Some people say I’m mad
but what gives them the right?
To them I say, “Jihad!
Get ready for a fight!

“You’ll find me full of hitting:
of hitting I’ll be full,
for I’ll put down my knitting
and whack you with the wool!”

They mutter that I’m barking.
They say, “He’s off his chump.
His spark-plugs are not sparking.
A bike without a pump.”

They’re always so unpleasant,
but I’ll catch them together,
I’ll pluck an August pheasant
and flay them with its feather!

They always have a go at me.
They think I’m such a weed.
The 10p coins they throw at me
can make my forehead bleed.

A hundredfold I owe them
a torment like Gehenna’s!
With my revenge I’ll show them!
I’ll pelt them all with tenners!

O, I will do such things:
the terrors of the earth,
that even ancient kings
will dread my coming birth!

“One week beyond the ides
of March, beware”, they’ll cry,
“of he whose vengeance rides
on summer’s butterfly!”

The little dogs at play:
Sweetheart, Blanch and Bran;
They lark about with Tray,
Lomair and Sceolan.

I love to see them larking
but shortly we must flee.
The western ones are barking
at mine (the other three).

Too late! My dogs were bested.
Blanch, Sweetheart and Tray.
were eaten and digested
by Sceolan today.

Comes forth the man with civet.
An ounce will do the trick,
but I don’t think he’ll give it
to one who isn’t sick.

That drug, it is most certain
to make the sane man swoon
and so I’ll draw the curtain
and go to bed at noon.

And lo, the full moon rises!
The one that Merlin saw.
The one the lover prizes
and lunatics adore.

The time is ripe for madness.
Romance is for the fool
who spends his days in sadness.
Let idiocy rule!

Cruel sunshine reprehends me.
Far kinder glows the moon.
My jealous heart offends me.
I’ll cast it from me soon.

And free from love I’ll flourish
with daisies in my hair
and daffodils will nourish
the greedy goblins there.

But, I have dreamed with Dante
in Purgatorio
where lost souls search for shantih,
above them and below.

It passeth comprehension
why they cannot find peace.
They hunger for ascension.
They long for their release.

On that invented landing,
that burning mezzanine,
it passeth understanding
why nothing is serene.

It’s different up in heaven
(yes I’ve been there as well),
where all things are forgiven,
yes, even things from hell.

Up there I learned of mercy
where grudges don’t belong.
There is no controversy
between what’s right and wrong.

My wisdom is all-knowing,
so don’t tell me I’m mad.
And now I must be going.
Here endeth my jihad.

My path is smooth and level
and goes beyond the Nile
where I will greet the Devil
with a kind, forgiving smile.