Children Dream) A loud noise echoes through the cool midnight breeze. A sharp blinding light pierces through the heavens. I look up in glorified amazement, looking into the face of purity and grace. I feel my soul stirring deep within. Then, the holy one raises his hand and I feel all my earthly burdens been lifted. My naked body rises gently and I feel the warmth of God’s love wrap me tightly, for eternity. THE CHURCH Halo perimeters Timid saints Young virgins in gorgeous blood shed. Bent crucifixes displaying

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a repulsive and distorted figure of Christ, Hypocritical confessional boxes, stained glass windows. Brass bells ringing - bringing together communion and gathering. Priesthood indoctrination - feasting on the good Lord’s body in desecration: breaking bread, drinking wine - flesh and blood intertwine. The 666 beast has risen. WHAT HAVE THEY LEFT FOR ME Setting suns stagger down a darkened alley, to their home fires & tea beside the telly, after a day’s job, well done.

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Darkness draws its shadows, like vampire fangs growing longer - greater, crawling over the sun’s warmth - cooling fever - with great cool & vacancy. Get inside children. Playtime is over. Hasty shore waters rush like salty dogs after sticks, bashing the sand smooth. The moon cuts a white path over the glassy water and the splashing drops of fizzy sea, that foam onto our squirming tongues, they burn our soft skin throats, like seamen. The toilets are dirty with bad words & lonely phone call numbers and the public always piss miss & leave shit on the walls. It’s very late & it stinks here, but I am wide-open & in waiting. LAST NIGHT I found her at a party last night. She was a rich golden honey blonde, with a broad innocent smile and

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helpful nature. The memories I recall out of my beverage mind are so wide and vague, that my perspective is slanted. Guardian carriage got me here safe. I was drunk, my sleep seemed restless, as though drawn out and made up of thoughts and not dreams, because it was a shallow rest. As I write, my mind is still clogged by the same, some what percentage of a dark burning evil water.

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NAKED RADIANCE The nakedness of their bodies, is radiated under the cool midnight. With wet back and thigh, they make warm love. Entering into the game of foreplay, he feels her sensual wetness. Her inner beauty welcomes him deeply: rising, stiffening. Slowly he caresses her tender breasts, kissing them with care. The sound of lovemaking and arousal fills the nights air - rhythmically. TILL DEATH DO US PART Newly weds carry each other tight over the threshold of dreams: a white picket fence, crackling fireplace, cat and dog, boy and girl playing on a setting hill silhouettes fade. Renovation is needed, cracks are opening, the garden is dying, dog kills cat, children are sick,

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dad beats mom. Wedlock vows are derailed, the train leaves its carriage entering into courtroom divorce, alimony settlement, family feud the children are confused. Their parents have broken the seal, the shiny gold band ring, it’s in their past Till death do us part? INSPIRATIONAL JUICE

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Inspirational juice, so succulent it gives life. It’s like citrus birth, a new season, with different ideas, all growing - dropping seeds that set us forth into another dimension, making us the pith of idea. Everything we make revolves around us, description is interpreted from unspoken thought, that we could never put out to the bleak, unsighted world of people with no depth - soon should they laugh at our words, for they are of amoeba nature, overpowering with their mass consciousness & insect rebellion The Invidual’s thoughtfulness, with vociferous bogus words & actions of no higher meaning. THE DRUIDS OF TIME The Druids of Time sit in candle lit rooms, smoking inspirational herb, wandering into pens and paper of imaginary rhymes that form shapes and emotions, dressed up in words that change the lives of the animated. We are the Druids, philosophers of time and romantic charm. Our words are in the hills, over the seas, crashing out into cores of dense molten, filling the earth with upliftment. Saving the human race from thought drought.

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BETRAYAL OF TWO TIMES (The Garden) Two betrayals spread out evenly, the beginning and the end. Two gardens proposing death in the hidden. Deception from these two kinds led us to be born - for a blood so new stained our future, saving us from the sacrifice. Isn’t it true that the Serpent and Judas’ greed were as ripe as the fruits that brought us here and in that poisoned our choice. Can you imagine the first shedding invocation of a difference. Innocence is cruel, like an extremely trusting Lamb led to the slaughter. Innocence makes each and everyone of us victims, all following the new order of death rising to a new life of naked rebirth. Many of us betray ourselves, kissing death on the cheek. Young death so appealing, you can fall in love with it. My death was so ripe, so fruitful that it changed life. I do not blame my elders or the great teachers for my death. I was just turned on by its thrill, it was so different. I wanted to see what was on the other side.

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WISDOM Sitting here in my study mire, what can I from knowledge acquire? Dog-eared; brittle, leathery books lay dust dormant on these study shelves. What can I acquire I plead - is it fame, fortune, a degree or wisdom; all three can make me happy, but wisdom I guess all men seek in the fortified depths of life. The world cannot cheat a wise man - only he himself. So what do I do great source of unseen presence? What can make me solemn and wise?

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‘Wisdom is found in yourself and your reality with life and how much you are willing to see in the unseen. Seek wisdom out, don’t wait for it to find you.’ O great Visage, source of life, touch my eyes, ears, mouth and heart, to make me understand the world clearer. UNTITLED Eager to down the biting snake holding firm its body clear its venom golden. Fool you are to be in its lure. A numb head heavy feet. Another side - wish you were here, wish you could feel me, I am cold and smooth.

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UNTITLED All the moments passed and outlived, we have either made into movie or poem. The record of time never ceases to end, keeping the diamond on track and in tune to the labyrinth lives we have led. Obstacle on obstacle, pain bound with obstacle is void of expression, like a lost proposal to a mute girl. I was once told to forget the expectant eye and close my own to the audience of pressure. Staying in a world of your own is safer collusion with another could be disastrous, for the bits retained might not be your own. REPTILIAN SCALE Ancient photograph, scale of time preserved with memory kept with a glance. The young never get old and the old never die.

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Eyes re-occur in the smiling of pain, to the mourner who kills the dream with drink. UNTITLED We walked and talked and got lost in our words, at the end of our conversation we found ourselves in some other vicinity. Words have got us where we are today let’s just hope they can get us - back.

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THE END

Lost Poems

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I lay clasped in the hand of my master, guided through passion and dream.

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Hungry highway slowly feeding the insatiable City, traffic. Behind the wheel like patterns steered we, traffic.

