Showing posts with label Mary Poppins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mary Poppins. Show all posts

Friday, 22 February 2019

Dark Babylonian Aspect

The Other Angel :
Hey Dawn — Yeah, it’s Me.
Is Your Sister Home...?
She is...?

The Angelus hangs up the phone, scowling with irritability

It’s The Other One .....

Hail, Lord Someone Else !!!

All Hail The Dark Overlords of The Universe !!!

A lot's happened. Not just Angelus. 

I've been—I've changed. 

I've seen a Darkness in Myself. 

I'm not sure you'd even begin to understand —

I Flayed a Guy Alive 


Tried to Destroy The World.

[ Who Hasn’t? ]

Oh. So... 

(stands, doesn't make eye-contact

Been There.

Yeah. Well, I never flayed... 
(seems sickened)  

I had a woman chained in a closet.

Dude?!? Seriously...?


I Bet You Didn’t Even Think to Put a Bucket in There with Her....

Friday, 4 January 2019

A Cover is Not The Book

A Cover is Not The Book.

The Map is Not The Territory.

Big Data is Not Reality.

No! I don't want to play. 

Why not? 

Because I don't want to. 
It's childish. 

Oh, go on. 
It isn't a game, it's real
With measuring and everything!

Uncle Goodenberg was a bookworm
And he lived on Charring Cross
The memory of his volumes brings a smile
He would read me lots of stories
When he wasn't on the sauce

Now I'd like to share the wisdom
Of my favourite bibliophile
He said a
Cover is not the book
So open it up and take a look
'Cause under the cover one discovers
That the king maybe a crook
Chapter titles are like signs
And if you read between the lines
You'll find your first impression was mistook
For a cover is nice
But a cover is not the book

"Mary Poppins, could you give us an example?"


Nelly Rebitta was made of wood
But what could not be seen was though
A trunk up top was barren
While her roots were lush and green
So in Spring when Mr. Hickery saw her blossoms blooming there
He took fruit despite her bark
And now there's seedlings everywhere
Which proves that
A cover is not the book
So open it up and take a look
'Cause under the cover one discovers
That the king maybe a crook

Chapter titles are like signs
And if you read between the lines
You'll find your first impression was mistook
For a cover is nice
But a cover is not the book

"Should we do the one about the wealthy widow?"

"Ooh, by all means"

"Always loved that one"

"Well, go on then"

Lady Highest of Macaw
Brought all her treasures to a reef
Where she only wore a smile
Plus two feathers, and a leaf
So no one tried to rob her
'Cause she barely wore a stitch
For when you're in your birthday suit
There ain't much there to show you're rich
Oh, a cover is not the book
So open it up and take a look
'Cause under the cover one discovers
That the king maybe a crook
Tarulalee, tarurala, tarulalee, tara-ta-ta
You'll find your first impression was mistook (ya-da-da-da)
For a cover is nice
But a cover is not the book

"Oh give us the one about that dirty rascal, why don't ya"
"Isn't that one a bit long?"
"Well the quicker you're into it, the quicker you're out of it"

