Well it wasn’t 'The Pigs',
or Woden and Frige
but a courier from Porlock Weir, Somerset,
given a parcel by a midget
archaeologist, Professor Hob,
working the sunken, prehistoric forest.
I sighed, signed and shut,
ripped the jiffy-bag apart:-
only a small, smooth serpentine and note:
‘Fit this oval in the bangle’
Wear it like a man. Don’t wrangle
with destiny a curing stone untangles.'
Bad rhyme and meaningless.
And do men wear bangles?
But Weird caught me: curiosity controlled.
...............
YOU ARE READING
Beyond
PoetryThis is a fantasy adventure in 12 parts into the Anglo-Saxon past from the present - and back. Superb adventure story. Major work of modern poetry. Don't wait till after I die ;) Read it here! It begins in the present but the main body is written i...
