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Prisoner John

The tail of: episode 1
Prisoner John,
and his wive,
October 1916,

I was born,
Under the sound,
Of the bow bells, London.
came from a good family,
Blessed with good brains,
Allthough I was:
A failure, a black sheep,
Good for nothing,
Avantually only suitable,
For the sea, as skipper.
A good one, I must say,
Good looking too !
Knew how to speak,
Real English talking head !

Married a good wive,
Picked her up in a harbour,
Unknown background,
Good looking though,
A very nice person,
Except me !
Freqently I was a dronk,
lost everybody,
At first my wive too,
That was my impression,
Eventually my ship also,
Did a lot no good,
Sailing liker & tabacco,
Moon shining on board,
In every harbour,
Mostly Bad frinds,
Even lost good frinds,
I took it all,
Bring back nothing.

At the age of 34,
Officials catch me,
And I was put to prison,
In Portugal,
Sentenced for many years,
But to my surprice,
My wive stayed me loyal.

Hear me: With her help,
I broke out, I escaped !
From Lagos prison,
South Portugal, at sea,
I tried to find,
My way to Spain.

Fast a hunt was set up,
Day time, late afternoon,
I could hear:
The hounds calling,
Fear in my hart guids me,
Extreme hot,
2 days I walked through,
Swamps & muddy sands,
I carried no watter,
35 degrees centigrate,
Swet in my eyes,
I runned like hell,
Unexpected force in me,
I do not want to die,
Fear makes me cry,
Tydal seabanks,
Crossed a small river,
A chance to misguide ?
Murky water, Salty,
It covers my own smell,
And it works,
The hounds are confuced,
I, so tenced to notice,
That I cross the border,
I saw a Spanisch flag,
On a key side,
The hounds let me go,
Exiting relief,
I cleaned myself a bit,
Exhausted, sore throat,
I inhale air as beer,
Now I a even smell beer,
No imagine !
At the end of the key side,
A brewery apears,
Also a ryfel pointed at me,
Now I was confuced,
I was puched thru a door,
An old man waved,
He invites me,
Come drink with me,
He knew my name !
and my wives, how ?
(Later it turned out to be,
his daughter)
The beer was so nice,
Happyness pops up,
It all can't be true,
Overwelming taste,
Is this what I want ?
No booze trafiking,
No prison, but:
Legal moon shining !
To be between this all:
bottles, smell, brewery,
She did know me well,
Make tasty good beers,
The old man hide me,
For many years to come,
He fed me,
I worked for him,
So did his daughter,
She & me cared for him,
He leurned me to brew,
I knew allready a lot ! !
But he is a master brewer,
I became his protage,
The Spanish accepted me,
No hide anymore,
We three had a pact,
After a couple of years,
My bruwery mates,
trusted me,
Respect my knowledge,
They say:
He has it in his fingers.

At some point I even became,
Director after many years,
New beers,
Recepies, more status,
Only he, my wive and me,
knew my history,
I created my own prison,
My "jale of peace".


Hounds are still out there,
Now changed in to menn,
But I know my place,
Keeping low profile,
Be good for my menn,
Good for the brewery,
Be quitte,
They need work & help,
I delivered discreet.

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Leo Wim Cornel
Actief sinds: 05-09-2016

Op dit gedicht ‘Prisoner John’ van Leo Wim Cornel zijn auteursrechten van toepassing (©). Het gedicht is onder auteursrechtelijke bescherming geplaatst op