Long Townspeople Poems
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past knoxville and idaho city there are a pair of adorable nitwits.
townspeople refer to them as kooky oddballs, a couple of twits.
their name is easy to learn. she is backward ditz; he is fritz.
brown eyes are lop-sided, their glances can be the pits.
watch out! cautions their neighbor, they will bore you to bits.
they showed up one day unexpectedly during a neighboring blitz.
I heard they were parisians, but another told me they are brits.
fritz can do a weird almost-hand-stand, and ditz does the splits.
twits do not put on airs; neither abides by the ritz or any glitz.
they eat bland foods like porridge, oatmeal, and plain grits.
calico cats come to them all the time, presenting them with kits.
their fighting is so common, their eyes are swollen to slits.
fritz likes to knit, so their house is full of junk that he knits.
afghans, scarves, hats, potholders, and unusable oven mitts.
ditz does not wash her hair, so it is full of lice, bugs and nits.
also have zits, and they have performed some really weird skits.
Labyrinthia P. Babineaux …………… The White Witch of the Lower 9th Ward
Papa Babineaux …………………………… The Father, an honest apothecary
Algebra Babineaux ……………………… The even-tempered Mother
Bumblebee Babineaux ………………… The precocious younger Sister
Gnat Babineaux …………………………… The curious little Brother
Cabernet Babineaux …………………… The distant Cousin
Ulysses “Zully” Kowolski ……………… The world-weary Sailorman
Nikita Something ………………………… The learned Creole Seer
Mitchell Hollywood ………………………. The adulterous Inn Keeper
Tom Sickley …………………………………… The disingenuous Feather Merchant
Fr. Marcus Paternoster ……………...... The lecherous Clergyman
Steve Merkin ………………………………… The unscrupulous Accountant
Vince Fettish ………………………………… The nefarious Fantasy Man
Xerxes the Great …………………………… The Emperor of Persia and Media
Dante Foolhardy …………………………... The Stultifying Court Jester
John Travailleur, Esq. …………………… Just another John
Plus … townspeople, pirates, Indians, street musicians and beggars, Cajuns, swamp rats, women, young ladies, and girls.
On Christmas Eve in nineteen thirty-three,
a friendly visitor in Willoughby*
became the center of a mystery
of a bizarre and shocking tragedy .
Bystanders said this girl, all dressed in blue—
before they could react—just walked onto
the railroad tracks, of which she had clear view.
Why did she die, this girl just passing through?
Attempts to learn her name were all in vain.
Loose coins and a ticket for the train
to Corry** in her purse did not explain
who she WAS. An enigma, she’d remain.
Townspeople pooled their money to provide
a funeral. She was identified
as “girl in blue.” Their conscience is their guide;
fresh flowers for her grave are still supplied.
The caring citizens of Willoughby
would not find out till nineteen ninety-three
the tragic girl in blue’s identity.
That ticket in her purse became the key.
The Corry records proved the family
of Josephine Klimczak owned property
in Warren County. Though the mystery
was solved. “The girl in blue,” she’ll always be.
Of those three thousand locals who went to
that funeral, there would be very few
still living when discovery of who
she was came out—that unique girl in blue.
*Ohio
The rampant rats made everyone afraid.
As they multiplied, trepidation stayed.
At first, there was no one who could be found
to free the village from rats that abound.
In the town, was there anyone around?
Along came a piper with a haunting sound.
He approached people with temerity.
“I shall play the sounds that will make you free.
As the rats listen to my melody,
they will leave your town as they follow me.
For my services, there is a large fee.
I will rid you of your problem; you’ll see!”
Soon, the rats all disappeared magically.
Not one rat was in the vicinity.
However, when the piper asked for pay,
the townspeople told him to go away.
“We find there’s no need for compensation.
Nothing’s in writing, no obligation.”
This breach of contract made the piper cross.
“People of this town, you will incur loss.”
His melody took the children away.
No one saw them again after that day.
OUR EFFERVESCENCE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Line of inquiry: "conjoined with the whole we play our life role exuding a scent granting love consent.
Marcus had a secret only a few of the townspeople knew. His touch could coax the most stubborn of seeds to sprout and the most withered of plants to bloom. The scent he exuded was reputed to be mystical, one imbued with a powerful blend of love and consent, one of divine affection and unity. His was not mere gardening prowess; it was a divinely given gift and one that shaped his life in ways he’d not imagined as a young boy.
