(Inspiration comes from funny places. Here is something I wrote about a recent holiday. I kinda like it, hope you do too. Look for it in a future Filmic Cut, land of other poetry like Sense. – OJ)

I am off to Cornwallace

To seek myself a Cart

Were it dwells on wet shores

Where my story, will soon start

.

I travel from the Wyc

Upon steam-powered trap

And there, I shall decamp

Into the mighty Das Cap

.

The journey is a-long

Five hourlings, some say

And I listen to the calls

“Buy tickets, check for delay”

.

I enter the next rail-beast

It’s belly full of woe

Every rest is taken

To Cornwallace, we all go

.

Pray luck, I secure a berth

Brief haven amongst the crush

And so, the freight departs

Cutting through the land in rush

.

As we plunge through the day

The hordes begin to yield

Placated by blurred greens

Tower of tree and docile field

.

My salvation doth come

With an early depart

Sources say the Red Ruth

Has knowledge of the Cart

.

The travellers soon grow thin

As we pass through the Mouth

Past Lisgard and the Par

Flowing ever further down south

.

Imagine my surprise

As upon my landing

There was nowt of Red Ruth

Just those of good standing

.

Twas the very Cart I sook

And the elusive Ar-Croos

They beckoned me to them

And cried “prepare to let loose”

.

At first, I was wary

Not sure what would occur

As they whisked me away

All laughs, and quiff of hair

.

“Drink this,” they said to me

And passed a concoction

Swirls of amber and mist

And flavours of eruption

.

The night began to dawn

Images now wild and free

Fires praying to the sky

Meats as far as I could see

.

The times that followed were lost

A mixture of sound and sense

The tale that I now tell

Took place, I think, forthhence

.

I found myself in long greens

Surrounded by tented homes

The natives were bright of hair

Clothes adorned with skull and bones

.

I had fear, yet ill-conceived

As the Cart was quick to tell

“Drink up, enjoy the wonder

You’re in Heaven, son, not Hell”

.

I was willing slave to fate

Ready to accept Cart’s law

Enjoying tribal rhythms

Whilst sitting upon the floor

.

Bright day turned to dark night

The songs, they did never end

As I listened with fever

To anarchy turned penned

.

Every act was brutal

A sound burnt by crazed flame

As Ar-Croos and the Cart

Introduced me to their fame

.

“This is life,” they told me

“Grab it now, never let go

Soak it in, take it on

Let it absorb, let it flow”

.

There were weakened moments

When I awoke, with fresh thought

Wet of back, weary of mind

Full of hurt muscle, colds caught

.

But the Cart, never said die

“We suffer to live again

Come, old boy, carry on forth

If you don’t live now, then when?”

.

It all ended too soon

In a straight razor of time

Music threatening my ear

Drinks full of fever and lime

.

Before I knew it, it ceased

The tents all gone, thrills ending

The music finished, folk lost

A blank slate, title pending

.

And with them, was the Cart

Leaving me with Ar-Croos

I took on fresh eaterys

Salty meats, quenching juice

.

And I did ask Ar-Croos

Where did the Cart doth go?

But Ar-Croos just looked and laughed

“The Cart?” she said, “I don’t know”

.

“For the Cart is a free one

Never tied, continuous Id

Their heart beats fast and noble

Try to find her? Good luck, kid”

.

And so, I journeyed back

Dazed of mind and beaten

After days of rock and roll

Booze drank and beasts eaten

.

I bid farewell to Ar-Croos

And ventured forth, to home

My body was near broke

My brain desperate to moan

.

But in spirit, I was grand

I had lived, I had travelled

To Cornwallace, my friend

Where my stoic had unravelled

.

I had searched for the Cart

But the Cart had found me

Introduced me to a world

Changed what I feel, smell and see

.

Reality, now standard

A land completely apart

From the one in Cornwallace

Land, of the rousing Cart

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