On a dreary night in mid-December,
As well as I can now remember,
I sat and contemplated embers
Smoldering in the fireplace, dying.
Outside a bitter wind was howling,
Inside were flickering shadows prowling
'cross study walls as I sat rocking,
Watching flames with cinders vying.
The maudlin poem I'd been perusing
Had raised a question quite bemusing
That circled 'round my cerebellum
And captured my imagination.
I pondered why Poe found it shocking
When he heard that raven knocking.
It was merely seeking haven
From the storm, not conversation.
He seemed to think it came to haunt him,
And for his carelessness to taunt him,
Though he had no recollection
Of how he came to lose Lenore.
She was wearing something furry,
But after that it all got blurry,
And the last thing he remembered
Was someone yelling, "Nevermore!"
But a cold, wet bird was no more omen
Than "Cheerful Ed" was Poe's cognomen.
Could be it was just a token
Of whatever he was smokin',
And was just the lady leaving
As she slammed his chamber door.
Author's note: I don't believe I've ever read or heard anything about E.A.P.'s sense of humor, but I certainly hope he had one.
His name could have been - 'What's his face?'
We hunt for an epithet to fit an absent memory.
In truth, he did escape many people.
Some recalled him, but could
only gesture a vague misshapen identity
with unsteady hands.
Some plotted a meeting wherein
X marked an intersection
where he once met our eyes,
eyes that floated away
as if he were a feature
in a landscape only half painted.
What's his face, escapes any cognomen,
not because he is a nonentity,
it was we,
we who were never there
to notice.
I studied the Roman epitaph
Translation provided by museum staff
Of a retired centurion of the 6th Legion
Scratched in letters three inches tall
on a gravestone found near Hadrian’s Wall
The name reads Titus Flavius Aquila
Praenomen, Nomen, Cognomen
Personal name, clan name, family name
Quite impressive
But I’ll keep mine just the same
I whispered the name and pondered
And couldn’t help but wonder
Could it have occurred to him, could he have thought
That two thousand years in the future
His name would still be remembered? Most likely not
A part of me likes to think,
I do that sometimes, especially with drink
In well-earned retirement, From his villa in the sky
A particular Roman centurion, heard his name echo
He looked my way, Smiled and winked
On caparisoned, filleted camels do they
Over the great, soft, tawny sands
Ride;
Unfurled flags and tribal standards flown amidst them,
In the very midst of them-
Of they, who astride great tan camels,
Seem rather scandent and saltant.
These are the irregular, well-armed cavalry of the
"Men In Ambush," for such is the literal translation of their
Nation's cognomen;
And on the sands of the undulant, granular, eminent
Near-Judean wilderness do they ride.
Photographing these from atop the vespertine-hued
Summit of a delivery truck from the nearby
Eminent, circumvallatory, hilly
And fortressed city;
From the very roof of an antiquated bread truck
(Though 'twas then very new by the standards of those bygone days)
Whose radiator is soon to vaporously explode
Amid the oppressive, anhydrous desert heat,
Photographs an American, hatted in the whitest
Of Panama hats, who is a correspondent reporting of wars.
The Arab cavalry ride for locales
Damascene, in order to pursue one's kingly wish
To renew the gardens Cordovan and long-vanished.
Yes, it was a hot day for a black wedding,
I swapped my life for a golden ring,
I did not check those sinister omens,
As I volunteered to change my cognomen,
All our families, garbed in black,
Once hitched, there was no turning back,
A fateful dark matrimonial,
Indeed, a disastrous ceremonial,
'Twas already a dim bleak wedlock,
Nuptials in black was a shock,
So much for my late spouse,
Yelling at me to clean his house,
Is biology destiny? I used to ask,
Is housework only a woman's task?
Once, I swapped my soul for a golden ring,
Yes, it was a hot day for a black wedding!!
(Tough.)
Art and mind are once again
Silent then. a quiet name
Comes.
Cognomen...
Golden chickpea dance in fields
Knowing strokes of paint do yield
Genius genus genie genes in us.
Electric Text in the core of this
Write. Script.OS. Comitis....
Duenos lingua Cornelius.
Kernos Major. Mojo
and Candles.dear
;p