On a hot summer afternoon, Elara—lost and withered looking—wandered into Marcus’ garden. He gave her a cup of sparkling water, its cooling effervescence refreshing her. A drop of it spilt on a wilted daisy. To Elara’s amazement, its petals immediately unfurled, revealing a bright yellow center.
Confounded, Elara asked Marcus, "How can you possibly do that? I don’t understand."
He hesitated, unsure if she could actually understand. "It's a gift from the Divine," he said, "a sparkling effervescence similar to that found in the pure waters of the nearby stream. It’s one given to those who wish to connect with their souls.”
A puzzled Elara continued visiting Marcus, over time her curiosity growing and her worldly fears dissipating. Although a loner, Marcus welcomed her believing their connection was divinely ordained.
“We are conjoined not by flesh,” he began one day,
“but by the Divine, sharing the Holy Spirit—
an effervescence, a sacred bond.
Severing this holy bond
invites disconnection and decay
much like a withering leaf on autumn’s breath.
But when conjoined, this sacred space,
wraps itself around us all,
a warm, aromatic shawl.
We are filled with the fragrance of unity,
satisfying surrender, perfumed purpose, and
the sweet aroma of unconditional Love.
When we listen and sup with the Divine,
we’re nourished by the alchemy of this connection,
the effervescent champagne of life, bubbling with Love.
Encourage, nay, celebrate this unity,” dear one,
“this sacred conjoining of all that is,
and all that ever will be.”
New Tune in June Booming Soon!
Room for the Guitar Scars to be Groomed after Blooming to Soon...
Only if Able to Return the Stability of the Skilled Milk Spills Filled with Frisky Whiskey,
To the Dance Hall of Too Tall’s Ballroom Sprawled out Calling Out “One more Song.”
All along Wrong about the throng of the song sawn as a brawny pawn shop Prop,
Stopping measures for pleasure to resume play as the Pause repeatedly gets hit,
Gripped in the lips of a badass vocalist,
Yet, still jokingly yodeled boastfully as a hoax boasting of a roasted winged ring,
Deeming the listeners Kings and Queens as the dreamy mean of ring notes wrote,
Spoke the stream of team leaning steamy things to be dope, so to speak,
And served neat and up on the down beat erupting yet sleekly discreet,
While NOT many who could sing the piece were left with much to speak about,
Still, it might get played too loud,
At least for some crowds,
Boom, boom as the Tune from June looms well-endowed as a good bit of a skit writ right now.
How?
Wrote note by note and spoken out loud as spoken word so each verb could proud,
As the adjectives directives raise the rest of the mess of the unkempt brows aroused by sound,
Mounted abounding by the print outs scouted by growling townspeople down for the count.
Crowned by the spongey dung stung grunge grounded all around waiting to be found.
Rounding the corners adorned by horned hounds loudly spouting its nouns.
Owned, home grown, and as the time is now part of the Lozer Zone honed roaming bound phone known to be shown the tone of pointy stoner boners covered by foam proofing spoof of a roof raising goof duped into the crap shoot of lute lifted for a gifted spooky group rooting for something new to do as what was skewed grew to new heights despite the might of the crew grouping the boos as the acoustics moved risking the brisk whisk of a one hit spit out howl.
While the director of the elected record endeavor called, “foul...”
The new king is like a beautiful damsel on her wedding day
Whereby her uttermost joy came from the ring: a seal of authority
With a bright “Akoko” and the crown that makes him loyal to the royal
On the day of coronation, townspeople trodden in twos and threes
With continuous crossing cavalcades at the down town
Whereas the sounding “samba”tripani and percussion tom-tom are all talking alongside the talking drum
Giving the dancer troupe at the dance floor a direction of dance
No one can question His authority
The god of our father in proxy
And at the mention of his name, all heads bow, men and women lies prostrate – kabiyesi oooooooooooooooooo
Long may you reign
With the royal crown on your head
And the royal shoe on your feet
In your reign: birds will sing and not crow
Cock will crow and not sing
At the edge of town stood, a government research centre
It was heavily guarded, no unauthorised persons could enter
The authorities put down rumours, saying its just a research station
But word got out they were trying, to open an other dimension.
One night a massive blast took off the research station roof
If anyone doubted the rumours, here now was the proof
The gates of hell opened, with the sound of blood curdling screams
And out poured tall green creatures, only found in hellish dreams.
