I wanted to write a poem on "memes and genes" for Alison Croggon
explaining that 99% of our creativity (there are always exceptions
like Shakespeare) comes from them. WE are not really very original
people. But I couldn't. So instead with the American election coming
up I will post the poem I wrote for Bobby Kennedy's funeral in 1968.
I used a Ray Bradbury story of Picasso as a kick-off point then
introduced my cast of characters. If you watched the funeral cortege
on its railway trip you will understand. It does go on forever but
in those days so did Dylan's songs.


Camelot


a lost little boy scrambling the sanddunes
his dog beside him
bounding pawmark to pawmark
then over the last ridge
and there
the sea
deep blue eternity
with an occasional white ripple
and the waves beating the foreshore
the empty arc of golden beach
curving into evening

and there on the sand
a small dot
dancing
it's a little old man
a baldheaded gnome
with goblin ears
dancing with his stick
round and round he goes
patterns in the sand
shapes grotesque fantastic
shapes
drawn in the sand
with his walking stick
the little boy follows
hopping in time
as the little man twirls
swirling his tale
as he spells his shapes
pictures in the sand
and the little boy learns
as the tide comes in
of a blonde goddess
who rode horses
and even now
was splashing in the foam
with tight blue jeans
and a gilded body
she eyed the horses
and did everything wrong

the little man etched
her beautiful spirals
the tears flowing
for she'd loved him so
and he'd only seen her
one dark wet evening
sitting at the local picture show

and black widows weeping
tears and tears
for a young man prancing
a tribune's path
and the black widows weeping
tears and tears
for a tribune of the people
who spoke his part

and the little boy followed
hopping in time
as the baldheaded gnome
jigged and danced
in the fading sun
furiously scratching
to finish his tale
as the water crept
slyly up the shore

the gold headed girl
and the whole world weeping
she wouldn't take love
for she needed it so

and the young man with a vision
dreaming and doing
a stranger in his country
for he loved it so
standing for his people
a wisp of glory
love thy neighbour
a long long way to go

and black widows weeping
tears and tears
for a tribune of the people
who spoke his part

and the little man weeping
for he had promised the moon
to pay her a visit
and sing a sad tune
for tight blue jeans
and white horses in the sand

a great man spitting blood
crushed by metal hooves
ripped by the cavalcade
shattered for his fame
and the black widows weeping
tears and tears
for a tribune of the people
who spoke his part

with his pointed ears
and his walking stick
the little man twirled
and spun upon the sand
as he etched his tale
while the waves beat in
and the little boy followed
hopping in time
with his dog beside him
and his head bent down

and the black widows weeping
tears and tears
for the great young man
who spoke his part
and made them a dream
for to act their part
but was ripped by the cavalcade
crushed by hooves
for loving his neighbour
a long way to go

and the little man cried
and wept his tears
for a blonde goddess
who even now
was splashing in the foam
with tight blue jeans
and a gilded body
who did everything wrong
and the little boy followed
hopping in time
and the black widows wept
tears and tears
for a young man prancing
a tribune's path
and the black widows wept
tears and tears
for a tribune of the people
who spoke his part
ripped by the cavalcade
crushed by hooves
for having a dream
which hadn't been thought

and all was silent
and the little man danced
furiously scratching
to finish his tale
as the little boy followed
hopping in time
with his dog beside him
and his head bent down

the little man wept
and the little man cried
for a gold headed girl
who wouldn't take love
for she knew herself
from where she came
that the black widows wept
tears and tears
for a great man's blood
shattered for his fame
for having a dream
which hadn't been thought
a tribune of the people
who spoke his part

and the little boy followed
hopping in time
with his dog beside him
and his head bent down
as the tide came in
and covered the shore
occasional white ripples
on the empty shore
as the little man cried
and sadly went home

the little boy watched
and patted his dog
then they looked at the sea
and trotted off ---
alone




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