Showing posts with label jeremy witherington. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jeremy witherington. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 3, 2019

lady carol and the toad


by jeremy witherington



lady carol was walking in the garden
the tulips were withered and sere
the owls were spouting moonshine
because it was that time of year

lady carol was composing a sonnet
her brain was ready to burst
a toad was squatting in her path
because her ancestry was cursed

she passed a hand over her forehead
as she struggled with her thirteenth line
i would sell my soul for a crumpet, she cried
and my body for a glass of wine

the toad was having none of it
he held his ground like an hussar
you will never write a sonnet, he cried
if you do not know who you are

lady carol cried avant! avant!
and fell down in a heap
now beetles and caterpillars curse her
as around her carcass they creep

somewhere dogs and children are playing
on a sunny adriatic shore
but in the gazebo the silverware is silent
because lady carol is no more



Monday, November 11, 2019

the producer


by jeremy witherington




dear friend,

how are you? i had a sudden urge to write to you.

i am trapped in an old dark house by a madman. other than that things are not too bad.

here is how it came about.

i was down on my luck, as usual. i was hanging around the bus station, hoping my fortunes would change.

a rather seedy looking individual, but with a few shreds of dignity and gentlemanliness about him, approached me.

are you not t x—— -, the famous producer of productions? he asked me politely.

i could not resist either his flattery or the prospect of a square meal, so i immediately acquiesced in his identification.

thus it was that i found myself in the old dark house.

the production, and the date it was to be produced, were somewhat up in the air.

i never did see my benefactor in the flesh again. (assuming that he was was indeed made of flesh)

i was given a gaggle of “assistants” to help me. i first took them to be some sort of feral children, then evil sprites, and finally concluded they were demons from the lowest pit of hell.

their principal occupation seemed to be stealing my hat. you know, of course, how much my hat means to me.

the production went badly. i had decided on a combination of lucia di lammermoor and the wild duck, performed mostly by puppets, but could not get my evil sprites/demons to grasp the concept, which they mocked relentlessly, when they were not stealing my hat and hiding it in the dark corners of the endlessly rambling and cobwebbed mansion.

finally i decided i had had enough. i resolved to make my escape.

but first i had to find my hat.

they had really done it this time. i looked and looked but could not find it.

but as i was desperately searching, i noticed something else.

silence.

the laughter of the demons had ceased. they had abandoned me, and left the house.

but where is my hat? i can not leave without my hat!

you know the one i mean - the one with the red band and the green feather.

i have looked and looked, and keep finding myself back in the same rooms.

i am beginning to despair.

help me!