poetry

Saragun Verse: Andy And Why

i

Andy has never been pampered

Andy has never been indoors

Andy is a ten pounds of action

Touch him and you’ll get yours

ii

Andy is beautiful and wild

Andy has Cat class and style

Andy has been around since Ramses

His gray eyes doth damn thees

iii

Andy has the libido of a Rabbit

Andy makes more out of habit

Andy doesn’t go much for family

He’a case of wham bam thankew mambly

iv

The sands of years will fill betwixt and between

And scrub away the legends of kings and queens

But Andy will keep a rollin through the nights

He is the answer to the question “And why?”

Saragun Verse: For Dee Boids

Not all Birds must be real to fly

But don’t you dare try to fry the fried

Your friends will think you horizontal

By those talon scars on your tonsils

‘tis a spat as old as rhyme

one must be late to tell the time

he says why must we early chase the worm

if it were french toast maybe I’d learn

My mother was right when I was back in the nest

She said your stripes were simply a jest

nothing earns its keep whilst abed

You’ll be fodder for Cats unless you move ahead

I am too hot to be smart my gurlie tells me

But I have the beak to make history

So I when I mistake my reflection for another

Remember I, by song, might be both your lover and your brother

Henny Penny ain’t got shit on Viv the Wick

That brooder house floozy is a silly twit

Tomorrow I will be queen of the roost

After she’s served with corn and the awful truth

(The birds of Saragun Springs now bow)

The Endless Rubaiyat of Saragun Springs translated by Dame Daisy Kloverleaf

i

the orange wingly winged wee billigits

protested their unrhymed color to bits

poetry is bigotry they chanted

we demand a wordly word be made to fit

ii

this wise moving hoof had to scoffly scoff

you boys are too quick to poutly pout

invent your own rhymes and quit whining

knockingly knock it off or I’ll knock you out

iii

this threatly threat caused a new vexation

it started the realm’s united nations

movements put the smell in silly shit

billies are our squeezers of creation

iv

so it has come down to the scorngely scornge

that everyday is a morngely mornge

and I blamely blame the billi-half-wits

for dumb rhymely rhymes to use with orange

SaragunSprings New Thing

i

I ask why I silently passed me by

At the head of the stair in my mind

Was I afraid to assay my soul

Or just too stingy to say hello

ii

Soft drugs and slurring thugs I may combine

Into a false god whose shit’s divine

But it is a fixed game of bitch and snipe

Only the true know which end to wipe

iii

Cosmic buzzwords do not reveal

Blabber-bobble orange heads only conceal

Little flat bubbles of pointless victory stall

And fail to rise high above the stink of it all

iv

And yet it was I who passed me by

In silence at top of the stair in my mind

I’m ashamed of the false god that I preserve

Because I get what I deserve

(Note–trying out a new spelling: SaragunSprings, ‘tis a new thing–LA)

Saragun Verse: On the Plateau of Sphinxes and Finxes

i

It was the year of the Octopus bong

Stairway to Heaven was our favorite song

And when the past spoke of tomorrow it said

Never let the promising future go to your head

ii

We vowed to love till death’s last breath

But we were too young to hedge the bet

When forever came calling in ’93

No one wanted to write a new CD

iii

Statues of heroes missing their noses

Played out Sphinxes whom the future exposed

As blowhards who ruled for gold and by prick

Even those fey foals named Elizabeth

iv

It’s always the year of the powerchord

On which generations still light bowls

Forward not straight we go merrily along

Some wondering why Stairway is the greatest song

As If She Really Were There by Dale Williams Barrigar

(The image of Happy Hounds provided by DWB and the hand of a Mystery Twin)

(Co-Ed note: The weeks vanish so quickly, but we can fill them with words as they pass as tithing baskets! Return tomorrow for the always fragrant, flagrant, virtuous, violet, hectic, heroic, melancholy, merciful, and more so and more so thoughts of our beloved The Drifter!–LA)

As If She Were Really There

(For the virgin queen, from a dream)

Fingers around the wheel of life,

I roll it as her long-nailed

fingers’ ghosts

handcuff my wrists

gentle and fair.

