Larking

This is a poem written in March 2023, inspired by my first intense deep dive into British folklore. It starting with reading the wonderful and trendy Weird Walk, grew when on Mad's birthday we went to the British Folklore exhibition at Compton Verney, where I purchased and then read Steve Roud's "The English Year". I wrote this on my early-Springtine ramble along the South Downs Way.

"Saucy Jack" is a character inspired by one of the stock chatacters from traditional Mummers Plays; here though, he appears in a more Springlike setting.

It's mostly unedited, and not much cop, but here you go. Spring time images for a grey Twixmas.

Larking

Saucy Jack is ready, stood at the mirror to inspect his look;

It’s his day - their day - no shifts on the site and

no girlfriends nagging at him, neither. It’s his day - A Red Letter day, 

and he looks the part. The bright-cloth hangs in streamers,

his tunic turns his lumpy body into something elemental, 

moplike and ghoulish.

His headdress covers his pink block-head,

and Saucy Jack is ready for the dance.

In comes I

In comes I

Jack enters the field. 

A skylark’s sent cursing up into the blue;

spaniel speeds headlong 

through brambleknot edgelands.

Thistle-head, primrose, crocus, snowdrop. 

Kitkat, Strongbow, condom. 

Edgewise, spear-snapped 

corn-shears line the point where the bucolic and regretful meet, 

the tangled twin vines of rural residential life.

Gather one branch  

Tap against each broken-wheat-stem

Knighted

Jack strides onward, his wheat-spear in hand,

Upon the plaine

Toward his fete