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Into contemporary needs & new ways to feed the City’s magnet we, traffic. The City is not a place where we assemble for our way of life, it is where we stir up

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to honour our toast with, traffic jam.

Poignant rebuke under a wilful crucifix. Paused suspension in sudden outcry will he release himself and discard the

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thorny branch, or shall he give up, sink his head and fade into the throng? Do you doubt the promise? Will you forget and turn cold? Don’t you remember his words that stood bold and made you cry. Have you forgotten already? ‘Why did you leave me and join the goats, ramming the blunt tool into my palm, causing blood to spill over the tree, over the hill that firmly supported my thorn.’ I embraced your sin extracting it from the pretence

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Amen

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SACRED BOWER ‘I shall make the uninvited guest informal and forecast a canopy of caustic to ooze the pious entrant.’ Dark, dazed side effects, equally weird and evil. To touch would be immediate entry. Mist or steam. Settling or rising. Settling next to her under the sheets.

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Rising discreetly, discreetly pouncing. Caught tight in an outfit of fornication, never out growing it, never vowing. It comforts, proper and sober, for all what she is, is a mother figure of option. I do not wish to blindly propagate or lustfully in discomfort to connect and disconnect in the selfish hour. A minute of love overpowers all these aspects modestly, with accomplishment.

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‘Offer him something, quick, quick.’ ‘Tea or whiskey sir?’ ‘Are you finding it perennial between the words or shall you cope?’ ‘Uh! Whiskey please if you do.’ Cold growing distraction under the needle in the vein. ‘Hot, it’s getting hot, almost too tempered.’ Illusion by chemical fits like a mask, stipulating recreation out of imagination; until the strap is cut and reality waxes and the wage of addiction is spent ‘Oh dear, quick wake him up, oh no is he drunk?’ Still, is its fascination. Men never get weary of its expense: its costly recruitment to the line. The truth is hidden, just like the lead and shrapnel covered in crimson.

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The sickness lies in the neglect of aftermath, where food is scarce and money shallow. What can be done for now? What can be said, to those who have waited and those who’ve returned. Who will pin them and their pride? Who will sacrifice his soul, on the altar of war? Cover me over - dust to dust. Cover me over - ashes to ashes.

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Depression is gracefully killing. Massing heartache In the echoing thought. A new person Needs to come From this sour seed. I need sex and drink drugs and creation. I need to see things as They aren’t and exchange Pain for numbness Prolonging desire in the Fulfilled need. Strangers will show me the way But only if I see things fit enough for a growing King. The moon shall not wait for

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The half-hearted man. Change needs commitment. The quiver is full and the target for the taking.

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Bodies surround me, Unorbited Switched off to The slurring elements. All is ceramic In neat detail With a last glint. I pluck a feather out of the sky I run my fingers over water, like glass Abstract similarities All earnest behind the Cabinet’s window. Mythical splendour Plush and rosy Coveted by a Devil.

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FALCON Spread the sun On your tail, The shine on Your feather.

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Push altitude To your limit & Penetrate with your Skilful eye The prairie your Shadow possesses. Dive quick & Comfort your Prey with Crimson claw & Pluck out its eye to Reward your sight & Eat out its tongue to Revenge the lies & Tear off its ears To soften the rumours. The currents shall hold you & The sun shall possess you. You are the brave, the strong & the struggling. You are the Falcon, Paragon of flight.

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Any law that compromises - is as impotent as the power that governs over it.

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Her understanding was always of a child, seeing the pasture in the battlefield.

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An individual who becomes dependant on something, which transcends them only to a temporary level - begins to grow weak in spirit.

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In the cross-hairs blood splatters against the walls, there sprayed for the children to learn.

The scuffed claw like an overcast jewel, is disallowing for us to look inside, at the water-mark of its worth; The perforating amethyst, the vinyl claw, eating a grip into our valueless trudgings.

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There is no aim for a man who has no teacher, master, etc.

I have retired and seen many things; though nothing so great as a man who knows himself.

I wager that day would give much to see the play of night. Though not all fair, who will wrong it over right. The gods are curious and are game for anything. Remember to discipline your face, to uplift your defences. I see God revealing his pain in the grotesque reality of today.

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Temptation is the opportunity to learn something about eternal pain. Great weakness, is the foundation of great strength. Map your own creation.

The Black Dot
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In Three Sections

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ACT ONE RIBBONS AND MEDALS (Sernel enters) SERNEL:

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Dandy welcomes and dolly kisses to the stage at High Tea, where the tea is high and always green and nothing is what it seems. From afar you have come from stores ajar, on trucks and coaches and cars, bright as bristles and red as pipes, all types of twist and tell. Sernel is my name, as in sergeant and in colonel, but for no infernal militant fame do I intend to aim, but to bring to you, a strict thick madness, of a kind closer than near, so it is well you are here, so high and dry and plumed like feathers try, so fold your wings and things asleep and fall back deep into your seat. (Tea-Cosy enters) I am Tea-Cosy, here supposedly with a word or two, to soothe your cosy watch-chain-hour and the games court in your tower. Young at heart, I dart with my arms stretched apart, fall on my chin and within time I heal, ready to traipse and trot with stains of tea pouring down to my heel. And now ... SERNEL: (Assertively) And do get it right this time, soldier! TEA-COSY: Filigrees and Dents, I introduce to you your host and the ghost of the boast, tad-daa. (Letchard enters)

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LETCHARD:

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(Points with prim finger to the sky) Ahhh. A souvenir am I, for your minds to have near by, so find a place or palace and if not there have I at spare: there is cushy cocker band for the authentic man and for a mad Mrs Roof, her claw and ball hoof. There are paisley-tongued gowns, for the high coming down, fireplace purled fabric and unfurled wool-brick. There is mildew velvet and vinyl helmets, water cushions, woven hairs and cinnamon chairs for the pushy ones. (Letchard exits) SERNEL:

