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Viking Ships in Seville

Kim Kim Terry Tim was strolling anonymously in a park in Seville when she noticed a poet weeping in the shade of a creeping tree

She placed her hand on the poets shoulder and enquired of his grief

He handed her his black notebook

It contained a poem

About his afterlife

Wallpaper

It was called Wallpaper

It was a poor poem called Wallpaper

Wild palms and white light

Will accompany me on my journey

To that little cup

In the hills near the sea

Where I will feel

The breezes of the next world 

The aching alleys of despair

Will no longer be my companions of dread

For as I travel in the azure blue

The warm sun and the trellis tip trees

Will shade me from

The sad bough architecture

Of the timid.

For under those hills of no self worth

There lays not broken

The high haze celebration

Of the victorious.

On the previous evening Kim Kim Terry had watched a short movie called Seville which was about three friends

Two men and a girl

Who were travelling around Spain

One day the found a bridge

High above a river

They climbed on to parapet

But only one of them jumped

And was killed by a passing ship

His friends were grief stricken

And also jumped in his memory

A few days later

But they survived

As did Kim Kim when she repeated the jump

At exactly midnight

On the sixth day of the sixth month

On the evening of her adventure

She had met a poet

Who held her clothes as she jumped from the bridge

He gave her a copy of his latest poem

It was called Carmen Saeculare

If you stare

at the curved light

and listen

to the twisted tongues

of the earth song

you will be aware

of her disguise

and will share

the memories of her landscape

and the mediocre farewells

of the bonfires of the moon.

She placed it between her teeth as she jumped

But lost it in the river

The poet had anticipated this

And gave her a copy when she returned

Later as the lay in bed together

He gave Kim another poem

It was a poor poem

Written in a mirror style

So she placed it on to her breast

And read it

Reflected

In the poets eyes

It was called

The Banishment

I am but the errant child

Void of its mothers womb

Seduced at once

By the giggling rages

Of the daughters of joy

I am now prodigal

Distant from the offers of friends

And alone

Save for my vagabond shadow

Lit by the spit white grey ghost suns

That follow and hide

The fine words

That my lungs congest

Locked in my vision of centuries.

Kim Kim stroked the head of her poor poet

She had visited the city in anticipation of meeting a major poet

But had only met poor ones

One had wept

And the other

Was laying on her breast

She wondered if she should have loved the weeping poet

And wished him to be at her side

3 X 2 = 6

2 X 3 = 6

3 + 3 = 6

1 x 6 = 6

2 x 2 + 2 = 6

3 x 1 + 3 = 6

Kim Kim Terry was sitting cross-legged on the lush carpet of her hotel room

Both poets had left her and she had promised herself that she would read no more poor poetry

And would not sleep with any poor poets no matter their emotional state

She looked at her dishevelled bed

Carmen was lying asleep

Kim Kim Terry Tim covered the gypsy with a white sheet

But not before kissing her on the heel

The police are after me you know

Why?

Because my lover has killed me

Kim Kim Terry noticed that blood was beginning to stain the white sheet

She pulled the sheet back and found a dagger thrust deep

Remove the dagger from my heart and then leave this wretched room

This is the room of the poets

Never entertain a poor poet as you will only receive soiled verse

Kim Kim dressed and left the hotel

She was approached by another poor poet

Near my verse

You are near my verse

Kim ignored the poet and searched for the Viking ship

It was sailing under the bridge where the traveller died

But she did not feel any sadness

She saw his torn body trapped by the weeds at the bottom of the river

Jump my sweet

Jump and join me in these depths

A police car stopped on the bridge above

There she is there is the woman who killed Carmen

They aimed their guns at Kim Kim and fired

She felt the bullets rip through her heart

As she fell on to the wooden deck of the Viking ship

Did the peasants tired

From their earthly toil

Once return along this shaded way?

Do the small trees

Still bear the scars

Of their quiet passing?

In the dappled green grey

Are we still the children

Of their sad lives

Or has beauty saved the world? 

One of the Vikings was writing the poem in Kim Kim Terry’s blood as it flowed freely beside her

Why are you not trying to save me?

Because the police bullets have ripped your heart apart

You have no feeling now

As she died Kim Kim Terry Tim felt the Viking lift up her body up and throw it into the river

She became tangled in the weeds

She saw the actor from the movie

Join me on the bridge in five

Where in time we will dive

Kim Kim Terry left her clothes in a pile

She was holding the hand of the movie actor

Have you ever experienced life?

Have you really experienced life?

He said as they jumped into the river

Kim Kim left her clothes in a pile

She was holding the hand of the movie actor

Have you ever experienced life?

Have you really experienced life?

He said as they jumped into the river

Kim left her clothes in a pile

She was holding the hand of the movie actor

Have you ever experienced life?

Have you really experienced life?

He said as they jumped into the river

Kim Kim left her clothes in a pile

She was holding the hand of the movie actor

Have you ever experienced life?

Have you really experienced life?

He said as they jumped into the river

Kim Kim Terry left her clothes in a pile

She was holding the hand of the movie actor

Have you ever experienced life?

Have you really experienced life?

He said as they jumped into the river

Kim Kim Terry Tim  left her clothes in a pile

She was holding the hand of the movie actor

Have you ever experienced life?

Have you really experienced life?

He said as they jumped into the river

Her name was Christine and she was fighting in the Spanish Civil War

Her lover was called John

They met in a wheat field

She was bleeding from a bullet to her heart

He removed her white shirt

And bandaged her wound

I am afraid your heart has been shot to pieces

But Carmen forgives you

Christine was strolling anonymously in a park in Seville when she noticed a poet weeping in the shade of a creeping tree

She placed her hand on the poets shoulder and enquired of his grief

He handed her his black notebook

It contained the story

Of her afterlife