Saragun Verse Falstaff for God

(Today we honor old Fat Jack. The Drifter has kept him in my mind lately, so the old knight rates a poem. In fact I think that I can dedicate this to His High Rotundity as well as the co-Editor of Saragun Springs— LA)

(The Raccoon in the image is named Falstaff; a truly fitting individual)

i

Handmade gods do not laugh

Even when they employ a staff

Of dull scribes, Bob Hope funny,

He who bought bad jokes with Chrysler money

ii

Go through pages and seek jolly sages

And learn good Will penned the man for all ages

Tankards of ale, sack and wassails

Falstaff lives on after all else fails

iii

Prince Hal was a pal till power spread him nebulous

‘Twas crown and church made him lugubrious

Yet Jack kept laughing and blessed the saints of the doomed

Hallo Pistol, Nym, Bardolph, Drifter and Harold, may your keeness for-ever, Bloom

iv

Kings lose their humour when see good

In split heads, spilled guts and land by the rood

Yet Hal neither lived long nor richly

Nor was he guided home by gentle Dame Quickly

Saragun Verse: “That’s How Come”

(Image of the Messianic Squirrel, Manette, WA at sunrise)

i

On the tongues of angels devils dance

The right words are made but not by chance

If the truth and sound should ever meet

We’d hear “it’s cheaper to let them sleep on the street.”

ii

The keening of youth wears thin in time

Like hippy power ties sold in eighty-nine

The passion disease is easy to cure

With pots of gold and rainbow lures

iii

Sleep tidy in peace is the lucky sin

God loves you more is how it begins

Luxuriate in false security long and well

And but once heed the toll of the bell

iv

And as one hypocrite tells another

“The fault lies with our fathers and mothers”

Yet seldom do parents concede

When devils dance on the tongues of their seed

Daisy versus the billigits: The Second Battle

(As noted yesterday, I expected a reply to Daisy’s scathing message to the billigits. I wasn’t wrongly wrong–LA)

i

o moving hoof you are so quick to huff

o’er such inconsequential puffy stuff

you and adverbs are a mixed potpourri

that reeks of one little miss me me me

ii

billigits fly high and we think divine

we soar in the straightest of guidelines

to add to the story is silly bold

the realm would be best if you did as told

iii

mothball weasel pinto flounder we four

punctuation and caps we do ignore

adverbs are the weeds of the written word

you abuse them the way flies use a turd

iv

o moving hoof with a spirit so sweet

why must you say hoofally bout your feet

have you gone around the bendly bend

from reality to deep insane pretend

(Well, that should pissilly piss the Goatess off. I expect her reply tomorrow–LA)

Daisy and the billigits: A New Poetry War Dawns by Dame Daisy Kloverleaf

Saragun Verse

(Ed note–Dame Daisy is well known for her little “beefs” with members of the realm. These poetic dust ups, even with her nemesis the Lambs, are usually over fairly quickly. They mostly stem from opinions about the Moving Hoof’s beloved adverbs; hence the missive of the day. Her use of small case letters is indeed sarcastic.–LA)

by dame daisy kloverleaf

i

the billigits are everywhere

flying phoney little squares

too wholesome too cute sez I this moving hoof

too Osmondy with their big grinning tooths

ii

dear billigits where have we errly erred

we were once as close as under and wear

but time its sad selfly self hath decreed

that you be pithy and I adverby

iii

oh what vilely vile little scorners

who skimp on fairness and so close borders

i seethly seeth over their obloquy

the finks have for we the adverbally

iv

your kind knows oh so little compassion

we see you as pains in the assassin

the hemingway song of your boozely wit

speaks only of dying by killing shit

(Second Ed note–To date the billies have yet to reply; but I’m sure one is coming–LA)