4
down a hilly route one huge log of wood
staring at the face both gazelle & her friend
like a bridge of test for an old wisdom bag
then climbeth old tortoise with many a lag
struggling to smuggle his bag over the log
at last lay he beside his bag & by the log!
“old tortoise, the wise!” exclaim’d the other
“thot you’ve gotten enough wisdom to trade
seeing a huge bag inherited from your father
& for this voyage to the field to be well made
first drop the bag on that log for an ease of entry
& having crossed the bag the wise gains the entry!”
The Super Mask Store is open
Through turning door of anonymity
For those who wish a fathom's wade
To best the tide in a human sea
Through each aisle the old masks fly
To find the new in the unknown
Some with grimace, some with smiles
'Buy my mask for none on loan'
Always best to check the fit
To meet the ego for which one strives
Strange, it is, to buy new dreams
With begging masks that changes lives
Before you buy, look outside
Many walk with heads not twirled
Your old mask may yet be best
A knowing stranger in a welcome world
Once, among the daffodils
Stood a shy old tree,
I said 'Hello, old friend'
It rustled a reply to me,
'I hurt, as you can see'
'Why is that so, I need to know,
How do you hurt? I asked,
'You look sublime,
Limbs are fine,
Fit for winter's task
'Looks deceive,
You must believe,
In solitude, I stand forlorn,
Once I stood with other trees,
Now their lives are shorn'
'Some were aged and hewn away,
Others, for reasons unknown,
Yet, here I stand
In forgotten cheer,
I ask, why am I now alone?'
I stood in silence,
Hand on bough,
My new friend was in distress,
Surely, an answer must be found,
'til then, I bear unrest'
A thought occurred
Of long ago,
This tree upon the hill,
That once it urged my love and me
To pick the daffodils
'My friend, stand proud,' said I,
Alone, you will never be
For many a lover upon this hill
Will ever remember thee'
So old the pages, fragile and worn,
Delicately I turn them, looking, wondering,
What was written on these pages before.
Some ones story, or just facts treasured.
Why did the words disappear, what happened?
The book was so carefully wrapped in cloth,
Placed in such a beautiful box, time tarnished.
It must have been very special to the owner.
Can't do it, can't just get rid of it.
If stare long enough maybe will see,
What made this faded paper so important.
Sad and frustrated at not knowing.
Wrapping it up again gently, have decided,
To replace it in the tarnished old box.
Some ones words, treasured, have disappeared.
Maybe if kept safe they will return for the book.
DOREEN CYR
OCTOBER 17
I would cut through the old cemetery
But this is Halloween night
Don't want to wake anyone up
That would really give me a fright!
I've heard the place is haunted
Don't want to take that chance
So I will take the long way around
In this special circumstance
But looking over my shoulder
I see a disturbing sight
Bodies rising up from their graves
Scuttling about in the moonlight
And now they're coming after me
I've got nowhere to run
My short legs don't pump fast enough
Wishing I had a gun
Glancing back I hear them there
They're moaning and screaming at me
As I cut through the darkened plots
I can barely even see
Help me someone-they're lurching towards me
I'm running as fast as I can
When suddenly I find myself
Right back where I began
In front of the old cemetery again
Where are those undead now?
Hope they went back to their graves
Phew! I saved myself somehow!
There was an old man, a collector of sorts
Who made his living off of the dead
Through the obituary page he'd earn his wage
Buying things that others had shed
Though some said his job was just morbid
Preying off of the people who died
It wasn't a natural death that took their last breath
But only those committing suicide
He bought the things that nobody wanted
For most were scared of a haunting or curse
But he didn't care he would always be there
The same day that they emptied the hearse
He was the only buyer at the auction
For everyone else was afraid
He just couldn't wait to steal their estate
And count all the money he made
'Til late one night while sleeping
Awakend by a bump in the night
At the foot of his bed stood a multitude of dead
As his heart stopped beating from fright
The old man had turned up missing
They found claw marks deep in his floor
The people couldn't wait to pilage his estate
For the old man wasn't seen anymore
Inside a harbor inn
Where fateful voyages begin
An old man waits for me…
I enter, recklessly.
The barmaid brings the jug
And pours him out a frothy mug,
And lights a lamp for him
To read by, in the dim.
The old man wears a mask;
I hear him humorously ask
“Perhaps you care to look
Inside my ledger book?”
Instead, I flee that place—
For he unmasked a grinning face
Whose every crease and line
Was mine, was mine, was mine.
The madness of the cats began. They came from Ulthar and
Singaloon, in my dreams, and from cellars and old steeples by day.
By Day! I saw the twitching tails snake madly, as yellow eyes
glared hungry and I feared for my flesh.
You think I am mad. But you haven’t seen the horde of furred
demons crouching in the shadows of chairs, squirming out of closets,
heard them yowling in the old barns.
“They’re after me,” I cried to my wife, but she only purred.
“I need a sedative, anything to help me sleep," I told my
doctor, but he only offered me a saucer of warm milk.
I called the police, and they just suggested the Animal Rescue. I
told them what I was going to do instead, and slammed down the phone.
My wife mewed insincerely, till the rat poison finished her.
My next-door neighbor asked too many questions, till I distracted him
with cat-nip, so that he didn’t see my knife.
Now the police are outside, they want my rifle, and think
because I am only a mouse who cannot climb trees, that I won’t fight.
Let them come in. The buckshot will make their fur fly!
“Those days of brighter stars it was
The stars of my age did shine & shine
Among the Pumpkin Leaf as it was
Called – with the old near the shrine!”
A beam of nostalgic smile I saw
Yea, deep upon the old man’s face!
Such a broad smile so rare I saw
As his tale did unfold with a grace.
The days of my youth is over,
but I have stored my memories
in a memory box.
Today I opened the box,
so carefully and looked inside,
there at the kitchen table,
sat my dear grandma having her
morning coffee, I said hi grandma
she said Jimmy Foulk so glad
to see you, do you want some
breakfast? I said sure, and we
ate until we were full,
grandma I love you so,
but have to go now, see
you on Sunday.
I walked down the street
on East Street in Grinnell Iowa,
and there on the front porch,
was my dear old shep
the dog who I loved so
tail wagging, he greeted me,
kissing my face like
never before, and I hugged him
like I had never hugged a dog before,
uptown at Rexall Drug store,
I saw a nine year old boy
who I knew was me,
I said hi son, any good
comic books? The boy
said sure, this one is real good,
I looked him over knowing
that this boy had a life time
of growing up, said my
goodbyes and left,
opened door to
memory box,
and left knowing that
there would be other
days to visit my memory box.
wrote 8-3-08
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