Church Inn, November 2002

(by Johnny 9, from IMC Newsletter Winter 2002)
A poem.


Has your Christmas started yet?
Mine did
On a dark & dreary November night
Up in the old Church Inn.
The Hard men on the winding stairs
Nursed their pints and gear sale bargains,
Brave leads and hard routes
Fired up their young blood tales.

Inside, the magic unfolded.
No ordinary meet this
Ambition, desire and cunning,
the weave and wove of AGM.
Honed arguments to shred the dreams of some
or inspire the common herd
to change direction,
Shepherded by a well-spun phrase.

The Prince of Es
Fresh crowned Conor
Swung his glittering Hex of Office
Every Panto loves a hero and here a fitting one.

Moira, left of stage but uplit still
(Although she doesn’t know it..)
Fits on the golden slipper
and smiles enchantingly
No end bin bargain rock shoe now
But Cinderella’s portent of Times changed
and happiness ever after

Sé, dark, brooding bogeyman
Intones in deep voice with threatening brow
“ I know your names, I know where you live”.
No smiling keeper of Club fortunes
But the Evil Eye that sees your darkest secrets.
Satan stalked the stage in motley

The Motion. Murmur, hiss and babble –
We sway to and fro
Waves on a dark sea.
Sacred names called forth
as shield against the foe-
Winder, Joss – What say you now?
Distance adding wisdom to their words.

The Bard stands and murmurs
“If we had a little hut in the West …”
Tightheld in his spell
We travel far from that airless room
To Sardinian sunshine and endless joy
Wooed by his visionary dream.
Overcome by the incense of powerful refrain
the herd incant
“If we had a little hut in the West …”
Every Panto loves a song.

Has your Christmas started yet?
Mine did
On a starstudded magical November night
Up in the old Church Inn.

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