Pliny, the elder, heard
About beavers
And their magical testicles
From a vagrant
Russian merchant.
On his bestiary
He also praised unicorns
And the naked
Gymnosophists
Of the far Orient;
The vagabond sages
Who only ate
Once a year
And beans at that!
(Like my mother used to say:
“Everywhere in the world
People eat beans.”)
One of these hierophants
Spoke for trees
And interpreted
Their seed spread
As omens.
(Some truth to that:
Seed pods harbinger
Drought and merry times.)
Yes, Pliny
Wrote what he heard
And wrote much of it
So much that my toponymic
Ancestral brethren,
In Hispania Tarraconensis,
Wanted it all that wisdom
For themselves.
Bringing branches with their trunks, they start their festival with glee
Swinging silent bells at the pearl sailing in the night sky
Flinging away darkness and dirt, for light to finally see
Singing pearls in the branches, pray to the divine up high
Praying to the ship of fourteen gates filled with splendorous light
Begging the pearl-gathering angels to help them ascend
Entreating the Maiden of Light to continue the long fight
Worshipping Jesus the Splendour, the lord and gleeful friend
Inspired by Pliny the Elder's account of elephants worshipinng the moon with branches, while incorporating Manichaean beliefs about the moon.
Melanin lamentation
It appears to be the color of dread
Locked in
is a private penal profiteering feeling
Black site
has a plantation clandestine skin
Making abolition voices
invisible again
Usury jaws open like an abyss trapdoor,
predatory lending
got a bulging debtor belly once more
As the black robes
rattle strike
a corporate cobra plea deal —
Let the food chain shakedown siren lure
Leopard spot plastic bags
over the head
Casting poverty pawns
into the a domino pit repo hole
Obsidian wiles got a blue steal bracelet price tag;
dark bags under the eyes, dreams dead
Pale thoughts ... Pliny sleepless nights, no dawn:
Implantation device now in control
Overseer bound destination,
underneath the roulette task terrible Gulag will
Siberian tigers have a paper appetite,
turning into eclipse panthers when Dear occupant can’t pay the bill
01-14-22
Has the Golden Girl sung her final song?
As the mute swan was said to have all along
The mute swan never sings or sounds even as a tucket*
Except apparently when it finally kicks the bucket
Am I Cassandra, who has sung her final lament
Is this what some are waiting for so they needn't comment
Socrates said that Swans sing in there young life
But never as beautiful as in their dying strife…
In actual fact mute swans aren’t t mute, they hiss
I think all this time someone’s taken the *iss
Pliny the elder, shows the dying swan singing is a myth
So we ought to take notice of this now and forthwith
So for my Swan song, my last melodious attempt
To sing and delight please don’t treat with contempt.
My Swan song is here just before I lie down and die
But just like the mute Swan singing, this is also a lie.
© 9/11/2012 ~GG~
*tucket a bugle call
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