Once upon a time
In a nursery rhyme
There was a castle with a king
Hiding in a wing
'Cause he never went to school to learn a single thing
He had scepters and swords
And a parliament of lords
But on the inside he was sad
Because he never had a wisdom for numbers
A wisdom for words
Though his crown was quite immense
His brain was smaller that a bird's
So the queen of the nation
Made a royal proclamation
"To the Missus and the Messers
The more or lessers
Bring me all the land's professors"
Then she went to the hair dressers
And they came from the east
And they came from the south
From each college they poured knowledge
From their brains into his mouth
But the king couldn't learn
So each professor met their fate
For the queen had their heads removed
And placed upon the gate
And on that date
I state their wives all got a note
Their mate was now the late great
But then suddenly one day
A stranger started in to sing
He said "I'm the dirty rascal
And I'm here to teach the king"
And the queen clutched her jewels
For she hated royal fools
But this fool had some rules
They really ought to teach in schools
Like you'll be a happy king
If you enjoy the things you've got
You should never try to be
The kind of person that you're not
So they sang and they laughed
For the king had found a friend
And they ran onto a rainbow for
The story's perfect end
So the moral is you mustn't let
The outside be the guide
For it's not so cut and dried
Well unless it's Dr. Jekyll
Then you better hide
No, the truth can't be denied
As I now have testified
All that really counts and matters
Is the special stuff inside
"He did it!"
Oh, a cover is not the book
So open it up and take a look
Cause under the cover one discovers
That the king maybe a crook
So please listen to what we've said
And open up a book tonight in bed
So one more time before we get the hook (sing it out strong!)
A cover is nice (Please take our advice)
A cover is nice (Or you'll pay the price)
A cover is nice
But a cover is not the book

Friday, 28 December 2018


 A spoon was attached to the neck of the bottle, and into this Mary Poppins poured a dark crimson fluid.Is that your medicine?” enquired Michael, looking very interested. 

No, yours.” said Mary Poppins, holding out the spoon to him. 

Michael stared. He wrinkled up his nose. He began to protest. “I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I won’t!” 

But Mary Poppins’ eyes were fixed upon him, and Michael suddenly discovered that you could not look at Mary Poppins and disobey her. 

There was something Strange and Extraordinary about Her –something that was frightening and at the same time most exciting.

Wednesday, 28 November 2018

Childhood's End : Bad Wednesday

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” he said sadly. “I grew up long ago.” 

“Then why, then what – oh, I don’t understand. Where am I?” cried Jane, gazing about her in terror.

“Far from home, my child, far from home,” croaked the Great-Grandfather. “You are back in the Past – back where Christina and the boys were young sixty years ago!” 

Through her tears Jane saw his old eyes burning fiercely. “Then – how can I get home?” she whispered.

“You cannot. You will stay here. 

There is no other place for you. 

You are back in the Past, remember! 

The Twins and Michael, even your Father and Mother, are not yet born; Number Seventeen is not even built. 

You cannot go home!” 

“No, no!” cried Jane. “It’s not true! It can’t be.”

Her heart was thumping inside her. Never to see Michael again, nor the Twins, nor her Father and Mother and Mary Poppins! 

And suddenly she began to shout, lifting her voice so that it echoed wildly through the stone corridors.

“Mary Poppins! I’m sorry I was cross! Oh, Mary Poppins, help me, help me!” 

“Quick! Hold her close! Surround her!” She heard the Great-Grandfather’s sharp command. She felt the four children pressing close about her. She shut her eyes tight.

“Mary Poppins!” she cried again, “Mary Poppins!” A hand caught hers and pulled her away from the circling arms of Christina, Valentine, William and Everard.

“Heh! Heh! Heh!” The Great-Grandfather’s cackling laugh echoed through the room. The grasp on her hand tightened and she felt herself being drawn away. She dared not look for fear of those frightening eyes, but she pulled fiercely against the tugging hand. 

“Heh! Heh! Heh!” The laugh sounded again and the hand drew her on, down stone stairs and echoing corridors. She had no hope now. Behind her the voices of Christina and the Triplets faded away. 

No help would come from them. She stumbled desperately after the flying footsteps and felt, though her eyes were closed, dark shadows above her head and damp earth under her foot. What was happening to her? Where, oh, where was she going? If only she hadn’t been so cross – if only! The strong hand pulled her onwards and presently she felt the warmth of sunlight on her cheeks and sharp grass scratched her legs as she was dragged along. Then, suddenly, a pair of arms, like bands of iron, closed about her, lifted her up and swung her through the air.

“Oh, help, help!” she cried, frantically twisting and turning against those arms. She would not give in without a struggle, she would kick and kick and kick and. . .

