Sunday 3 April 2011


In memory of Peter Huggins (aka Jeremy Brett). A bi-polar sufferer, he was deeply affected by his role of Sherlock Holmes.

'Please no more......I just can't do it anymore!'
Cowering, sobbing, pleading, falling to my knees.
Tall, black-clad before me, merciless, soulless eyes
staring out through darkened glass.
'But you are mine now, for all eternity!'
Mocking laughter echoes through tortured mind.
Covering my ears, staring at the pavement.
An ant scurrying by, carrying its dead,
or is it my Soul?

Seized by sudden panic.
Running, faster, faster, FASTER.
Far away, tyres screech, horns blast.
Barely aware - MUST out-fox him.
At last! Sanctuary - anonymity of Sacred Common.
Knowing she's there, desperately seeking
the comfort only she can bring.
Soon, passionately hugging face to bark,
my beloved tree.

Senses merging, limbs entwined,
cool leaves through trembling fingers slide,
ancient wisdom, taking root in human mind,
'Be still....relax....sleep....'
Dazzling flash, sudden deluge,
splatters through panoply of green.
Almighty rumble underground
as Heaven and earth collide.
Petrified, I bury my face
deeper into her.

Drenched to the skin, I'm falling,
endlessly,endlessly falling
to the depths of Reichenbach Falls.
Locked together in deadly embrace,
wrestling Moriarty for my life,
until sudden glimpse of haggard face
chills me to the bone.
Scarcely able to comprehend.....
it's not Moriarty, it's HIM!

Screaming in terror.
Leaping up, gasping for breath.
Haunted eyes dart back and forth
seeking the loathsome form.
Now, sudden burst of laughter,
for realisation dawns
'A dream. A BLOODY DREAM' I shout.
Laughter turns to manic cackling,
as kneeling on the sodden moss,
I kiss my forest Queen.

Safe in her bower I could conquer the world,
as joy and elation rise up within.
How could anyone be such a fool
to flee and hide from a will-o'-the wisp?
for now I'm aware he's nought but a shade
cast from a notion of fear.

Day fades to twilight, and the starry sky
echoes to the screech of an owl,
until the Gods play with matches
and the trees are aflame
in the crimson arc of dawn.

Voices come and voices fade,
but no-one seems aware
of the scruffy, bedraggled vagrant
skulking under a tree.
Far removed from the world they call 'real',
I HAVE to make them see,
all that I am, have been and will be,
must divorce myself from HE!

Venturing out from my fortress of power,
to take the centre stage,
I climb upon a grassy mound
and begin to draw a crowd,
as peeling off each layer of Holmes,
along with a layer of clothes,
soon I'm left stark-naked,
shouting, 'See! I'm not really Holmes, I'm ME!'

From the midst of a loud commotion,
I'm seized and wrapped in a coat,
then bundled into a waiting van
and hastily shot up with dope.
As voices recede and faces blur,
I begin to drift away
upon a tide of forgetfulness,
to drown in the ocean of bliss.

From the land beyond all time and space,
they pluck this reluctant Soul
and thrust it back into its cell
of a prison made of bone.
Such agonies as I vainly struggle
to cling to the last shreds of hope,
I finally have to concede defeat
and return to my doom-laden fate.

A face looms out of a swirling mist,
but I can't quite make out his words.
He seems to be telling me all will be well
if I take my pills when I'm told!
Oh how could a man ever be so wrong,
for he fails to realise
that standing behind him and just to his left,
is HOLMES............................................

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