The Days

The first day was golden with the radiance of pure light, as the Sun rose. Creation began. But behind the radiance was the anti-light, the false creation, which is the greatest sin.

The second day was glittering silver beneath the Moon. It was a day of mysteries, of hidden things, and of the waters. And the sin of the second day was magic, and forbidden knowledge.

The third day was blood red, and it was the day of Mars. A day of struggle, a day of iron. The sin of the third day was violence, and blind rage.

The fourth day was black as the infinite void, but from the blackness rose swift Mercury, the Quicksilver, who made it a day of buying and selling, of coming and going, and of messages. The sin of the fourth day was greed.

On the fifth day the firmament was painted bright blue, and its lord was Jupiter. So great was he that some confused him with his Maker. And the sin of the fifth day was pride.

The sixth day was the shining green of verdigris. Here lay the naked form of Venus, who commanded it to be a day for lovemaking. And so the sin of the sixth day was lust.

The seventh day was rich imperial purple, robing ancient Saturn as he yawned on his leaden throne of unendurable weight. On this day all creatures rest from their labours. So the sin of the seventh day was idleness.

So the first week ends.

In the Gardens

I left the crowds who were milling around near the entrance, playing football, picnicking on the lawns or lying by the flowerbeds in the warm spring sunshine, and wandered off into the glades. After a while a came across a long avenue of chestnuts in bloom, all cream and white, and at the end stood the Crimson Pagoda. I walked towards it and realised it was very tall. But it was not what I had come to see.
There were fewer people in this part of the gardens, and they were scattered and solitary. A few were walking, but most were sitting alone and silent on benches under the trees. They were generally middle-aged or elderly. I approached one grey-haired man, and when he showed no sign of acknowledging my presence, coughed discreetly to attract his attention.
“Excuse me”, I ventured apologetically, “Can you tell me the way to the Queen’s House, please?”
He glanced up. His face bore an expression of annoyance. “Over there through the trees and carry straight on”, he said, making a gesture with his left hand and then closing his eyes to indicate that the interview was over. Somewhat daunted by this abrupt reception, I walked quickly away.
There was a path that seemed to run in the right direction, but after a while it began to snake back on itself and there were several junctions. Nobody had put up signposts in this part of the gardens, and after a while I lost confidence in where I was heading and tried to cut across country. The long and unmown grass was still wet from morning dew, and bluebells carpeted the shady places. Huge clumps of rhododendron and holly loomed up to block my intended route. After I had wandered for some time a caught sight of the crimson pagoda up ahead, and realised I must have walked in a circle.
I felt hot and tired as well as irritated by my mistake, but had no intention of being defeated in my plan so easily. A glance at my watch told me that it was only ten past three, and I did not need to leave the gardens for a while yet. I tried asking the way again, this time from a resolute-looking old lady who was walking with the aid of a stick. Her reply was brusque and not very helpful, and once again I set off. This time my travels took me into a thicket of willows, where I soon became disorientated, and next I found my way barred by dense hawthorn bushes all strewn with early may-blossom. There was no sign of the Queen’s House. I wished I had taken the trouble to buy a map of the gardens before setting out, and for that matter a tin of drink from the café would also have been sensible. I was still pondering on this when the familiar outline of the Crimson Pagoda came into view again.
I lost track of how many times I must have wandered in these meaningless circles. Eventually I even began to doubt whether I was capable of finding my way back to the entrance. My feet were burning, I was very thirsty and above all I needed a rest. I found a secluded wooden bench under a gigantic beech tree. The young leaves cast dappled shadows and the air was very still. I sat down, stretched out my legs, turned my face to the sky and closed my eyes. The Queen’s House would have to wait ……

I snapped suddenly awake at looked at my watch. It still said ten past three and had clearly stopped, but this did not worry me unduly. Even if I was completely lost, the park-keeper would surely come round at closing time to shepherd everyone out. For the moment, I could stay where I was. The day was still bright, and when I was properly rested I would have time to resume my search. It was very pleasant here under the trees, letting the scents of spring waft over me. What was so special about finding the Queen’s House anyway? No doubt it would be worth seeing, but it would be empty: everyone knew it was many years since the Queen had actually lived there.
The sun hung motionless in the sky, and the warm afternoon lasted for ever …….

An unwelcome voice made itself heard. I looked up in annoyance at this unnecessary intrusion into my private reverie. It was a young fellow asking his way to the Queen’s House. His face, his voice, his whole manner irritated me.
Over there through the trees”, I said, waving my arm at random. You can’t miss it”. I was glad to be rid of him.

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings

(An answer to the famous poem by Shelley. To be recited in a silly voice)

Last summer I saw Ozymandias
It was on the left bank of the Nile
Across from Luxor. His visage
Was even more shattered than when Shelley’s friend saw it
But the archaeologists had stuck it back on
His patched-up shoulders.
I didn’t see any inscription
But maybe it had been removed to
The Cairo museum.
The bit about there being nothing around but sand
Is however completely wrong, since these days
The whole area is thick with hucksters selling
The most appalling junk to the parties of tourists
So when you thing of it, the natives really ought to be grateful to Ozymandias
Because if he hadn’t taken the trouble to put up the statue
The region would be even poorer than it is
And it set me wondering how Adolf Hitler
Might be perceived a few thousand years from now
And all the other tourists seemed to be having
Equally solemn thoughts as they gazed upon
What is styled the “colossal wreck”
And I even saw genuine despair one some faces
Though maybe they were only wondering how long
They would have to last out until
They found the
Next lavatory.