Treasure Island

Richard Allen Beevor

(23 March 1949 / London)

Mountain Hills and Flowing Stills


Green grass verge
under temples of glowing flame,
Buddha monks in hallowed halls
sitting play the game,
mountain hills and flowing stills,
screaming skies and tolling bells.

Chequered flags fall
to start a race for one,
see the fools gather
for the fun has now begun,
Kingdoms are gained
for untold glory to the Gods,
who sit in marble halls
with silver scales and weigh the odds.

Queens that fall in maiden head,
complain of jesters in their bed,
mountain hills and flowing stills,
screaming skies and tolling bells.

Apollo flies the air
with the slings of war,
the sun burns hell
straight through heavens door,
right makes left
and left makes right,
give sight to the blind
but blind is the sight.

Astral projects,
a formless air,
men can do
no more than stare,
who needs help
when lost are jobs
if money a need
the thief just robs,
mountain hills and flowing stills,
screaming skies and silent bells.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, April 30, 2014

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Topic(s): helplessness

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