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Tozzath

Pellucid pachyderms wade across
the purpling River Manjees
and Tozzath watches from the bank, 
the seat of his maroon pantaloons soaked with mud,
his nostrils flaring with the fragrance of ombadalias,
whose lacey petals flutter
like the wings of long-dead butterflies,
bestirred by ghoulish breezes,
the colors bleeding from moribund antennae,
slim as a cat’s whispers

Tozzath casts his gaze into the river’s ripples,
where crocs lurk, awaiting unwary dreamers,
ready to snatch their phrenolic flotsam
in bejeweled jaws and shred it into despairing wisps
spiraling into slanted moonbeams
glimpsed from quiet rooms
with carelessly parted curtains
made from the silk of a once-noble lady’s sigh

Tozzath’s gaze plumbs into a palatial abode
atop the highest hill in Anakabrazan.
He climbs a slim tower
ringed by crenellated battlements,
pushing his essence through walls
of besooted sandstone,
recoiling briefly from the reeking opulence
of the pasha’s slumber chamber

Scents of licorice and sandalwood
and kershoolo rise from incense sticks,
and Tozzath wends his way through furnishings
of walnut and mahogany encarved
with likenesses of winged beasts,
and approaches a bed covered with
damask cushions filled with nightingale feathers
which sing nocturnal ballads
when tossed and turned upon

Tozzath eyes the furrows
in Pasha Doasdra’s troubled brow,
where seeds of doubt sprout like weeds,
nourished by a rain of ruminations.
Blue rivulets of dreamstuff run
down the pasha’s weary face,
lined with the memories of sixty sunsets,
and creased by a dozen more,
lost in moonless crevices

Doasdra’s neatly trimmed beard
belies the thicket of twisted briars in his brain,
entangled entropies cloaked in conscious canopy
as convoluted as the treacherous undergrowth
within the Night Woods of Shaddeshan

Tozzath strides forward, unafraid,
his mind encased within the
protective curling confines of a conch
snatched from a beach where the paw prints of
forgotten creatures imprint shiftless sands
drizzled through an hourglass of purest amber,
overturned by the hand of Time

Tozzath fights through the flora
and breaches the beach,
wading into waters
where sad thoughts settle like silt
in the somber depths

He follows the flow,
paying homage to a tributary,
and dries his very best,
as a dusty road commences
beneath an umber sky.
He sets his feet upon it,
his soles shod in slipshod sandals

He cuts across fallow, hallowed ground
and nears a farmhouse
where termites have made a
banquet hall of the boards

He steps onto the porch with catlike grace
and finds no door to knock upon.
He enters, stirring dust motes
caught in a sunbeam pouring through
a shingular aperture

Tozzath ascends rail-less steps,
heads down a hallway,
pauses, passes
through a closed door;
its piney panels tickle

A young girl blanketed by shadows
lies on a bed of rusty spirals
while her head squats in the corner,
covered with cobwebs.
A small spider splays in her open mouth.
The eye sockets serve as a hovel for fruit flies.
Her scalp is bare, the hair plucked long ago, 
prized nesting material for birds,
none of them nightingales

The girl’s thin arm moves,
her bony fingers grasping an emerald
nestled in her cleavage,
attached to a scarlet ribbon
draped around her cloven neck.
She removes the priceless pendant
and places it in Tozzath’s palm,
cold as an unswaddled foundling

Tozzath leaves the shadow girl and
departs the farmhouse.
The baked clay beneath his feet
gives way to golden cobbles,
and buildings of alabaster and porcelain
rise on either side,
topped by bulbs and minarets
of finest moonstone

The grand markets of Anakabrazan
stretch before him,
bursting at the seams
with beggars and choosers, 
merchants and mendicants,
overflowing with goods and bads.
The clamor rings in Tozzath’s ears,
mingling with nightingale songs

He spies two ragamuffins in an alley.
A boy picks up a piece of broken bottle
and turns to a disheveled girl,
draped in grimed homespun, not shadows,
her eyes bright as emeralds.
The boy entwines the bauble
and hangs it around her neck.
She kisses his cheek,
leaving a smirk and a smudge

Tozzath watches sadly as a
wagon heaped high with melons
rounds a corner,
the driver cracking a whip
over hunchbacked horses.
A melon falls from the back and
instantly a dozen urchins descend,
their ears attuned to the sound of falling fruit.
Their dinner chime.

