The old rustic fence, listing at the end of the garden Looking forbidding, yet tantalising. When I was very young the fence was too high Maybe not so brilliantly painted Now naturally, against the sky, tainted.
Tufts of rough grass, enticing a tumbling foot Looking innocent, from a distance Like the wall the other side of the fence I thought one day I shall look over To find out what was on the other side
Many times I visited the end of the garden Hardly noticing what lies there, at the end Many times the feeling of foreboding But never enough motive to investigate My thoughts ran further that mere gates My dreams of the beyond were with me Day and night.
My wandering mind could try to leap the fence But always it was higher than it might Seem from a great distance I summoned an extra helping of steeled nerves On more than one occasion Only to find myself in an invisible cage upon Which set a force that would repel my efforts.
The rains washed the colour to dismal grey The wood was tattered, felt like clay Splinters finally invaded my hands As I tried my luck at survey But the years hadn’t destroyed the forbidden Secret that must surely have lain The very other side of the shaky fences.
Thoughts lanced the languid days of summer With spectres and monsters For the imagination is never satisfied Without a sighting of what lies beyond The near obsession would wreak dismay For a conjured fantasy would only delay What really had to be done.
Part II
For over twenty five years the mystery was shelved The fence had all but dissolved Into micro chasms in my head The leaden expectation invaded my dreams in bed. Those many years later at the funeral of a thought I clasped an empty embrace Let forth condolences, a trace Of sympathy to help wipe away the dark tears The drying attracted my eyes to the street tiles My eyes sped along geometric lines I couldn’t hold my breath A fire was started behind my eyes But darkness reappeared.
In the following minutes as the sun raged in I was kneeling Cleaning a large stain from the tiles The sun hindered The heat hinted The sky was red tinted. The stain was the colour of creosote.
My knees chafed merrily as mourners knelt in unison The scrubbing of stains seeming not unusual The cleaning was a sensible way to mourn Everyone who could see the fence As the priest sighed prayed, Commenced the cleaning.
During the half hour it took over fifty people to clean Passers-by smiled, they offered advice Their teeth lied we winced our apologies, How do you explain fifty people scrubbing the pavement Outside a church When the sky was tinted red?
I paid particular attention to the detail of the carved patterns That lay within every forty tiles My eyes were magnetised As I scraped an unwary elbow against someone’s fence The cut was shallow the blood warm, the fence old, In licking the wound the dream was played again.
Like the re-releasing of Gone With The Wind The fence was now showing on the main screen Energy spouted into every crevice of memory The dream The Fence The Foreboding – They had all revisted The creosote catalyst had reacted I’m in mourning Incredulous In the forbidden place.
The fence was warm in the dying sun My fingers throbbed The work having been done My eyes were strobed I struggled a sigh as realisation stepped in I staggered as a new image awakened.
I’m on the other side of the fence... In over thirty years of travel and dreams The fence loomed large it seems But now the cleaning is complete The fence was fading in the heat The sense of the forbidden view Had collected a history of blue The fence had nails That rust in the sea air The shiny stainless steel Hadn’t a care It now had to bear The consequence Of dull ignorance.
Am I standing in my dream Or is the dream standing in me.
The fence won’t go away But I’m so much bigger Than the uttered word That I feel ridiculous, However could anyone be afraid To look over the shaky fence.
Like in Alice in Wonderland a smiling curly-cued Giant caterpillar smoked on top of a mushroom, He rapped on as usual about the music he’d heard, Smoke billowing all about him in trees it’s absurd.
White hot ants danced all around the big fungus To the music, which was turned down too soft, For anyone to hear, but the insects danced in time Remarkable really for they really don’t like music.
Giant lily pads festooned with colourful noisy toads Glided passed my window so close I could touch them The croaking was comical like schoolboys eating lunch, Corn-flake river boats sailed past they were in overload.
A merry go round like carousel was spinning too fast The people on board had to use an extra strong grasp Just to stay on the up and down horses with manic eyes, Let go now immediately into space they would all fly.
Suddenly all at once but gradually I stumbled upon a table With crazy creatures lying about having tea, some unstable Of mind others just crazy, saying things that made little sense A dormouse said – I marvel at his acute Osbert Lancaster
Well, what can I make of that – it isn’t even a sentence. I queried the small creature who promptly went back to sleep “Never mind him” said the Hatter, “ he’s only got a PhD” “Sit you down sir and have some cake or sandwiches or tea”
But I could only see cups and saucers a tea pot full to the brim I asked for milk and sugar and was put off with a fart from a hare “Don’t mind him, he’s just bad mannered he doesn’t really care!” I had enough of this madness, so I left and meekly thanked him.
I was drawn to the man standing next to a white limousine And asked him for a lift to the nearest town which is nearby But not too far to go, the man declined my request it seemed he was unable to drive – he didn’t possess a driving licence.
I thought that was strange for a Chauffeur being unable to drive So I asked him about it – he said he had always wanted to strive For those things he knew he would never be able to do or see I was dumbfounded what is the point of living in a dream.
A white rabbit strolled slowly passed me going at a fast speed I followed him up a long steep tunnel only to be blocked By the backside of a blonde-haired girl falling towards me “Excuse me sir my name is Alice – pleased to meet me”!
I was walking on a cracked pavement without knowing, I was where I was but I did not care I did not calculate the date or the year But I could not declare Just why I was there I could not guess so I laid it open to suggestion But there it is
Right in front of everything bar invention In my new waterproof coat of anxiety I was staring passed a dream into the empty Regions where dreams finally went to sleep But there it is
An impossible laying down of the phrases That really meant nothing at all in all phases The colour of each dream I took notice piled them up against the firmly closed door did I hear you screaming for more what is this where people stop talking laughter strangled at birth a slaughter took place instead of mirth But I could not switch it off I was crestfallen and wretched in lines I looked to the skies I was wanting a kind Hand to lift me up to sing a song But there it is
I was knee deep in this river of life Where all the leaves in my tree departed Could I not control this subtle strife Or was I open to a savage strap across my back I was unaware of the weight in this or the lack Until I turned my face to the sun What is it that turns tragedy into fun The smiles are not false the eyes are gleaming When I called out your name I fell to my knees – I was next to shame But there it is
An anchor for a safety device Over the top against all the advice If it works why worry about safety I don’t My resolve is stiffened against the rising moon It would be placed at my feet and soon Because each moonbeam would be weighed by clouds Time to unravel each strand in the silence not out loud. But there it is.
DISSENTERS VOICE 