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Vultures Circling

or A Midsummer Night's Macbethical-Hamletical-Othelloical-King Learical Mock Epic by the anonymous American Bard "Lord, what fools these wannabe bards be!" --the Puck of pluck * * * At Pheasant Farm her curtain drawing, Summer fair espied atop a dainty distant hill Miss Autumn mist enskied in mittens silver gray, a downy scarf enpearled in rime, a dusky jacket, mini-skirt, and blouse of rues sublime, while overhead a kettle of three sisters weird appeared aslant a lightning bolt an oak tree flashed on still afeard, as once upon a time there feared a baby meadowlark who toppling in a crackling cauldron eaten was by dark, Queen Fancy, née Titania, having waked as from a dream too late, alas, to save a tiny, lone, and dying scream, Her Grace discovered bare entwisting one big, hairy a*s, the victims each of Puck, a goblin from the working class, enforced to serve a fairy king, the despot of a strand behind an antic barn at Pheasant Farm in Waryland, the master of his female fay who jealous bid his puck to fetch a weed a bolt of but a blind winged dolt had struck, and with its juice a jest in poison played the tyrant king in Queen Titania's bower as she dreamt of faithful Spring among the nodding violets blush in Fancy's flower bed, the podding pea, the picotee of nectar cap on head, the canopy of cacti caped in royal honeycombs, the reeds to breezes tossing rhythmically like metronomes, the oxlips sighing lullabies soft drifting off in peat, and wheat true beat till airily it turned a gold conceit enringing cherry tulips sweet embracing willows lined, whose handsome barky trunks a honeysuckle's kiss entwined, though eglantines advisedly declined on thinking twice the ash's shade upon the edelweiss's pale advice, while after rare adorning Fancy's locks in lilies white, the chamber sylph and sprite on tippy-toe took instant flight to leave exposed Her Highness to His Majesty's design, as in the garden slithered he in circles serpentine a cruelty deliberate--the thing of things most vile e'er stretching o'er the iridescent skin the viper's smile-- till pours the reptile in each porch asleep and unaware the potion tainted of an envy evil sans compare, possessing powers base to spirits waking chaste beguile, inducing each at once to dote on any beast of bile, on meddling monkey, busy ape, or human a*s and bore, a boor forever popping out the center-stage trap door, his bottom wet to strut and fret an Ego on a stage in Fear of Dying, Death, and Pain--the last still all the rage-- as each "Tomorrow" speech on Life's futility trips up, ignoring glibly "Howl!" and "Horror!" oft on egos sup, save enter godlike Reason fleet to conquer monstrous Woe, by speaking plain the Truth no baby's breath need gardeners grow, but needlessly exposing tiny buds to flooding rains, to desert droughts, to heatstroke, and to deadly hurricanes, no eager seed awaiting in the green room's mason jar, sun lit to star till fading in a naked-bulb memoir, to die as yet the fish first spawned beneath the Troubled Sea who melancholy pondered deep "To be or not to be!"-- a query bubbling up ashore to crawl, to walk, to fly, till last high o'er the earth in flight it bent a Poet's Eye, the Globe to full encompass on discerning its true north, and thus of airy nothing fays and fairies fancied forth, for what elsewise is there to do for mortal man bemused in still allowing Reasoning to fust in him unused save Fancy body forth to rule no changeling imp be snatched and every pixie monocrat and bully be dispatched-- a Rational Ethics by a will Shakespearean revised, a sharper Analytic skill though still not canonized of one True Bard delightful as ideal as he is Real who ne'er from any bard passé a good name e'er need steal, as nigh a candle dancing drops he drowsily a pen, the peerless paragon of quills beyond all ballpoints' ken, and as the lyric instrument quick hurtles toward the earth, of airy nothing airily it shapes an egg to birth-- Fred Flighty, one fit turkey-cock, the farmer's noblest breed, who instant flaps into the past a quantum force of speed, despite the Laws of Physics disallowing such a plan-- but who the hell are they to this pure tour de force dare ban-- as Freddy in a spoiler saves the baby lark from harm to Fancy's Worth and panties silk recoup at Pheasant Farm, the dashing turkey costumed in a tux and peacock tails, his buttocks backward speeding on a spread of breadcrumb trails till plops he as the kettle cruel commissioning a wake on cue descends to hit its mark and fowl desire slake, yet slowly as the vultures three surround the chick (a Brit), our U.S. turkey-cock and hero straight unsheathes a wit, and talking turkey in a cocky cock-a-doodle-do, he smites the wicked kites in one iambic spoof-- "Shoo-shoo!" * * * a dedication of Respect for poor Fancy and her faithful follower the Fool a helios mock epic july, 2022--yet vultures being born to circle . . . "Pick-a-Title, Vol. 31" Poetry Contest Title: Vultures Circling Sponsor Edward Ibeh July 18, 2022

Copyright © James Starkey III

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