Terra Firma Cranium

One summer afternoon whilst walking

On a path I often tread,

I chanced upon a man not standing

On his feet but on his head,

A stranger sight I’ve rarely seen,

Yet for such things one can’t prepare,

And though a most intriguing scene,

I thought it rude to stand and stare,

One fleeting glance was all I gave,

For not to look is impolite,

And knowing how one should behave

Is only proper, good and right

And so I carried on my way

And acted as one might expect,

If one saw such things every day:

Inverted men, with feet erect!

But even as I turned away

His face, it darkened to a frown,

Or lightened to a smile perhaps,

It’s hard to tell when upside-down,

“Young man!” he barked so hard his face

Turned several deeper shades of red,

And though I strove to keep my pace

His interjection stopped me dead,

For if so barked at by a man

With feet and head in proper place,

It may be far more than one can

To keep a steady, even, pace

But to be barked at in this way

By one in such a curious pose,

Is quite enough, on such a day,

To flare the nostrils of one’s nose!

So seeing red I turned tout suite

To see the fellow face-to-face,

(or more correctly face-to-feet,

Which occupied the usual place)

“Dear Sir!” said I, exchanging frowns,

“I really do not like your tone,

And seeing as you’re upside down

You shook me nearly to the bone,

Did you not even think about

How it might not be very rude,

To stand upon your head and shout

And so on other’s thoughts intrude?”

Said he, “It may be rude to shout,

But faced with such a curious sight,

To merely glance, then turn about,

Is surely rudeness at its height

From dawn to dusk thus I invert

And hope the process brings surprise,

My purpose, Sir, is to subvert

The course of boring, hum-drum lives,

But if you merely pass me by –

One fleeting glance and then retreat –

I really start to wonder:

Why am I not standing on my feet?”

“Why not indeed!” I cried, aghast,

“Your pointless vigil leaves me cold,

You’re surely living in the past

And act as if you’re ten years old,

Your actions, Sir, surpass the height

Of irresponsibility,

I find you childish and trite”

“My point exactly Sir”, said he,

“Your sense of wonder’s lost and so

In such a world for men like you,

Who made their minds up long ago,

There’s never anything that’s new,

When clouds are things that hide the sun

And trees are merely lumps of wood,

The world’s been stripped of all that’s fun

And nought will come to any good,

Do you remember as a child

You saw the world with child’s eyes,

Laid flat you stared at clouds and smiled

At Father Christmas, clowns, mince pies,

Or battled evil hordes of nettles

Taking pleasure in each swing,

Picked flowers, sometimes counting petals,

Watched them fall, began to sing,

The world is such a wondrous place,

You only have to use your eyes,

But somewhere, Sir, in your great haste

You ceased to look and thought it wise

To fill each unforgiving minute

With a sixty-second run,

You ran through life and missed what’s in it

When you became a man my son”

I sat in silence for a while,

His words resounding in each cell,

And found a lost and lonely child,

Neglected, but alive and well,

And found I’d woken from a dream

To feel the sun upon my face,

Hear laughter in a near-by stream

And know this was a special place,

I thank that man who, downside up,

Helped me regain my child’s eyes,

For now I drink, then fill my cup

With Father Christmas, clowns, mince pies,

The world’s indeed a wondrous place,

Now I’d rather walk than run,

Life’s a playground, not a race,

When you become a child my son...