So with that in mind I have created a nonsense Island called 'Honey' that is situated just off the coast---I won't say what coast as it could be any. All I'll say is it s inhabited by odd things and odd people;sometimes socio political, other times just plain odd.
But then what else would you expect from me. So without further ado, here's my first Nonsense poem titled:
The Wild Imaginings of Optimus Bean-
By Karl Dixon:
Salvador lived on an Island called HoneyIn a round little house that cost him no moneyEverything on this Island was free;From red and white wine to biscuits and brieAnd ‘cause no one charged for what they had madeNo one did argue ‘bout what they were paid. There was no gossip, or need for the pressAnd as a result, no one suffered from stressFor centuries it had been this wayAnd that’s how the islanders wished it to stay.
But then came a problem none could have for seenIn the guise of a man called, Optimus Bean.Famous for making the lands’ largest bedHe went very odd from a bump to the headWhile out on a day that was windy and coldA perfect round brick went and knocked him out coldEveryone rushed to see what to doBut Optimus rose in a second or two.His eyes were all misty, his expression was blank;Then he started to yell of a thing called a ‘bank’He jumped up and shouted ‘ACOUNTS FOR YOU ALL’;For the young and for old, the fat and the tallEveryone looked with confusion unboundWhile Optimus climbed to the top of a moundHe talked about savings and large spending spreesBut kept very quiet about charges and feesThe people did murmur and all felt uneasy;About this new Eden that made them feel queasyBut Optimus’s hands were a blur and a dashAs he ranted and raved of a new thing called ‘Cash’
He pulled out a pen and a small piece of paperAnd showed them how to buy now and pay laterAnd how with the money that they were to earnThey could then all go out, and set up a firmAnd if there were some that still didn’t get itThe bank would arrange for something called ‘Credit’The ‘Bank’ he said would be everyone’s friendWith hard and fast rules that were made to bendHe promised that no one need live in their meansFrom the old and infirm to the young and the teensAnd with a rub of his hands and a glint in his eyeOptimus’ dreams grew wings, and did fly
Salvador sat on the edge of the groupEating the last of the free mushroom soupHe couldn’t see how this system could win;With stocks and shares and chips and pinAll he could see was a friend gone quite mad;Sprouting about an untested fad
Because he had seen in a blinding white flashThe evil that came, when people sought cashThe things they would do, the levels they’d goDivorces would rise as morals dived lowAnd as Salvador sat with his soup on his kneeThe seller looked down and demanded a feeSalvador blinked, ‘Had the madness begun?’As another hand gripped him and took back his bun.
Salvador stood his emotions in tattersHe ran to escape, the small town of mad hatters.He hid in the towns’ very grand and large churchAs he heard the crowd bay, his stomach did lurchHe had to do something to stop all this madness;To quell all the fear, the hatred and sadnessWhen all of a sudden the answer did comeHe smiled to himself with the raise of a thumbSalvador’s plan was bold yet quite simpleBut first he must climb to the top of the steepleThe church was tall, perfect and roundAnd stood three thousand, feet from the groundHe grabbed at a stone that didn’t fit rightAnd waited all day until it was nightHe sat at the top in the freezing night airNot moving an inch from his mountainous lairThe town fell to sleep as the night carried onBut Salvador waited for the light of the sun
As the sun rose high and the cockerel did crowSalvador heard, faint footsteps belowHe squinted and looked, his eyes very keenAnd there down below him stood Optimus BeanHe held out his stone and aimed it so true;His fingers un-furled and down the stone flewThe missile cut, like a knife through the air;Like coals through butter or a comb through hairOptimus stood and smoked his cigarAs the stone flew true and straight from afarHe looked at his shoes and flicked off some mudThen his whole world went blank from the sound of a thud The villagers rushed from their homes to his side‘Our banker’s laid low’ they shouted and cried
With the crack on his head he was once again saneAnd felt quite confused at his unwanted fame When he was told of the things he had said;And that all of it came from a bump to the headBut why had he said all the things that he did;The talk of fast bucksand a couple of quid?
A loud cough cut, through the bright morning’s airAnd everyone turned to see Salvador thereHe walked to his friend through the gathering throngWhile deep in the church came the sound of a gongHe picked up Optimus and dusted him downThen turned and gave him a worrying frownI had no choice, my dear old friendAs to your will, I just could not bend You had gone mad from a bump to the headSo I thought that a second would stand in good steadAnd now I see you standing hereI know I now have nothing to fearWhatever took hold of your mind and your soulIs once again placed, back into its black holeOptimus smiled at the friend he knew wellAnd told of the moral that this tale could tell:
If you want to be happy and don’t care for moneyThen set sail now for the Island of 'Honey'But if money and wealth are to you just like mantrasThen crawl back under your rock, and join all the bankers.
End
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