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And now authentic attendants, wherever you are, in tents or bent basilicas, please give a pricey applaud for the curtain haul and the rollicking madness after all. (Curtain rises) SERNEL: From under the gowns of shrubberies, the night in shoo and blab swims over the mortuary slab, over the nursery school, passed the silos and piles of straw, onto the ballroom floor. And listen, you can hear the waltz at dark, that soft black shoe over polished bark and then off again, over the tavern, over the foundry, over he hill and peak and listen to it speak, as the coffin opens with a creak. TEA-COSY: Through the heads of trees, street lamps send shafts of light, sharp and smooth on the misted breeze. Squeezed from a tire, from the occasional car, a stone is fired into soft silver grass, where patient beetles loosening their bows, latch away their legs and toes. A row of abodes: matchboxes, drift dearie-dee on the

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thud thick black, and the safety matches hit the sack and the dogs moan to their fleas and the cats spit and fight and the moths ram into the light of the one and only house that burns yellow like a bottle brush of egg; and coming up the road you can hear him step, you can hear the puddles on the sugar shiny road, spat and plop and you can hear the depth at the bend of an ear - hear the hallucination, see the fascination and see the yellow disappear from our peeping minds, as the light turns-out, goodnight. (Curtain drops)

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MONOCLES AND HANDKERCHIEFS (Service bell rings in background and curtain rises) LETCHARD:

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Good hello, with a clump of Tallow in my cup. The tea cart has arrived and now the start of a marvellous morn, is contrived in the marigold lawn: carnival wheeled across a field of luxury, laughs and such eulogies of life. Bugled and belled the air struts and the usual spell of mania, it takes us tamely near the bowl of colour, caricature and picture. Follow till the ending; it is only a little mellow bending.

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INTERVAL: Words be freedom, sentences be wings, set them together for a new height in things. (Tea-Cosy enters) TEA-COSY: In the soft cardigan garden, of his untold dwelling, Letchard lights up a sensational Section, spelling out phrase after phrase, to the gifted ears lifted about. LETCHARD: (In the garden) Snake pies, pelican eyes, the slake beast lies in an elegant high, while its biscuit eyes and whisker tries to see beyond the wireless tune. (On the roof) The Petticoat Road, with its berries, cottages and loads of cut hedges, goes on and on with a windmill or none, or a park in the sun on a swing. Though nothing is as fine as a bench and the sense that scones and fences go together.

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(In his mind) Penknife. Walk-in cupboard. Feather duster. Shoebox. Stale photographs. Ugly neck ties. New hat. Broken necklace. TEA-COSY: Shoe for shoe, Letchard steps through the garden, contemplating on the kind of dye, ink and paint to swirl in the beaker of his mind. LETCHARD: I say, how about this then: a bright wooden bottle; a night moon and pot hole; the lint off a beard; a stint spent stoned and weird; a jug of rain for roots and a chug of trains which toots, all to neatly fit into a book. (Letchard and Tea-Cosy exit) NOTICE: It has been reported, that a Distorted Character, having a keen insight into the chit-chat of things, has stumbled upon a Euphuistical Cat. Having been described as a mellow creature with a full rich cello speech, the cat appeared with no signal as to its intentions, over-laying the gasping character with a thirsty wit and wet spit. The Distorted Character had this to say: (Distorted Character enters) DISTORTED CHARACTER: Well, it all took shape when in matin flight, from a crêpe satin bush, bedazzling me with light lisps and counts that the

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ambusher appeared. It held luxuriantly between its claws a meditative cigarette and in the air lay paused in sophistication, on a soft green leather chair, puffing on its smoke seductively, whilst I stared. It then spoke. Its words sharing a tone with my very own thoughts, words so splendent, that they brought me to fall into a pendant sleep and then, was I then deeply brilliant. But of course, naturally everything changed, for now the eccentric creature laid kaput on a mangy thatched carpet. No longer did it smoke a cigarette, for with each allusive toke, each one dreamier than the after most, did it post to its lips a handsome Pipe and leaning in towards me, whilst the cannabis glowed in the Pipes orifice, did say: ‘Now don’t you think mind games with toys, is a delicate poise.’

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K I R S T E N R I C H A R D

(Distorted Character exits and curtain drops)

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ACT TWO BELTS AND BUCKLES

50

(Curtain rises and Tea-Cosy enters, Letchard is seen seated by a desk in the background) TEA-COSY: With pen pouring into a sheet of pine, Letchard locks arms with the colours in his mind; and he sways and like a drunk pheasant he brays, spilling his jug of mother-love and shrilling above his fathers snore for more, more of the violent nets and crow-nests, where the lively violins saw and the wifely doorbells ring for more, more of that orgasm wail, that rising organism of detail; and he, that lazy Bandstand Player, he slips a smile on his trumpet lips and forgets for a while where his trouble lives. LETCHARD: Brush boy burn, brush boy burn, Your whip and spurn and bucket jewel, Shall not turn you red to cool. Stale cigarettes calm your sores And the clocks and cradles matter no more. Light it and dip it. This is the appetite of your poverty, Winter is inside your heart And your baths are weeks and nights apart And as you well know, The mildew and yeasty groin Draw in, the scum and the bruised And what you used is how you grow. Sip it and smoke it. Coffee and tar Sugar and smoke Tuffstone and fire Ash and spit

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K I R S T E N

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Stub and bile Stain and spill Factory silence And the barbed wire kill. Swing it and pour it again. The cylinder cinder and purple finger, The rim chipped and the blooded lip. The Bandit Poet strolls by breakfast, lunch And supper, In search for words, an upper, A compassionate bed And in the heads-air, that in pops and cracks tears, Is a serious life, The one held Before that Dark delirious dare. TEA-COSY:

51

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K I R S T E N R I C H A R D

Shadowy and deep, the Crooner’s letters lurk low in the sheet of paper, perhaps scared to creep from their furrows, as it is better that the heart does not spill until it is dead. From a window, a light in Ianguid array, sedates the objects on the desk: a quarter-full jar of ink, slippery as prized marble, possess in its little rink, the most magnificent black possible. A black one could send against a wall to spatter and no one at all, no matter for their life, would be able to remove it. A traditional cup, holds a shiny medley of a familiar vermilion tea and the tall dark tincture of a Resin-THC. A muted candle, with drool down its sides, stands rooted into a bottle and a holder of water, it distils, as yet as unperceived as a porthole unchallenged out at sea. (Tea-Cosy exits) INTERVAL: The unwrapping of the bird’s song, swished sweet inside the mouth, of not only one ear.