 “I’ll thank you to remember,” said a familiar voice in her ear, “that this is my best skirt and it has to last me the Summer!”

Jane opened her eyes. A pair of fierce blue eyes looked steadily into hers.

The arms that folded her so closely were Mary Poppins’ arms and the legs she was kicking so furiously were the legs of Mary Poppins.

“Oh!” she faltered. “It was you! I thought you hadn’t heard me, Mary Poppins! I thought I should be kept there for ever. I thought—” 

“Some people,” remarked Mary Poppins, putting her gently down, “think a great deal too much. Of that I’m sure. Wipe your face, please!” 

She thrust her blue handkerchief into Jane’s and began to get the Nursery ready for the evening. Jane watched her, drying her tear-stained face on the large blue handkerchief.

She glanced round the well-known room. There were the ragged carpet and the toy cupboard and Mary Poppins’ armchair. At the sight of them she felt safe and warm and comforted. She listened to the familiar sounds as Mary Poppins went about her work, and her terror died away. A tide of happiness swept over her.

“It couldn’t have been I who was cross,” she said to herself. “It must have been somebody else.” And she sat there wondering who the Somebody was. . . “But it can’t really have happened!” scoffed Michael a little later when he heard of Jane’s adventure.  

“You’re much too big for the Bowl.” She thought for a moment. Somehow, as she told the story, it did seem rather impossible. “I suppose it can’t,” she admitted. “But it seemed quite real at the time.” 

“I expect you just thought it. You’re always thinking things.” He felt rather superior because he never thought at all.  

“You two and your thoughts!” said Mary Poppins crossly, pushing them aside as she dumped the Twins into their cots.

“And now,” she snapped, when John and Barbara were safely tucked in, “perhaps I shall have a moment to myself.”

She took the pins out of her hat and thrust it back into its brown-paper bag. She unclipped the locket and put it carefully away in a drawer. Then she slipped off her coat, shook it out, and hung it on the peg behind the door. 

“Why, where’s your new scarf?” said Jane.

“Have you lost it?” 

“She couldn’t have!” said Michael. “She had it on when she came home. I saw it.” Mary Poppins turned on them. “Be good enough to mind your own affairs,” she said snappily, “and let me mind mine!” 

“I only wanted to help—” Jane began.

“I can help myself, thank you!” said Mary Poppins, sniffing. Jane turned to exchange looks with Michael. But this time it was he who took notice. He was staring at the mantelpiece as if he could not believe his eyes. “What is it, Michael?” 

“You didn’t just think it, after all!” he whispered, pointing. Jane looked up at the mantelpiece.

There lay the Royal Doulton Bowl with the crack running right across it. There were the meadow grasses and the wood of alders. And there were the three little boys playing horses, two in front and one running behind with the whip.

But – around the leg of the driver was knotted a small, white handkerchief and, sprawling across the grass, as though someone had dropped it as they ran, was a red-and-white checked scarf.

At one end of it was stitched a large white label bearing the initials: M.P. “So that’s where she lost it!” said Michael, nodding his head wisely.

“Shall we tell her we’ve found it?” Jane glanced round. Mary Poppins was buttoning on her apron and looking as if the whole world had insulted her.

“Better not,” she said softly. “I expect she knows.” 

For a moment Jane stood there, gazing at the cracked Bowl, the knotted handkerchief and the scarf. 

Then with a wild rush she ran across the room and flung herself upon the starched white figure.  

“Oh,” she cried. “Oh, Mary Poppins! I’ll never be naughty again!” 

A faint, disbelieving smile twinkled at the corners of Mary Poppins’ mouth as she smoothed out the creases from her apron.

was all she said.

Monday, 26 November 2018

To Return from Daily Strife, to Hearth and Wife

George Banks and all he stands for will be saved. 

Maybe not in life, but in imagination. 

Because that's what We Storytellers do - 
We restore Order with Imagination. 

We instill Hope again and again and again.