The Ghost of Christmas Past

That long ago place mist enshrouded with ice

When I turned and glimpsed for the last time

The old yestercentury life that was so nice

Before it slowly decomposed with burnt-lime

In my heart and soul, and, in a way, for real.

They are gone, even though you see their shade,

They have long belonged to the single low peal

Of the churchyard bell; the hole which is made

To steal them away. And do you feel

The ghost of Christmas past?

"I think I saw him for the first time," you said.

At least you saw him, I thought; though you are

Unaware that our friend is nonetheless dead.

Why do you stare? What do you see afar ... afar?

We again all meet on the eve of Christmas Eve.

Hosts

Roasts

Toasts

Ghosts

..........

Haven on the End of England

We mentioned not the writer and critic A A Gill

Who died, or A A who 98 years earlier was born
On the same day we gathered to have our fill,
As Miles' bootleg boogie blues blew on horn.

And did you see the largish canvas in frame
Of my most expressionist work of late,
On the wall in a far corner of the same
Sun lounge setting where once we ate

When first the Countess came and Judas sat
Expressionless on a chair somewhere in the garden
For fear of contamination from the somewhat fat
Roll-up just lit by the same Countess who, on

Noticing the Bonce, asked: "Is it all right?"
And we thought if it fumigates the place
Of Mekons, why not? Though he took flight
Shortly afterwards with exceedingly sour face.

So did you yesterday glimpse the Last Pope?
I fancy not, but what I certainly do know
Is that it's going nowhere soon. Not a hope
With the reserve set so high (and this will grow).

Yet, notwithstanding A A Gill, the mayhem
Of the catch up in so few hours with so much to say;
On the gramophone, albeit late in the day, Art Tatum
Played to commemorate the arrival into the world of A A.

The Devil is in the Detail

When the First is the Last

The Prophecy of St Malachy (1095-1148):

"In the final persecution of the Holy Roman Church there will reign Peter the Roman, who will feed his flock amid many tribulations, after which the seven-hilled city will be destroyed and the dreadful Judge will judge the people. The End.”

The father of the current pope was Peter, or Pietro, and was from Italy even though the family would eventually move to Argentina.

In 1139, Archbishop Malachy went to Rome from Ireland to give an account of his affairs. While there he received a strange vision about the future that included the name of every pope, 112 in all from his time, who would rule until the end of time. We are now at the Last Prophecy.

His predictions are taken very seriously. As one report states: "In 1958, before the Conclave that would elect Pope John XXIII, Cardinal Spellman of New York hired a boat, filled it with sheep and sailed up and down the Tiber River, to show that he was 'pastor et nautor,' the motto attributed to the next Pope in the prophecies."

As for the prophecy concerning the 111th pope, Pope Benedict, the prophecy says of him, "Gloria Olivae," which means "the glory of the Olive."

The Order of Saint Benedict is also known as the Olivetans, which many claim makes Malachy's prophecies correct. The next and final pope then should be "Peter Romanus."

St Malachy gave an account of his visions to Pope Innocent II, but the document remained unknown in the Roman Archives until its discovery in 1590.

Many of the prophecies are incredibly accurate. For example, the one pertaining to Urban VIII is Lilium et Rosa (the lily and the rose). He was a native of Florence and on the arms of Florence figure a fleur-de-lis. Pope John Paul II is De labore Solis meaning "of the eclipse of the sun." Karol Wojtyla was born on May 18, 1920 during a solar eclipse.

Peregrinus apostolicus (pilgrim pope), which designates Pius VI, appears to be verified by his many journeys to new lands.

Pope Francis the First (born in 1936, three years prior to what some believe to be last legitimate pope, Pius XII, being elected) is clearly prophesied to be the Last pope. He was ordained on 13 December 1969, became pope on 13 March 2013 and was announced to the world at the thirteenth chime, aged seventy-six (7+6=13), and is the 266th pope; though many traditionalists hold that all popes after Pius XII are antipopes due to heresies introduced by Vatican II. White doves were released from the Vatican by the new pope. A large black crow instantly attacked the doves. The black crow is a symbol of cunning, death and war. It is also believed to be an indication and sign that great change is coming.

Phantoms

In part, we are,

In part, we always were

Phantoms from another time.

Time travellers. Ghosts.

Fading in. Now fading out.

Like spectral curls of mist

From time past to time present.

And back to whence we came.

Why, Oh Why, The Dye?

"By the way I saw the Useless Article (with dyed hair), - the blighter had the cheek to get into my carriage when my train stopped at Highgate. I did a nifty exit into the next carriage. What is the Northern line coming to? I noticed Farrant had dark brown hair, sandals, no mac, it was a hot day, what looked like a '70's shirt with large collar (charity shop), but no zimmer frame, as yet." — A. Hill (18 August 2016)

Why, oh why, does Farrant dye

His hair when there is no need

For a man in his seventies to try

To cover the grey and deceive?

We can all see the whiskers white

And undyed where sideburns greet

Strangely coloured hair and light

Grey bristles evidentially meet

Startled eyes expecting the chops

To match the darkened mop on top.

Why dye? 'Cause it's in the eye

Of the beholder that this is a lie.

The Last Time I Saw Arthur

Adieu, said the upturned glass in 1966. Adieu.

Was it you? No not me. He said he knew who.

The electric socket suddenly sparked and blew.

Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!

The last time I saw Arthur was a handful of days ago,

Or was it, all considered, a handful of decades or so,

When first I occasioned upon him in another studio

At Kilburn where he learned darkroom processing.

He came to Islington part-time, while confessing

The early mornings he delivered pints of milk

Before printing off pictures of females in silk

And gents in top hats and all that. I'm guessing

The Arthur who worked at my studio back then

Is not the one before me now. Today he is a ghost

Who looks distantly with eyes vacant at his host

As I await for the Arthur of old to spark again.

Occasionally it does, and laughter breaks anew;

And then, Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!