poetry

Head’s Up

The mattress queen
Stood resiliently
Her head held high
It was the head
Of a mannequin
The very best one,
Lifted to the sky.
She’d popped it
Right off
As the sun
Did rise
Though this act she did
Despise
But how else
This modern era
We share
Could she
Head
This body
Of state.

Ho Ho Ho, Away We Go

It is winter, you see, in candy-land, frosting spread everywhere. Snowmen stand at cold attention whilst Miss Velcro is fit to be tied. The city goes crazy all night my friends, long as Mr. Claus goes a-wandering. Yes, Anything goes in candy-land a land where anything can happen.

On Xmas eve Mrs. Claus goes wild. Lets it all come loose. In Candyland. The elves know, but do not tell. All is well, the saying goes, all is swell. ‬

Aghast in three rings

Take me to the circus

Where the devils dare

To balance at the precipice

Up there in mid-air

Sitting like a thinker

Ass upon a chair

Did I leave the stove on?

The devil’s mind declared.

Below the clown was crying

Nose up sniffing in the air

Now the daredevil is lying

To himself up on that chair.

Whoa is me, whoa is me!

Said the dog faced boy

Ordinarily without a care

The dancin’ bear watched helplessly

As the Barker was struck

By a falling chair.

A square duel

Here lies the town liar.
Laid low in a comic quagmire.
Caused by lack of social graces.
Got shot at approximately 40 paces.
A fair number, give or take.
If one doesn’t ruminate.

Cupidity

Play

It’s time for a tale of love. A love story, if you will.

As old as the fingers of fate that surround.

Heartwarming! Hearts on fire.

“Someone Else’s Memories” and “Line of Flight” from the album The Politics of Desire by Revolution Void licensed under Creative Commons Attribution License 3.0.

“Winner Winner!” “Divertissement,” Schmetterling” and “Off to Osaka” by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0

Rabbit Digs the Hole

The Rabbit needed a place to rest. And the safety in the open was a matter, as usual, of grave importance. So he claimed the right of the land and began to dig. Down. Sloping down. Into the cool and welcoming Earth. Some creatures were displaced, with as much grace as could be administered in the circumstance, and a network of tunnels joined the network of tunnels that formed the local underground. A refuge of perpetual night.

Idle Rabbit, Rabbit Idol

One digs to escape, dig it?

There were Moles in the underground.

It was to be expected. As the rabbit was relaxing after a cool dig, in the cool splendor of his new digs, one of the moles literally tripped over him.

“I say, who’s there?” shouted the Mole in a horse whisper. 

“I am just an adventurer,” said the Rabbit. “I am not a fighter.”

One digs to escape, dig it?

“Well, sir,” said the Mole, “You are a malingerer! Hiding away from the troubles of the world! A shirker. What do you say for yourself?”

“At the moment,” said Rabbit, “Nothing.”

The accusation was not without some merit.

“Deadly silence,” said the Mole.

And there were dim eyes all around. The underground. Moles in the underground. Suspicious. For good reason.

One digs to escape.

“We are the consolidated underground,” said the Mole. “We are what is left of those who came before. Scraps. Bits and pieces.”

“Where will you go from here?” asked Rabbit.

“Onward,” said the Mole. “To the inevitable ending. We fight no longer to win, no longer is it personal survival which drives us. We fight especially hard when we cannot win, for then our actions matter even more. For then it is a matter of righteous history.” He shrugged his slight shoulders. “We travel the underground. It provides escape routes and comfort. Comfort is, you know, fleeting in this world.”

Among the Moles were scattered others. To the far side was a Shrew. Her eyes illuminated and flickered reflecting the Rabbit’s light. 

Dig it?

“Now,” said the Mole, “We construct the story of our glory. Battling against great odds we keep true to our ethics. And hope that our ideals emerge victorious. You see young Vanja. She joined us after her village was destroyed. We have scattered into cells and travel the tunnels. We emerge one at a time and tell our story at random locations, to random listeners. Then we retreat back underground. It is the only way. Vanja is particularly adept at this kind of warfare. It is like starting a thousand fires. It is uncontrollable. It is unconquerable.”

“Have you heard,” said Vanja, “The song of the traveler? It is reverberating everywhere. The traveler landed in a field. Fell out of the sky. And arose. It was a celebratory feast the traveler had landed on the outskirts of. There were park benches and food. Flowers. And merriment. But the traveler saw above the festivities hung the body of a man, dangling over the events. Still. And no one else gazed toward the sight. Instead children played and lovers fraternized, even quarreled over trifles, while above the man twisted in the happy breeze. And the traveler said, ‘Who is that man? Why does he hang around here?’ And the crowd turned ugly. For it was not a topic for polite conversation. And words were minced. And there were misunderstandings and malice. And the traveler left, for it was not the destination, you see, but afterward people kept looking at the hanging man, who they had previously forgotten. And they were ashamed. But they did not know what to do about it. And that is how the picnic was spoiled, but there were disagreements about why.”

Apropos poem

I propose. A tax on marriage.
And other things I may disparage.
I further call for attacks on syntax.
A sin tax on grevious body attacks.
A body tax on mischievous snacks.
Some thumb tacks
To impress some paper
About the accord.
To hear read aloud at the notice board.
A blanket tax on climate change.
A partial tax on a rearrange.
A carpet tax on well thrown rugs.
A rug tax for a balding thug.
I ask for all these things in turn.
So we may all have money to burn.

More Than True with David Raffin, ep. 1

Play

In these trying times what is needed is

More Than True

now more than ever.


If the Shoe Fits.

The cobbler has succeeded.

Music:
“Divertimento K131”, “Winner Winner!” by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0

“Strange Italian Song”, “Exotica”, “Oriental Fever” from the album “Exotica” by Juanitos is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 France.

“Someone Else’s Memories” from the album The Politics of Desire by Revolution Void licensed under Creative Commons Attribution License 3.0.