The Poetry Kit |
| Desmond Swords | |||
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Bono St John and Sir Paul By the telepathic act of wish fulfillment came Lonnie Donegan's Bridgeton Skiffle and Bridie Gallagher's Donegal sean nós, and live from St Peter's garden rock gods in pale elemental form found wisdom through friendship, when John finished a daytime set, stepped off the back of a lorry-stage and first met Paul at the fete of a church where Eleanor Rigby's history was sealed after the night gig in a place philosophers preach freindship. The church hall Woolton rocked to Berry and Presley direct from the Quarrymen. Lennon's mob on home turf; a plusher suburb than Speke, McCartney's manor. And thus their partnership began, where music rolled melodic and silent Sophia's poetic hand in a Mersey omphalos, the Well of Seigas beneath hazel, dealt soft dappled showers of sienna light upon reed and sedge as it wavered and rippled in ageless dumb wisdom, folding through strings in a wind chime of history that ring the bell our mind cannot muffle. Animal voice the fictional eye-witness woven within, who'll rock outpour and apportion in proper form enobling myths her chief creators mouth in works of air. They accomplish detachment and sight the island goddess of memory with grey gods Honey Gob Ogma and Amergin the White-knee, who gift men fully, half or none, knowledge of Eber and Eremon. Their wheel spun diverse in chance as death spells nurture philosophies, draft and balance humanity's egg in cosmic incubus and lie right-side up no short cuts or improper attempts at self wisdom. Just Ogma's Art and logical gods' weaving a question on rock 'n roll rooting in a person. If the bow and lyre both are strung through good body Sir Paul or the soul of bono Saint John? ~ Some say all who knew he did nothing without soul know John learnt the art of rock and roll with Paul. They are symbiotic, in the body of all fans' fictional cauldrons tilting or not, and those possessing a Revolver, Abbey Road and Rock Roll Music Volume One, will know the word of John and holler along to Bad Boy, Twist and Shout, I Call Your Name and imagine the reality of his orbiting sound-force whispering a knowledge they hear via him destiny's child filled fully upright decoding ancestral music chosen to colour hunanity and programme. Sir Paul singing Long Tall Sally I Saw Her Standing There, Kansas City and I Wanna Be Your Man, was destined to come through John, past I wanna Hold Your Hand beyond a void with pre-requisite ability to the widest reach of experience and easily ascend in oracular shift, one cauldron side-slanting another on it's lips, both stir in a fictional pot, no fire or hell below us, above us only thought. Imagine the brotherhood of man, its easy if you find one body and soul, who remotely taught all less able at turning a rhyme bag born slanted how to become gods, the good Sir Paul and bono Saint John who eye
from the planetary rhythm in people |
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