All that jazz
Blows me away,
Cornet and sax
Dreamy and low.

Easy beat and rev,
Feeling déjà vu
Gets me in the gut,
Heart-thump sounds
In the inner ear.

Jack's back from Iraq,
Keeps rhythm in his cap,
Loves how its brio
Makes his music heaven.

Norma and Pam from Birmingham
Open their song so casual,
Picking the chords with a dainty flick,
Quite astounding the club DJ.

Rockin' and rollin' Tutti Frutti,
Shakin' and quakin' through and through,
Takes us back to the oldtime swinging
Under the mirrorball's shimmering stuff,
Very Sixties, love and peace.

Would you come and hold my hand,
Xena, my warrior princess chic,
Yodelling clear as I stand dumb,
Zealously guarding our love's etcetera?

The poem is in the form of a double abecedarian, that is, a poem of 26 lines with the consecutive lines beginning A-Z and ending z-a.


Out in the deeps of the cosmos,
Where the galaxies wheel and grow,
The novas explode, dark clouds collide,
And in chaos ebb and flow.
But hum this catchy tune, folks,
Everything is fine,
It's all just part of a mighty plan
- Intelligent design.

Some planets are gas, some planets are rock,
Their moons are dust or ice,
The rings are fragments of broken worlds,
The weather is not at all nice.
But snap your fingers to the rhythm, folks,
This is the party line,
All that is made is very good,
- Intelligent design.

The rocks are filled with fossils,
The species rise and fall,
Mammoths and dinosaurs self-destruct,
Neanderthals go to the wall.
But chant these words of truth, folks,
There ain't no need to repine,
God's in His heaven, all's right with the world,
- Intelligent design.

And here we are upon this earth,
The challenged in body and mind,
With TB and leprosy, mad cow and AIDS,
And cancers of every kind.
So sing out the triumph hymn, folks,
You're first in the glorious line,
Made in His image, the heirs to His bliss,
- Intelligent design.

The nonsense of the 'intelligent design' and 'creationist' explanations of the development of life on earth hardly need exposing to intelligent people, but they make for some innocent versifying fun.

LAS CABRAS. (The Goats)

They have felled the pines
in the Arroyo de Sueno (the Gully of Dream)
where the cicadas whirred
through the midday heat,
and the 'pisos de lujo' (luxury flats)
and the 'ropa de diseno' (designer clothes)
reign where the goats
placed their nimble feet.

In those years the Ermita (hermitage, shrine)
was alone on its hill
and the Virgen looked out
down the lonely track.
Yet the faithful come
with flowers still
past developers' flags
and the salesmen's shack.

Above the swish
of incessant sprinkling,
on the next hillside
to the newest block,
you may just catch
a melodious tinkling
as the goatherd drives
his diminishing flock.

And perhaps there is caught
on a dried-up thorn
a black and white twist
of nanny-goat's wool,
or a fragment shed
from the billy-goat's horn,
and the guests may find,
with shocked eye-poppings,
a warm and steaming
cluster of droppings
on the pure green grass
by a blue-tiled pool.

The over-building and commercialisation of the south of Spain is a phenomenon of the last couple of decades, destroying many of the features that made it so appealing to visitors from the north of Euro



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