They were humanoid winged reptilians with eyes a blood red
The townspeople heard the blast, many of them were in bed
All the streetlights went out and the sky turned pitch black
Under the cover of darkness the creatures launched an attack.
They entered every house and mutilated everyone inside
There was pools of blood everywhere; hundreds had died
The police and army arrived and fired shell after shell
But they too were slaughtered by these demons from hell.
They kept coming out of the portal and went from town to town
They were annihilating mankind and they weren't slowing down
By the next day they'd invaded, across the world every land
No weapons could stop them, they had the upper hand
World leaders held an urgent meeting and agreed a strategy
But that strategy would mean, the end of humanity
The plan was to launch nuclear missiles, it was the only way
If mankind couldn't rule the earth then neither would they.
The countdown time was agreed and it was announced worldwide
Everyone told to stay at home, with your loved ones by your side
People were crying, religious leaders urged people to pray
Ten minutes later earth was vaporised on mankind's darkest day.
Written on 30th April 2021
A Poem of Horror Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Funom Makama.
On one Christmas Eve
To those who believe
News was declared
Honest and fair
Information needed for those trivial pursuits
About the red outfitted man wearing snowy black boots
“This is to be proclaimed
Santa Claus has a middle name!”
Bellowed the communication crier
Reading from a royally documented flyer
“What is it?
Does it fit?”
Townspeople asked
About the imaginary facts
Wondering if this was a wise act
Handled properly with tact
As the name was announced
Faith it was pronounced
Creating such a buzz
Describing exactly what Santa Claus does
A magical spirit
When one hears it
Conjuring up invisible power
Having strength not being a coward
Energizing a special force
Assisting in dealing with adversity, of course
Changing things for the better
Reason enough to write a letter
Explaining the trouble
Behind the burst bubble
While asking for peace and joy
Which appears in the form of a hand-crafted toy
Truth be told about this lesson
Where faith is addressing
Combatting the problem that is the mess
Forcing the enemy to confess
Santa exists
Equipped with a warm, loving Isotoner wearing fist
Guiding us through life’s cold blurry wintry mist
Giving the gift of understanding
During a time when things are demanding
Disrupting all the planning
So, go off and pray
With a simple request to say
“I am not scared,”
Remember to show the Santa stare
“Warning don’t you dare
Faith is inside me
Now let us enjoy our afternoon tea.”
Is Mc'quarie bank loosing the plot? as it dreams gray digits
And attempts in fact a blot.! To remove the lifelines of cheuqe and cash, that bedrock.' Australia this is like a sneak attack smash grab.?
From surfers to cockys, townspeople.. All walks' if you are
Honest you'll agree (cash talks) it talks to me of an impulse
Spend' a day on the beach..Would sure make amends! for
Drab old lockdowns as davos ordered..Give me an ice cream
Sundae or a real good steak and large chip order.! With a little cash stash
Maybe I'd buy a new ute.? Or a vintage monaro on the road
Would be beaut.! Remember Peter Brock and Alan Moffat? the
Speedway duels each try'n to grab it' like rockets! that Bathurst 5000
Had!
Duck hunting season, the outside fires and laughs with
Some reason.' Hard men at work.' Yet who'd clown and play
Many minds alike are my thoughts today.? Yet its still there
I reckon.?? (THAT AUSSIE SPIRIT.) women and men who have
No limit 'who'll sleep out under the southern cross, whose
Eyes are sharp whose hands will turn, the wheel of life
Till the axle burns.' Their forbears cut the ironbarks down, they split
Rocks! drove the roads ( they played their part ) in heat and cold! and many of
Whom though were of limited script..Yearned for better and
Provided it.' Their sweat built Monash.' They inspired so
Many.' Now rise bronzed nation and don't take any.' Any more
B S... I say search your thoughts.!! And sidline those who
Were cheaply bought! Remove the cowards; the double
Minded.' And show this world that Aussie itself, again is finding! Your
Fame is waiting to be reprized! take the initiative all stand strong!
Front and sides..' sing out to each other' work to help like Simmo did.' Yet here on your own land' protecting the women and kids!
Support the true medics like Brighthope and Hobart
Listen to John Staoleton his journalisam is also part.'
Call out the ones who did you wrong, its all on the line now.!
Don't let it go, for just; a sad old cracked song!