My paper dog caught a cold and snuffled,
and, sad to say, his bark was muffled.
Frowzy's life was very hard -
made from a ribbon and some cards
that weren't completely shuffled.
A middling pudding on the table
flies hover in the livery stable
Mud-covered boots ascend to garrets
frowzy days London inherits
Dickensian scenes to rive your heart
by urchins, street vendors torn apart
Yankees delight in their ‘good old days’
Englishmen sniff the rot of decay
THE JOYS OF OUR MOTHER
Before Eko learn how to pronounce his name,
Let him learn to brother his brothers
And the older brothers from broader brother too.
For this is the way of the soldier-ants
Who will never bid a bleeding brother by the border.
Right from 1914
When our mothers bled out tears from their pristine vagina,
Till the early sixties
When our big uncles
fought a viscous battle with the European battalions
To ensure our liberty;
We've been here tangoing.
And now, let the dance continue
And the music knows no stop.
For together, we drank the frowzy portion from Nigeria
When the 'Long-Noses' sell their language to us.
Oh! I'll keep calling my brother's name with it
And my brothers, mine.
The warm-fuzzies of drinking in this jorum
Shall be; when a load is to be carried,
The whole fingers lend in their strength.
The broom never sweep with a stick.
The soldier-ants never barricade with just a soldier
So, when I answer my brother's name
And he answers mine too,
Mother will nod from her grave
"These are my sons".
And our voice shall pierce through the desert wind
To take our message to gods who feed on children skull.
There we were, my coffee cup and I
secluded in the corner booth
where flights of new realities,
my own created children, rose and soared
and readily transmogrified, touched down
and died according to my will.
I loved them all.
They were my fleet of consciousness
and altogether temporal,
yet in their frailty could darken houselights,
raise their stage to hide the universe
and for the nonce assume totality.
A single wisp of thought came through
and it was no surprise to be aware
that the professor with his pipe,
tweed coat and frowzy hair
now sat across and looking at me
quizically, but not disposed
to answer any questions
I was eager to propose, though I
had read his latest book, and knew
his vast research could lead me
down the path I wished to go.
For the moment I could merely know
he was my august puppet, not my key
to magic chests of insight... that he shared
the wisdom of the academes
that I once listened to,
and who would only point the way.
My cup was empty; I snapped back
and saw the room return, and it was time
to kill him off in tenderness. "You know"
he said, as he began to fade,
"I cannot help but go out wondering,
what kind of God are you?"
~
Winds
raged as
fires glowed in
small frowzy shacks
that strange Georgia eve an angel was born.
The sky proclaimed that lives would re-arrange;
with Joy’s first cry,
the tempest
changed to
calm.
Warm
Zephyr -
spring magic -
arrived with Joy.
Her laughter was kindling for hearth and home.
No galas in her future ; she was poor.
Never frowning,
Joy would flash
diamond
smiles.
Her
Mama
sewed flounces
on hand-me-downs,
which Joy wore with glee, celebrating life.
As Papa played his guitar for them all,
Joy danced and twirled.
Humdrum fled
in her
stead.
Fair,
yellow-
haired; slender
like sassafras,
this sunny lass gladdened all of the town.
Humankind exists that we might have joy.
Those touched by that
sweet angel
all learned
this.
Joy
expelled
gloom, giving
her cheer to all.
Nevertheless, joy is often short-lived.
One strange spring day, a cold wind blew in. As
thunder quaked, warmth
waned, and Joy
was no
more.
For Chris D. Aechtner's
"Double the Fun ~ (Tetractys)"
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