Ted and Sylvia At Their Satanic Majesties’ Request


As they got back to the car at Burnham Beeches

(And Ted, head down, scribbled: feverish, unaware,

Musing on those first furry post war peaches –

Editors at Faber said his work was better,

Just wait till they discovered this birthday letter!)

She saw a rainbow coming colours everywhere

Illuminating the bluebell clad clearing

Spanning the spectrum in a prism soft and bright


While Ted walked tall her sapphire eyes saw a small

Gossamer envelope tucked in the quarterlight

And, as if that was not enough to enthrall,

It contained a fortune cookie left by a sprite

Predicting copyright wars that came with the fame,

Foretelling revolution in Paris in May

And Brian Jones in the wings, next to play death’s damp game

Surely, she thought, that wasn’t all there was to say?


Instinctively distrusting what she was hearing

In that tender Bucks idyl of afternoon light,

In spite of the spring at her step she was fearing

The long return journey back to the starless night


It was only five years later but she was already


Two thousand light years from home




Julian Isaacs
Painting Rupert Loydell




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