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(Tea-Cosy enters holding an archery bow in one hand and an arrow with a rope tied to it in the other) TEA-COSY: (In announcement) It is high time for tea it is! (Tea-Cosy shoots the arrow across from one end of the stage to the other and rope is pulled) Heave! Heave! (Tea-Cosy exits and Letchard and Sernel are pulled onto the stage on a platform with wheels, seated on a sofa, behind a table, containing a teapot, teacups and other finery)

K I R S T E N

SERNEL: Do you believe it is from hammocks and boxes where those thieving crows come? LETCHARD: Who knows, but as I said, it is better they are fed, than dead. (Takes a sip of tea) SERNEL: Yes, but did you not say, you wished they took the poodle hair scarf, rather than the blue one; you would wear for a laugh. LETCHARD: That is half true, besides if it warms their jewellery, then there is no reason to begin a storm. SERNEL: (Sipping on his tea) Nice cuppa this is.

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LETCHARD:

53

I sure miss the old hostel I do: the fossil furniture within, the mad overture of the inmates grin, the woollen radio crackling, as while a violin and piano cart the moth mind lace through the butterfly-works, where lurk suitcase memories of moustached men living in their mothers den, where care is a cake and kisses are as wet as tea. (Takes a sip of tea) Aah. SERNEL: Would you care for One? (Sernel offers Letchard a White-Leg from a silver cigarette case, also taking one for himself) LETCHARD: A darling Ling, why how treating. (Sernel lights-up Letchard, then himself) LETCHARD AND SERNEL: (Together) And now lavish gallery, it is by time of old, that we made our knavish leave. Heave tiger! Heave! (Letchard and Sernel are pulled off the stage and curtain drops)

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RED COATS AND PAMPAS GRASS

54

(Curtain rises and Letchard is seen sitting by a desk, gazing out of a window) LETCHARD: There now, stillness is resting nesting. She took from a gloomy vase A dozen dripping stars And the room in-a-sudden Lifted out Carrying mind good-bye From stout. I am to think Where comets lay And find a spider there, Her retreat must be such air, Her feet are smooth and fair. Watch over me young navel, I travel unsafe And quaver. (Sernel enters) SERNEL: Poetry; small days and flashbacks are made to resemble this fine monstrosity. Assemble the troops officer, this cockaded flank has duty to parade: tramp mud and blood; spit boot and groom that weapon. Find the quarters below the earth, where the mind reports of mirth Line the trout; storm the trench and ignite the dugout, but do not score their uniforms, for we shall sell them reverently after the war. (Sernel exits)

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LETCHARD:

55

Poetry a life, poetry a drug, poetry the only vessel to unperturbed finality. (A raspberry is blown in the background and Raspberry enters) RASPBERRY: Merry wishes you Highness. Bottled bees (Blows a Raspberry) I am Raspberry, the Party messenger by hit or miss, proposing for your notice. So pick a ticket your Highness (Pulls out a hand of tickets and Letchard takes one) but hide it in your pocket, as is to be you pass is free, to the Locket of Lunacy. Bottled bees (Blows a Raspberry) I am Raspberry. LETCHARD: A Party of what matter? RASPBERRY: Why, laughter, cries and hearty chatter. It is a Party your Highness of kettle talk, with hardly a petal removed from its stalk. It is bubbles, juggles and fumbles your Gladness, things to bring your latent madness out: to be seen, but not told. Bottled bees (Blows a Raspberry) I am Raspberry. LETCHARD: And dress, what costume shall I be putting on? RASPBERRY: Your Highness will assume a silly suit of humour, in short the sorts of a costume made for the stage, brass button armour and linen as straight as a page. (Preparing to exit) And now ...

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LETCHARD:

56

Wait! Wait! Say, I was just about to fetch a splash of tea for us, I am dead thirsty. RASPBERRY: Aaaah, the swill of childish bliss and for your Highness have I just the fill. (Takes out from hip pocket a small bottle and hands it to Letchard) A frill to dust your dryness, for your Shyness to have and to hold as a last memory. Bottled bees, I am Raspberry. (Raspberry exits and Blows a Raspberry and curtain drops)

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MAGIC LANTERNS AND MUSIC GRINDERS (Sernel enters) SERNEL:

57

And now Ladies and Gents, it is by time to allow of zany evidence, a dream to endow your crazy sense. (Curtain rises) SERNEL: Down a fangled grove, acrobats and minstrels rove, in spangled spats and hats, orange, yellow and mauve. Minstrels under their billowing hats, ensemble below at a bower-shaper, setting string and vapour, under a brush of bubble-gum paper. Whistling lips and somersaults, heads at hips with tricks, the acrobatic boozer dolts pile up like pick-up-sticks. A pantaloon plays a spoon, on a tub of dirty dishes, while a manic-loon blows a tuba, at his late grandfathers wishes; and the reputed two: sister Nettle and cousin Poe, play their ‘Boil it, Toilet’, staccato for the spewing and the foaming on their padded balconies and soft rows. (Sernel takes out a White-Leg from a silver cigarette case, lighting it) SERNEL: Laugh all you can, laugh like a day at ease, for this band of talents is what deity is. Laugh more, laugh more and strip your sides, trip wide, guffaw and count the tides, your mind is every pattern woven, the magic is your own, a kind of slippery satin chosen, is the mad-sick tone. (Tea-Cosy enters)

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TEA-COSY:

58

Quietly as the voice fades, livening instruments gently are tuned and warmed as once again, well-informed, the voice performs its words of choice. SERNEL: Listen for the motive, the music most of all, the malady is a catchy one, a roller coaster fall. Listen to the colours, taste the dripping ones and spend your day fun hours, zipping passed the sun. And in the madness of your making, turn away from grey, abandon all your sadness, clearly seeing the way.

