Wicker Man Sequel II: Afterlife, 1974 He goes quietly - Too quietly, in fact. Eyes downcast, he is sullen, Resigned, Relieved. No struggle, No frenzied pleas, No execrations, No desperate screams - Even the animals Fall silent. Such an anticlimax, some Dare say. We are leaderless. Later that year, a Plummy-voiced fugitive with Caddish moustache offers to be Our Laird. But we’re a religious people - We don’t do murder here, and won’t Countenance spouse killers. And, to Be honest, we’re sick of the Notoriety. In fact, everything becomes an Anticlimax: the Unrelenting waves of Orgy, Feasting, Carousing, Innuendo, Bawdy song, Ritual mirth, Communal rejoicing. We seek the sublime Thrill of transgression – that Dire-edged, dark delight made Keener by the dread of Censure and chastisement. Our Christian neighbours revel in it: Shame-filled, knee-trembler sex in barns, Caves, cubicles, hallways, back alleys; Shebeens, whisky bothies, Gambling dens – skulking, winking Furtively at bored menfolk on the Sabbath; Malicious gossip about the Manse family. As if divining our silent prayer, a large Consignment of oatcakes arrives from a Nearby island. Brittle, friable biscuits – Hebridean fortune cookies Revealing Aphoristic Bible Quotes that promise Hellfire and damnation with a Faint chance of Salvation. We shudder in Anticipation. ©Jan Peters/Solivagant Wisdom, 2025
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#poem: ©Jan Peters/Solivagant Wisdom, 2025
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