by Steven ‘Prometheus’ Hoey
Declared it was that they assemble
In numbers eightsome, nine-ish or ten,
In cottage grand that did resemble
A fine coach inn from times way back when;
Made well of stone and thick timbered beams,
With antler’d hall and kitchen to cook
Sumptuous meals, to stoke midsummer’s dreams
Of ingles warm in which to nook.
In crannies’ shadows hide happy ghosts,
So quick to prick and play shady games,
When spirits imbibed evoke our hosts,
Who come at midnight and know our names;
‘Lord Henrey, heir to rubber and glass,
Despot of Brent and Byronist too,
If you’re not careful, we’ll have your ass,
To pinch and prod ’til it’s black and blue!’
Lord Dan was not moved by ghostly taunts;
He had Morticia, mistress of night,
Who could teach e’en those shades how to haunt!
Her raven beauty drank deep the light;
And the spirits danced round her like the wind:
‘Round and round, we orbit Dark Venus,
And so spare her charge, tho’ he has sinned,
When alone, he puts his hand on his …’
‘Genius!’ cried Steve, ‘absolute genius!
This piece I’ve written is rahther fine!’
‘Look!’ sighed the ghosts, ‘he has not seen us,
This poseur composer drunk on the wine.’
Lord Hoey was sat astride his keyboard,
Face bathed blue by cathode ray tube;
Fingers soar from the work that he scored,
But he kept them soft with loads of hand lube.
Into his Mac, through cracks in the back,
The mists set about to be naughty;
Steve’s hard drive to crash, software to hack,
And scramble the programs that bought he;
But, before the spirits could run amok,
Davide tripped, whilst entering the room:
Gucci loafers in cabling got stuck,
Unplugging Steve’s Mac, sealing their doom!
For locked were the ghosts in the machine;
Mindless and dumb, deaf, without power:
Perdie, aghast at Davide’s scene,
Now lying face down, hair white as flour;
Taliente kissed by high voltage shock,
His curly locks paled, shot through with white;
So too the hairs ’round his thick red … sock,
That showed ’neath his trousers, tailored too tight.
Perdie had seen it all once before;
Her uncle, Angus, struck by a bolt,
Whilst tending the sheep out on the moor,
In fiercest of storms, silly old dolt!
The breath of life she gave unto him,
And now to Davide — mouth to mouth;
He was up at once, his head a-swim,
Though ’twas clear she’d roused parts further south!
They soon retired to get a night’s kip,
For Amanda a tennis match had set:
At three, they found her testing her grip,
In Fila togs as good as you could get;
At posh clothiers and smart sports clubs
They knew her by sight, if not by name;
Yet charged not a cent — how? There’s the rub!
She promised free ads — that was her game.
It paid off in spades — rackets and shades;
If Y & R knew, she’d be in chains,
‘But they’d clash with my new rollerblades!
And the rack, I’m told, leaves dreadful stains.’
So she planned to flee to Miami,
A most sunny and decadent place,
Or lay low with Robert and Pammie;
Just ’til her firm gave up the chase.
Davide warmed milk and Sambuca,
That all might get a few hours of sleep,
Whilst Shamen ground Yucatan yucca,
Known love potion ’mongst shepherds of sheep;
Aurora blushed early that morn,
And the village glowed a rosy hue;
Their host brekked ’pon Kellogg’s flaked corn,
And mugs of Shamen’s evil, dark brew.
All were there present, but for the one
Who slumbered still, lazy old sod!
So Perdie grabbed her cane and her gun:
‘Spoileth the child, if spareth the rod.’
So all did hear the Euro-boy shriek;
His tender cheeks glowed bright as the morn,
Or so Danny said, taking a peek
Through his specially-made periscope horn.
Carol, his sister, rolled her brown eyes;
Dan’s peeping habit knew she too well;
With mirrored shoes, he spied fair maids’ thighs,
’Til Carol threatened mumsy she’d tell,
If Dan did not vow he would behave;
But Ann still was worried — this you could see;
She feared his groping, his acts depraved,
His jewelled hand now rubbing her knee!
Our heroes ’sconced at Chipping Campden
Revelled in sweet companionship fine;
Let the locals complain; nay, damn them!
And that, dear listeners, is my last line.