K I R S T E N

(Sernel exits) TEA-COSY: The voice for the last time subsides and in full vibration, the instruments now abide, to their portion of romance and trance. INTERVAL: Where ever he went, he carried his moustache and when asked why, he would reply and explain that it was plainly, a family heirloom. TEA-COSY: Paved with the bums of bottles, a road runs passed hotels and brothels, stores and pubs, roars and hubbubs (Letchard enters, seating himself in front of a bar-counter) TEA-COSY: Entering a pub, Letchard seats himself and greets the barman, as a Jar Man slips from his support and a head dips into

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its quart. Off the walls in sorts of animal suspicions, hang tameable tricks and tears, visors of haughty expressions, made happy with drinks and beers; and pairing with a pinking shears, the pieces off his customers, a butcher-barber-cut-off-ears, wets his comb and precedes yes, to style yet another outpatient from The Home. (Sernel enters) SERNEL: The rare inhale of ale on-tap sweetly wraps the air. The wood-ware from spilt drinks and polish is dull and tacky and it all takes one back, to the frilled labels on beverages and the hint of skin in lace and pearls. Never was such an age so filled with wine and sunshine: the many parasols and fellows smoking their woodbines, strolling unwedded and rolling in love. And it is splendid to recall the bend, that did lead to all the times we did spend in the derelict mews, heady with stews and brews, merry amid the sparrows and wheelbarrows, the stirrups and hips, the undone tassels and the tons of hassles of being free. (Bree, the barman stands behind bar-counter)

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K I R S T E N

BREE: Letchard. Would you care for a spot of tea? LETCHARD: Why yes Bree, a half-pint sounds splendid. BREE: If it were my guess, it is a pot-hot-Joint you are missing mostly.

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LETCHARD: Yes, you are quite right Bree. Bright as always. BREE:

60

Have you heard; there is a sideshow been put on in the town’s square? LETCHARD: Will you be going? BREE:

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K I R S T E N R I C H A R D

No, but one thing though, I would not mind seeing it become a box office success, I hear it’s very ornate. LETCHARD: (Drinks down last of tea) Ahhh, well it will just have to carry-on to impress won’t it. BREE: Yesss. (Curtain drops)

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ACT THREE SPIC AND SPAN (Sernel enters to stand behind a podium) SERNEL:

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All those thoughtlessly far-gone, it is whistled and wished you stay that way, so come along and be extraordinaire, comeon and play and rare without care. Jump up and strip into those special clothes and become that child who very well knows, when to raise the curtain and show the show. (Curtain rises) SERNEL: See the show of a Life’s find, the greatest exhibition; see the excerpt of a rife mind, the latest extra dishing. Clamour up to the sale of day-to-day paraphernalia, as for the very best I will tell you all, you cannot get better by a longer straw. So clamour up as member or leader of this day-to-day memorabilia and consider the curious dream and at once the bidding will begin, once you have been ridden of that furious theme. Going once, going twice, going three times - sold! (Curtain drops)

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K I R S T E N

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OLD BRIGADE STREET (Sernel enters) SERNEL:

62

K I R S T E N

On Old Brigade Street, the promenade of marching happy feet, daily pass to greet and daIly on their funny friendly street; and in their booths the black telephones click and down the track backed roads the trolley busses start and stick and in every mustard store, is a custard door to that old home space; and the buildings and houses face the sun and the fields of Green and Gold hoist the horizon and on every porch and tile sits someone, torching that beloved Pipe or Section, smiling upon the day, in that old fashioned way. (Sernel exits) INTERVAL: Side burned with an epaulette on his top lip, the Brigadier announced he was stripping rank, for a shave. (Tea-Cosy enters)

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R I C H A R D

TEA-COSY: Simmering along a shimmering footpath, hooting passed the half daft dandies and heart to heart ladies; Letchard enters a corner lounge, ordering a sound Hinge of a warm to hot salvage. (Letchard enters and is seated by a table, followed by a waitress with his order) LETCHARD: Waitress, I ask you, when will Mr Cigar be popping in?

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WAITRESS:

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Well sir, I know he stops on here regularly, in fact sir, I think he is likely to arrive here at high tea. LETCHARD: Well when he arrives, could you please alert him to join me. Thank-you. (Sernel enters) SERNEL:

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K I R S T E N R I C H A R D

High in their roomy gables, seated behind their tasty tables, the mad regulars gossip and chat, sipping stably away at their tea, as on long standing broadcast a grand symphony, is brought at last to a landing degree. From the waxed kitchen, the perfume of soups and flans relume the stacks of itching troops and prized citizens, who flatly presume that period pieces and facts are nothing more than frames and cabinets for the sober. INTERVAL: The strapping fire tenders drilled with a nodding song, under their brass helmets. (Mr Cigar enters) TEA-COSY: Popping in for his usual Tea and Toast test, Mr Cigar is casually by the hostess, pointed to where Letchard is leisurely in his sweet asylum, seated on his best. MR CIGAR: Letchard!

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(Letchard turns around, getting up from the table, to shake hands with Mr Cigar) MR CIGAR: Letchard dear boy, fancy meeting you here. LETCHARD: Smashing to see you, you dashing fellow, I do say do you come here often. MR CIGAR:

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K I R S T E N

Ha! LETCHARD: Please, please, have a seat. TEA-COSY: Reminiscing mentally in dozy mouthfuls, on the moments spent rosy and doubtful of reason, Letchard and Mr Cigar ease on, shining and dining in the light of a very fine Thing. (Letchard receives a White-Leg making its rounds in the room) LETCHARD: (Takes a draw) Dancy stuff this is, dancy stuff. (Letchard hands the White-Leg to Mr Cigar) MR CIGAR: (Takes a draw) Yes, yes fine stuff, fine stuff.

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LETCHARD: The Park. MR CIGAR: The Park? LETCHARD: Yes, let us go to The Park. MR CIGAR:

65

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K I R S T E N

Why now, that sure sparks a fond memory or two. LETCHARD: Marvellous, yes-yes absolutely marvellous. (Curtain drops)

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THREADBARE GOODIES AND SPARE PARTS (Tea-Cosy enters) TEA-COSY:

66

Running small races with untucked shirts and undone laces, Letchard and Mr Cigar on the clap-tap-tar, pay visits to the many far places, supporting and introducing themselves as play-play Sirs, when ever the sporting need occurs. Waving passed the grinning cars and tea sheds, the red brick houses and flower beds, Letchard and Mr Cigar wade, their trousers strutting through the tall balustrade of the haphazard Budding Heads, to the place that has its balanced trade on-up ahead.

