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Revelation Spring

Revelation Spring, written and performed by Martin Riley (directed by Rebecca Riley). Music- David Burridge. Solo Cellist- Matthew Sharp. Northumbrian Small Pipes - Ann Tingey. Revelation Strings Violins Fran, Fiona, Heather Alana, Jan, Jocelyn, Anna. Violas Bill and Sarah, Cellos, Caroline and David, Bass, Andy and Ann. Percussion Ian. Poem inspired by contributions from Ann ,Bridget, Caroline, Ceri, Danina, Fran, Hannah, Heather, Irene, Isabel, Jan, Jocelyn, John, Liam, Lynn. Revelation Spring For the Revelation Strings. One morning, while we lie in bed Listening to the rain, From far away we hear a sweet Melodious refrain. Rooty-tooty, rooty-tooty, rat-a-tat! And, at that - Every heart in hibernation, The hedgehog and the moley, By the Pan-asonic tonic Of those pipistrelle pipes, Are pruriently prodded Into juicy jubilation. Ring a ding-a-ding-a-ding: Sweet lovers love the …. Roll of drums! Ta daaa! Oh my! A leafy-coloured Brimstone butterfly Dries its over-wintered wings in the sun, Advertising, as it flies away, (Flitter, flutter: here’s another!) Hairy-goaty, his relentless (No defences can keep it at bay) Robin Redbreast tweeting, True hearts, true minds meeting, New-born baa-lambs bleating, Might be snow or sleeting, Turn-off, turn-up heating, Morning dark defeating, Daffodil Dancing Day. Hooray! It’s - Time for strumming strings, Dozy-does and fairy-rings, Tinker-belles upon the breeze Cherry blossom, bumble bees, Wild snake-head fritillaries Dogs in mud, way past their knees Fiddle diddle-diddle-dees, And the tippy-tappy tapping, Rock and roly-poly rapping Of those bright woodpeckers hiding, (Very close abiding), Where we never-ever see them, Picky-pecking at the far-side of the trees. However - We primates also have our private place Tucked away behind the shining face Of our might it be too soon Pale and ghostly daytime moon, Our hidden and our hurt Wear-and-tear and worrywart. Fragile, weary and uncertain, Yet we pull aside the curtain To see two brazen tulips Calling “Here we are again!” Blowing rich red-petal kisses Through the dusty windowpane. Time for jigs, time for reels, Mayday mischief, merry peals Of laughter from the little’uns Playing Catch and Grandma’s Footsteps, Since forever, in the Bluebell Woods: Singing ballads with fresh lyrics, Panoplies of panegyrics In praise of peak-a-booing And whatever else they’re doing. Poets wandering and wooing While the turtle doves are turring, And the prowling cats are purring: Double trouble somewhere stirring In the bold and brassy Bluebell Woods. Where the world is full of fresh green shoots, And we jump, splash, into puddles In our wellington boots and find a pond, Where we sit and gaze in wonder At the fishes and the frogspawn and the newts, Till it’s twilight and we feel the evening chill, And the sounds grow softer, While the world stands still For the birth of night, the dying of the day: Far-off voices and the grumble Of a distant motorway, As a fearless fox stoops down to take a drink And we catch his eye and stare, afraid to blink, At a bright blue-green mandala - of a kind. Then he speaks, (the ancient way, from mind to mind) “There is a tune which we both dance to, you and I, The music of the sphere that gave us birth, Fragile, hanging in the firmament, its fate In your hands now, our home, our blue-green earth.” That night, we gather round a fire, Friends, like flames around the sun, Play a tune and reconsider What’s been said and what’s been done, And we vow to act together Humankind in harmony, In the spirit of the season, To keep Nature, wild and free, Not mummified and dried up Like those old Amenhoteps. And the next day when we wake up We have spring, (There - we said it!) We have Spring in our steps. Martin Riley, April 2021 Video Mixdown - Richard Burridge © The Big Reveal 2021 - Charity no. 1175256 President - Paul Patterson www.the-big-reveal.com