The boy and girl dash out of the alley.
The boy steps in mongrel dung.
He slips and falls,
sliding beneath the clattering wheels.
His head splits open like a melon
and the girl screams.
Somewhere, a mongrel mourns

And in a silken bed in a marbled manse
on the higher side of town,
a noblewoman cries out also
as the slippery head of a newborn pasha
erupts from her womb.
The odd indentations in his skull
will fade in time

In another alley the grimy girl stoops,
prying up paving stones,
clutching them to her heart.
She’ll hurl them at the melon merchant
next time he passes by

A crowd gathers in a courtyard
outside the army barracks
and watches a soldier’s scimitar
seek out the girl’s slim neck,
sending her soul to the shadows

Tozzath returns to the farmhouse
where shades of meaning await the womb.
The girl still tarries, tallying,
carping about unkind cuts,
refusing her rebirth

But an old man, swaddled in silks,
shall soon depart his bed,
and recall the emeralds he made
from broken bottles
before he ever was

And the boy shall come to the farmhouse,
cleansed by the rains of remembrance,
no longer confined to the prism
of Fate’s fractals,
and the two fast friends shall ride
a kinder conveyance,
with bespokened wheels encircling eternity

And they shall quaff dregless brews
from green, unbroken bottles

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016




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Date: 9/8/2016 6:32:00 AM
Greetings Stanley, I enjoyed the uniform flow and tone of your piece!! :-) Congrats for having your poem featured in the Poetry Soup homepage!!! ;-)
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Stanley Carter
Date: 9/8/2016 8:07:00 PM
thanks teddy
Date: 9/7/2016 12:42:00 PM
Hey Stanley, nice alliteration :), Welcome to Poetry soup, I hope you enjoy the community. Here, you will find friendly poets who enjoy supporting one another. I myself, enjoy reading and commenting those who want to be read. The only time I give constructive criticism is when a poet desires it. However, if for some reason the poem is not my field I will guide you to someone who is more qualified than I. Stop by and read one of my poems if you like. My poems are not perfect, but I have a feeling you might like one. I encourage you to check out the contest page and read to receive comments. Tell me a little about your poetic skills if you like. It will be my pleasure to follow and read every poem you post from here on :) We are Lucky To Have you. Your New Poet Friend @-> LINDA <-@
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Stanley Carter
Date: 9/8/2016 12:34:00 AM
Thank you. I haven't written poetry in ages; I've been focused on novels and novellas and short stories, but when those didn't generate much interest I turned to poetry and I think maybe this is my true calling. Sometimes I just like to splash pretty words on the page (or the screen, rather) without worrying about a plot, and poetry lets me do that. It's very therapeutic.
Date: 9/7/2016 7:32:00 AM
Comprehensive interesting and very well written. Some of the words were unfamiliar to me -- but worth looking up. :-)
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Stanley Carter
Date: 9/8/2016 12:38:00 AM
Thanks. I must confess, some of the words in the poem I just made up, and others are rather obscure. I worried that most people might not know what "pellucid" means and it might turn them off, but it's such a pretty word I decided to use it anyway and take the chance.
Date: 9/3/2016 9:40:00 PM
Great story, great imagery, very evocative. I like it. DC
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Stanley Carter
Date: 9/4/2016 1:19:00 AM
thanks
Date: 9/3/2016 8:57:00 PM
Thank you Stanley, for the visit. Hope to see more from you... Skat
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Stanley Carter
Date: 9/3/2016 8:59:00 PM
thanks
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Stanley Carter
Date: 9/3/2016 8:58:00 PM
Hello, Skat A. I started out writing novels and novellas, published by Gypsy Shadow at first, and then self-published. Got very few sales, so I turned to poetry. But no one wanted my poetry book either, so I gave up on trying to make money. Now I'm just after readers, although no one who's read Tozzath so far has made any comment, so I guess I'm a flop at this too. Oh well, at least I tried.
Date: 9/3/2016 8:22:00 PM
Stanley, Welcome to Poetry Soup. It will be a delight to read and become familiar with your poems in the future. As for now, I will greet you with the same smile others passed when I first joined the soup. Wishing you and your poetry the best. I hope you get to meet all the nice poets around here STARTING with me- SKAT :) Drop a hello and tell me a little about yourself if you wish. I would like to be your newest poetry soup "FRIEND" Hugs **YNR - SKAT
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