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K I R S T E N R I C H A R D

(Tea-Cosy exits)

INTERVAL: Those penny-farthing dreams are always a tinkle away from the corner they still today wink till. (Sernel enters) SERNEL: What pure hark it is to stride in the stupor of the sun and kick with a shoe the powder of a blossom. To be outstretched on a Far Fetched Lawn, on an excursion sworn to adorn. Indeed, there is value in the picnic in the park, where all the remarkable people sit in the holiday of the gramophone, feeling all perfectly at home. (Sernel exits) (Tuneful whistling is heard in the background as Letchard and Mr Cigar enter)

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LETCHARD: Here we go; we finally made it then. MR CIGAR:

67

Yes, despite the short stop at the chess club, we made it in the best of time. LETCHARD: Right, do we wait here or look?

K I R S T E N

MR CIGAR: I think ... (Packet appears from behind a bush) MR PACKET: That gentlemen will not be necessary. I am by all means Mr Packet and it is my swapping knack, which makes me the top-lemon of all the other legmen. As is seen I am no lavy or dilly-frilly-fop, for don’t I wear: a scurvy red beret, a moldy Persian scarf, a frayed cuffed coat and to my trouser loop a hessian pouch of the finest growing Crop. LETCHARD: Fabulous day isn’t it?

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MR CIGAR: Yes, isn’t it just.

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LETCHARD:

68

I say, how about this then Mr Packet. I swap you this (Holds out a bottle of marbles) my bottle of marbles, for that (Points to the hessian pouch) your Round of Golf in The Park. Deal? MR PACKET: Oh yes mister, it is a fair steal for the colourful vista, there to be revealed. LETCHARD: Then it is settled. To the OIympiad, Damned Friar or frog-toe, I must there into go. (Curtain drops)

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ACT FOUR TALKING LAMPS AND COUCHES

69

(Curtain rises and Letchard is seen seated by desk) LETCHARD: Have you seen the intangibIe battalion In the order of the day? Tense artillery Exotic fire On the forefront Of orbital play. There is non-stop madness As the hot horseshoe melts the hoof And drives the horse away. And for them of civil good, Let them trench like weevils in wood, For their cigarettes red quiet, And the night cadet’s cry out, Are the only things to still them still. As for animals, There is no wonder Why manes Are constructed Of fantasy And fantasy Alone. (Letchard rings service bell and Tea-Cosy enters with the gift given by Raspberry on a salver) LETCHARD: (Impressed) My, my

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TEA-COSY: Your drink sir. LETCHARD: A notable curio, if I may say so. TEA-COSY: And a peculiar content, if I might add sir. LETCHARD:

70

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Yes, our answer is definitely in fond regards for familiar things, as with milk and cookies; pots and stoves; books and shelves; pee and pee pots; knitting machines and linen; cuffs and bruises; buttons and cuffs; wine and horses; whiskey and whiskers; beer and beards; watches and hands; sown seeds and sand and so on. TEA-COSY: Would you like me to pour sir? LETCHARD: Thank-you my good one (Tea-Cosy pours and Letchard raises glass) Here is to soliloquy and to a health and a wealth of thoughts and fresh ideas. Cheers. (Tea-Cosy exits and Dolly Grey enters) DOLLY GREY: (Purring) Well, what is it we are having here?

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LETCHARD: Nothing dear. DOLLY GREY:

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Aren’t you going to allow me to taste, from that noble container? LETCHARD: A taste. Well for that you will need a short smell for savour, a shallow utensil for flavour, a mind on balance to combine resemblance with proof and most but not least, a favourite tooth for my hall of trophies. DOLLY GREY: Oh so courteous. LETCHARD: Oh so pert and yes, it is for your own good. DOLLY GREY:

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Oh I refuse to be taken lightly. LETCHARD: Now, now Dolly Grey, in lilac and black there is no lack of comfort there, as with wallpapered walls and an invitation to share a seat, in a Liquorice Room with Exquisite-heat. There is factor abound and method found in ones own madness. Each one to themselves, it is mine, it is mine, it is mine. (Letchard and Dolly Grey exit)

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INTERVAL: He kept a stirring teaspoon in his boutonniere and when ever he mixed with company, a delightful concoction was was shared (Sernel enters) SERNEL:

72

K I R S T E N

The dusty coat of arm and the charm of remote standing, is as it must be, the theatre of theatres. Striped arm, uniform balm, the eloquent cinema and elephant grammar, are the animal endings to personal beginnings; and hitting on their Gerricks in moonlit barracks, good people write homeward letters, between walls of red and brown brick. He is insane and he is sane, insane and sane, insane, sane. (Curtain drops)

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ACT FIVE HATS CAPES AND CANES (Curtain rises and Tea-Cosy and Letchard enters) TEA-COSY:

73

K I R S T E N

Minding his own business and bliss, Letchard passes by the town and gown of everyday that and this, seeing kids in pyjamas and cats as calm as cameras; and the running children land on their chins and the sun spins down and pops on a pin and Letchard waves to the tin thin light and smiles goodnightgoodnight-goodnight. (Curtain drops)

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THE END

An Essay After a Moment In History
c c

c

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75

(PLEASE DO NOT WHISTLE) ACT ONE (Enter Weed Warmer) WEED WARMER: Ants and decadents, feathered chats and musical prats, connoisseurs and dears, I do-so bleach you and landscape, for a mere mad escape, into the regal shape of hearts. (Curtain lifts revealing Moth Worm and Pebble Boy)

K I R S T E N

MOTH WORM: Steadying-on on the Cool Flat Grass, beneath the fast brass fuel in the sky, the partisans and artisans by their biscuit ministries and watering cans, live onward in their pullovers and real days, from day to material day. And in a way, in crosslegged breeches, the Smokers and Poets and Haggard Preachers, with gags and notes and speeches, they set fire to their Admiral-cigarettes, on the Blunt and antique beaches.

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R I C H A R D

PEBBLE BOY: And while reading their Atomic Bullet Comics and indeed play acting their erotic farm kicks, the Bandmaster and Showcaster sip silently on the last of their Salamander-tea, across from the florist, toy, pet and book shop. MOTH WORM: Behind winter-time windows and moss that grows, old girls and similar ladies with plastic hair and war-time prose, play rummy and simply smell of fragrant rose and coffee as drunkenly to their ivory radios they hum, waiting for their linoleum

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suppers and their hubbies to arrive back from the circus or chemist, where on purpose they must be a part of the arena mist. PEBBLE BOY: And lounging and commenting all day on their hot-lotiontoddies, the Conversationalists and Lingerie Parachutists, with their reading room pleasantry and hobbies, mention and list not only their love of Liquorice-wheat and peasantry, but of laughing sickness, milestones and the fee. WEED WARMER:

K I R S T E N

And with a lot of velvet and vigour, the Pot Purring Sopranos and all but bigger shows, carry on and on and on.

