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High rise city centre fairy tale

(part two)

There was a fairy lived on our veranda
She was pretty, and carefree and fey,
And if it wasn`t for the fact that my dad couldn`t stand her,
She still might be out there today.

 

It was one Sunday morning I found her,
As the chapel-bells chimed down below,
All a-drip with the pearls of the dew-drops around her
And wrapped in a silver-mist glow.

 

I was worried for fear I`d offend her,
And had started to tip-toe away
When she called me and asked would I kindly attend her
With rye bread and milk every day.

 

I answered – quite shy and embarrassed -
What an honour I felt it to be
To serve her and, so that she wouldn`t feel harassed,
I`d bring it each dawn secretly.

 

Then, one morning, while watching her bask there,
She looked so contented and well
That I plucked up the courage to ask her:
Would she work me a real fairy spell.

 

As quick as a flash! As our time goes,
An enchantment was laid on my eye,
And a billow of basket-weave rainbows
Made a colourful web of the sky.

 

Her first spell was brilliant and witty,
Though a little bit near to the bone
You see: All of the cream of the city
Were laying a foundation stone.

 

The scheme was for pensioners dwellings.
The Lord Mayor had just finished a speech
That had left every loyal heart swelling
At it`s depth, and compassion, and reach.

 

As the city church dignitaries prayed
The titular head of the town
Declared the stone solemnly Laid
And then...all the men`s trousers fell down!

 

The crowd quite lost all it`s deportment
And burst into spontaneous applause
At such a spectacular assortment
Of ultra-magnificent drawers.

 

The Lord Mayor`s (and indeed it was fitting)
Easily held pride of first place
And displayed - either standing or sitting -
Scallops of Chantilly lace.

 

On the bottom (he hoped to be knighted)
Was a delicately worked coat of arms,
With slashes strategically sited
Displaying his cheeky, pink charms

 

The Anglian Bishop`s were clerical,
Decent grey in a no-nonsense cotton.
But (shamefully un-ecumenical)
`Down with the Pope` on the bottom

 

The Catholic Bishops were gothical
Sinisterly slinky and long
But - to show it was not just erotical -
(It matched his hair-shirt) a hair-thong.

 

 The head of the planning committee`s
Had quotes from the prophets and scribes,
A fine, printed plan of the city
And a pocket for planting his bribes.

 

The union-man`s got the best shout,
Rebel red, with a T.U.C. crest,
But then somebody bellowed `all out`
(I`ll let you imagine the rest).

 

The Red chief`s had red superstars
-a couple each kicking a ball-
In a motif of goalposts and bars.
(The Blue`s chief had none on at all)

 

As the onlookers gleefully shared
The joy and delightful release
The fairy reluctantly declared
That the evening must come to a cease.

 

So she curtly commanded each man
To face the red sun in the west
And respectfully raise up his hands
As it gloriously went to it`s rest

 

As the sun set in gentle degrees
(And the crowd grew respectfully mute)
Each man`s knickers slid down to his knees
And he gave a `Heil Sunset` salute.

 

(The bishops of course hesitated
Finding themselves at a loss.
So one flung himself earthward, prostrated,
And one made a sign of the cross.)

 

I would love to have seen how it ended
- If everything finished up well -
But the Fairy looked slightly offended,
And said, `Let`s work a different spell`
.


 

◄ After the consultation

Resisting a beginning ►

Comments

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M.C. Newberry

Fri 16th Oct 2015 15:26

Frivolous and endearing - with some LOL imagery of
garments rarely seen (or imagined!) in public! With this,
I place you alongside JC and J. Humble as the primary
providers of uplifting (no pun intended) poems on WOL.

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Harry O'Neill

Thu 15th Oct 2015 22:45


Thanks Brandon, well spotted, fixed it thanks

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brandon sproule

Thu 15th Oct 2015 22:21

High rise city centre fairy tale was very funny but did have what looked to be a typo in this line.

(To serve her and, so the she wouldn`t feel harassed,)

Thanks for reading my piece and for the advice.

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John Coopey

Thu 15th Oct 2015 20:31

Marvellous, marvellous stuff and nonsense, Harry. But entwined in lovely ryhthm. I particularly liked "Scallops of Chantilly lace" which brings back personal memories of my glory days murdering Big Bopper's said song at the kareoke.

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Harry O'Neill

Wed 14th Oct 2015 21:13

There is so much poetry about just now that I felt obliged to complete this part two of a poem I blogged before but left this `spell` out (because the first one seemed to go on for ever).

I`ve repeated the first few stanzas of the first one so the readers of this could `get` what it`s about.

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