The Gleeman

There he was!
With a staff of soft toys found
With a drum as unstrung guitar
And bells at every beat
Defiantly merry he
Spat his improvised odes to Joy
In your face

I thought my old mate Keith was back
Back standing in a passage in Greenwich
Back from the brink of fabulousness
and alcohol-fueled foolery
But this 'David Joy' was a
Clean-channelling jester

Some in a party of lads
Scornful and mocking threw bottled water at him
Outraged, I was about to protest.
'Nah, Nah! He said
'It's about Joy.
They are just conventional'.

Now he chanted a song
About the conventional
Complimenting a beautiful girl here
Encouraging a smile there.

Some muttered 'Who is he?'
One, in a group or part of a pair
Gave conspiratorial glances
That shamed the others in,
Who momentarily paused to reach out
For escape,
And stamped joy out.

'You are how I feel inside!'
I said shaking at his exhilarating display of chaos and freedom.
(I played his African drum;
'it's gotta get to know you before it sings')

He invited me to
View Point, 'I'm having a Solstice Fire,
I camp up there, a secret spot
You can see the city'.
I know the spot, indeed beautiful.

'Arthur Pendragon knows me well
The power of Stonehenge has faded'
What energy in that little Scot's frame
Shaman Soul, Jester
Bard, Gleeman, Holy-Fool
Joy! Joy! Joy!