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(Curtain falls)

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ACT TWO

77

(Curtain lifts and a spotlight falls onto Showcaster and Bandmaster) SHOWCASTER: I say, what is there to do about these so-called Constables and their unstable ways? BANDMASTER: Collect them dutifully of course, as for all we know they could be a well turned out Band of Men, smart at heart and unspoken in their solid uniforms. SHOWCASTER: Yes I must admit, things certainly are lasting for the good, like old brown ink and ticket stubs, match books and the story of sand. BANDMASTER: Yes, really, admission is something widely suitable.

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SHOWCASTER: Would you favour another Ling? BANDMASTER: Why yes grandfather. SHOWCASTER: Oh stop it.

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BANDMASTER:

78

We shall work and work at that (Bandmaster holds out the Ling) creating legends from the tip-ends of our hats, to the ship-shape of our shoes. There is confusing weather and calm conclusion. I love it. (Spotlight fades off Showcaster and Bandmaster) (Enter Peach-Wort) PEACH-WORT:

K I R S T E N

Trol-lop-tra-la-loo listen to my hoo, troI-lop-tra-la-loo it is for you and you and you: He loves the taste more than ever, as He sits in the study parlour clever, assembled amongst mantis pants and poplin coats, rum and tea and Reefer-boats. And here where service is always with a smile, one can taste and laugh the teapots porcelain and Green-rum tots poured still into the brain. (A dog howls in the background) PEACH-WORT: My Masters voice, why, why, why-yes, I must be off and a day, yes off to the cafe studio of thought. (Exit Peach-Wort) NEWS ANNOUNCER: (Heard in background) We now cross over briefly to our news banquet. (Enter Radio Speaker)

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RADIO SPEAKER:

79

Leaving the Old Brown House, I proceeded down Rookery Street with its spooky smells of wet shadows and Burningwheat. In passing and in passing I noticed I became subject to numerous whispering windows and humorous whistling tones, that fast began to have effect on me. I was not alone and then and then I knew no one could save me, not even Villains with well crafted tobacco and suede filters, as I felt myself having back to go , for my fill and stir of complete insanity (Exit Radio Speaker and Enter News Announcer) NEWS ANNOUNCER:

B Poets bible

K I R S T E N R I C H A R D

It is narrated: in the community of No Fate, that a Man ahead of his state of mind, was once witnessed smoking hectic batches of Bind, from Romantic-patches kept in his back garden; and it is told-on, that with this eavesdrop came the tackle of conducting with a vinyl crackle in the backdrop, some dialogue from the Man; and as it so goes, in response to the Interviewer’s whereabouts, the Man had this to comment: (Enter Man) MAN: My insanity is filled with insanity and to talk to you would only verify what I have already said. (Exit Man) NEWS ANNOUNCER: And that at last bring us to the end of this broadcast. (Curtain falls)

a letchard inc odyssey

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 THE BIBLE
ACT THREE (Curtain falls) (Enter Fish-Lop and Vo-Viem) FISH-LOP: Look to it then dear mister, For she is not gone And as much as you miss her, You should know she was the one And only one To do with your quaint nonsense And that faint whisker of a sweet sadness. VO-VIEM: Magical moments lost My best friend My baby, O the mystical memories run fast Without end. O playmate of wildness Help me help you rest, Help me help you to your rest, O help me the rest of this helpless way Rest, rest, rest. FISH-LOP: Buried alive Or Buried, buried, buried, buried, buried Buried to contrive a surviving idiom, In this surface scary iron dome. Buried and blue as an ocean seed,

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K I R S T E N

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 THE BIBLE
Buried Buried Buried. (Curtain falls)

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B Poets bible

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K I R S T E N

a letchard inc odyssey

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 THE BIBLE
ACT FOUR (Curtain rises) (Enter Trolley-Teeth and Mr Hat Stand) TROLLEY-TEETH:

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Standing on their kingly chairs and working on their Matchtans, the Air-sottaire and Madman catch up on their airy affairs and plans, whilst lurking with elephant smiles, into an old high standard, elegant of style.

K I R S T E N

MR HAT STAND: And rolling rolling rolling like silent movies, the Melo dramatic Poets and Devil-Damned Crooks move about with violent ease, as they owe it to their dream in books, of victories victory victory.

B Poets bible

(A spotlight falls onto Morning Glory and Cosmos sitting in background) MORNING GLORY: Well, we definitely were not expecting them for two months onward, were we? COSMOS: Well you know those Old-fires. MORNING GLORY: Yes, a surprise isn’t it.

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COSMOS AND MORNING GLORY: (Together) Ha, ha, ha, ha ... (The spotlight fades off Morning Glory and Cosmos) TROLLEY-TEETH:

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It has been found out in the song and dance rooms, that doting sets of Guests, existing by chance of bloom on the company of floating carpets, have been paying great attention to the detail in the neat and the smart and the existence of a fail-safe fleeting part, in time immemorial.

K I R S T E N

MR HAT STAND: Smelling quite like naphthalene and paraffin, the dust lively floorboards beneath their feet creek, as slowly and significantly with sleek posture, while smoking only for taste, the guests move up the stairway, in their smooth and laced behaviour. TROLLEY-TEETH: And well within their cooking minds and sanitary corridors, the Candidates and Kings of tomorrow’s doors, carry on and on and on. (Curtain falls)

B Poets bible

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a letchard inc odyssey

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THE END

Final Love

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ACT ONE MONOGRAMS AND SIGNPOSTS LETCHARD:

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Sweet and homed in the great domed dining room, in the company of my inseparable pipe and its indispensable fire, I pine and swear pop, while my thoughts cavort the play streets that never stop. INTERIM: Puffing on their brass And strangling their strings The mad band made their Music move. RATAIN: Seated in the blue-grey mist of an electric tomato fist, Letchard elects to ponder on the distance of his stability, as the days of dandelions, green bottles and red-tiled roofs are once again upon and in. INTERIM: They added to their collection The unselfconscious entertainment Which reigned supreme before Their very eyes, pinning it to Their lapels. FALSE-IVORY: Leaking from a hollow window, a certain music flows, speaking its noise, as dreamier and lustier it employs the trust of its teeming listeners, who grow. LETCHARD: All that is written,

B Poets bible

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In all that has bitten, What a slender stone, That is precious can chew, Shall remain the earth, the earth, And the dew. (end)

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COLOUR WASHED WALLS AND NEAT PATTERNS RATAIN:

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From his blazing house, Letchard leaves to laze and louse with the local flavour, passing the road menders and those with a flair for the seven-day wonder that is life. Trifling on, Letchard passes the palaces and terraces, the non-sobriety stalls and the fun and variety halls. He sees the linen kicking mistresses and chins resting on fists - the fat beer - the over crowded ashtrays and the flat-real world of the seer, as he turns in at an antique store for a peep. INDIAN RUBBER:

B Poets bible

K I R S T E N

Letchard my son, may I be of service to you on this fine day? LETCHARD: Not really, the way it is, is just fine. INDIAN RUBBER: Just dropped in then, for a look hey.

R I C H A R D

LETCHARD:

a letchard inc odyssey

Ye s s s , t o p e r u s e t h e w o n d r o u s - r i d i c u l o u s pa r a p h e r n a l i a you have here. INDIAN RUBBER: O, I say, no matter what you think, I am not ready to lose my share for no small thought of failure. LETCHARD: Yesss, these odds do serve to excite the imagination and its continent.

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INDIAN RUBBER:

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You could say, that I have married the ages and in that I am quite as content as a mudbee. LETCHARD: Oh tell me, you wouldn’t still happen to have in stock some Hills In Sunlight, would you? INDIAN RUBBER: You know, I just might (Indian Rubber disappears behind the counter & reappears) There (Indian Rubber puts item on counter) You know what the funny thing is, it has been a dusty while since anyone has asked for this particular supply, queer isn’t it. LETCHARD: Yes, strangely. Be it that antiquity is the youth of the world, it still collects dust and an old popularity. INDIAN RUBBER:

B Poets bible

R I C H A R D

K I R S T E N

Yes, hmmm (smiling). LETCHARD: How much does it come to then? INDIAN RUBBER: Nothing, it’s yours. LETCHARD: No, I couldn’t possibly...

a letchard inc odyssey

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 THE BIBLE
INDIAN RUBBER: No I insist, you must take it, go on, it’s your prize. LETCHARD: My prize? Belonging to what tournament? INDIAN RUBBER:

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The tournament & event of simply staying true & living the dream - quick now, take it with you, there is no time to lose. LETCHARD: Thank you, I have to be leaving (Letchard grabs the article off the counter, hurrying out the store) INDIAN RUBBER: So long. (end)

B Poets bible

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ACT TWO WHERE EVERYBODY GOES AND LITTLE STORIES RATAIN:

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Over hill and dale on the split shale stones, Letchard dashes head over heels, holding onto the article as if it were a Grail, quickly diving into a shady unknown alley. LETCHARD: (Raises article to the sky) Easy to look at. (Lowers article to lips) Easy to take. (Swallows contents of article) Easy to endeavour. (Throws article, smashing it against a wall) INTERIM: The colour and noise Of the war souvenirs Was much like that Of peroxide blondes With bright red lips. FALSE-IVORY: Flourishing in an endless succession of fun and fire, the motionless passengers untied from tier, light up in their elegant smoking rooms, surrounded by subdued lights and soft music. INTERIM: In garden and vinery The days spent, Are delighted with Existence and where It went. FALSE-IVORY: Smoothly humming while making summing tracks, Letchard

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kites and glides to the bright outback, to slide and chat-slow with the crowded conglomerations in the downstairs rooms and on the paved patios. PLUM CHEEK: I bet you would like to join me? (Offers Letchard to swing some Rolled-Yarn) LETCHARD: If not for comfort, then definitely for some time with something special. PLUM CHEEK:

B Poets bible

K I R S T E N

(Plum Cheek lights-up for Letchard and himself, holding up the lit Yarn) The sphere. LETCHARD: I beg your pardon. PLUM CHEEK: This here means a lot to me. Yes, indeedy there is nothing like a good smoke and a wonderful man to share it with. LETCHARD: It’s the full glorious morning. (Letchard nods) That is what it is. PLUM CHEEK: Ha, no, it is the epic flight. (Shouts) Take-off!

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LETCHARD: We are nothing but streamers

 THE BIBLE
On the tail-ends of dreams, Whipping ourselves in the Beaded wind, In a race to be airborne And torn from the sky. (end)

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ACT THREE JAM TARTS AND SLENDER LEGS RATAIN:

93

In a grand way to travel, unravelling his thoughts and destinations, Letchard arrives at a gravelled path, beaten in the best of notions to a heated club. Ordering a ready-to-wear-drink, Letchard observes the flamboyant and enthusiastic fashions, the knee lengths socks, the enormous hats, the embroidered waistcoats, the lustrous hair, the sweater girls and the enamelled skin, as each in their continuing sagas, experience their delights on a sensual level.

B Poets bible

K I R S T E N

INTERIM: The head hugging Scent of lavender Drifted through the Rooms with an Astonishing new freedom. LUNARY: Would you mind if I sat next to you? LETCHARD: No not at all. LUNARY: (Giggles) I have been watching you from across the room (Flicks her hair flirtatiously) are you a new breed? LETCHARD: That’s an outlandish question. Why, do I look alien to you?

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LUNARY:

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Well. (Giggles) It looks to me that you have come over the most fascinating of planes. LETCHARD: My. My. You have a strong expression and might I say, that I think you are very pretty. LUNARY: (Blushes, swallows hard and smiles behind her hand)

B Poets bible

K I R S T E N

LETCHARD: And now, would you like to leave this imbued and exhilarating place with me and take a walk? LUNARY: Love to. RATAIN: With arms tightly joined and bodies closely pressed, Lunary and Letchard walk off into the comforting moon, resting in a quiet spot, making massive love and sounding flaming moans, under God and eternity.

R I C H A R D

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THE END

a letchard inc odyssey

Poets Bible
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COPYRIGHT © LEE RICHARD KIRSTEN 2005 VOL. 1 THE BIBLE ISBN 0-9548420-3-0
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PROTECTED BY UK COPYRIGHT SERVICE REGISTRATION

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