poetry

The Deer Watch

(All images taken by Leila)

The Deer are watching me

Marking my ways and taking notes

I have no idea what the game is (up to)

Am I good or bad by rote?

The Does and Fawns graze in silence

But I am up on their tricks

I am the subject of their science

Chloroform and needle sticks

The Elk are few in comparison

But they have a stake

Has the world had its fill of venison?

Are they done with being steak?

Yes, the Deer are watching me

From the woods they have come

The Deer have won the majority

Tis my turn to sniff, twitch and run

Saragun Verse: Saving the Ghost of 1983

i

I was walking home and met the Ghost of 1983

Clove cigarettes, Orange Julius and Plug-in potpourri

It seemed a pity that it had to wander without a mall to roam

I wanted to do something nice so I brought it home

ii

The Samaritan has hit the skids in millenia number three

No good deed goes unpunished is the modern screed

But I rather like my dayglo phantasm born in cheerier climes

Before everyone got a branch from which to bleat full time

iii

So now I share my roost with the Ghost of 1983

Clove cigarettes, Orange Julius, Plug-in potpourri

If I can be good enough to open up and make a little room

Then maybe I shan’t be so alone when sealed in the tomb

The Saragun Springs Gazette Presents Booze Reevooze by Renfield

(My Imaginary Friend and second in command of the realm, Renfield, has the unique ability to wake after a bout of binge drinking without the slightest trace of a hangover. There are only two ways to avoid the hangover, stay loaded around the clock or be lucky enough to have the constitution of an Imaginary Friend. Now, alcohol still affects her in the usual short term way, which makes her as good a candidate to provide a review every Friday–Leila)

Booze Reevooze by Renfield

Hullo parched readers! Today I examine a classic no longer available on Earth but is (thank Zod) plentiful in Saragun Springs, by name, the legendary Bacardi 151.

Sadly the modern “grown-ups” cannot handle 75.5 proof inflammable rum. The modern day wussieness confounds and embarrasses awesome persons such as myself. Then again anyone who rides a child’s scooter to work while huffing on something that produces an odor similar to blackberry jam probably shouldn’t be messing with the hard stuff.

I like my 151 with Coke. As always I will voice dictate my experience as I work my way down the bottle. Now, as I pour my first drink, I can just smell flames of inebriation wanting to burst.

Mmmmmmm…talk about smooth–hoo wee. Oh yes, there’s nothing like beginning a day with a bottle on an empty stomach. Allow me to refill my glass and catch a toasty mental wave.

Sorry gang but I snuckered one without recording it. Such awesomenicity.

Three in row brings the visions! Ho Zod! You know, I was at the bar the other day, right? Just sittin there and this Horse comes up and sez “Hey baby.” I told him fuck off, but all lady like. But no, turns out he had a lisp and said “hay bale, pleeze” to the beerkeep. I went with the sorries and sprung for an alfalfalafa shooter.

Five alive, not even half an hour! New record…What was I sying–um, saying? Oh yeah on a scale of one-ten I give Ronnie B. here a, what else, 151! Zoddamnit!!!

I tell ya bout the Horse? I think I did. Big ol sum bitch. Anyway, I don’t feel like talking right now….got sum serious drink on…

Come back nest wick and learn about Missississississippi corn squeezins….

Renfield

(Second Ed. Note–This is the longest Booze Reevooze to date. The writer usually cracks the seal of the bottle, says hello and forgets about the column in about a hundred words. So she goes-LA)

Saragun Verse: Ode to Foul Waters

i

The Spring is the thing in Saragun

It creeps up from the nether-nether land

Located below the meanest sin

Where you can fry Peter without a pan

ii

It smells of charnel houses and sulfurized souls

Mouldy shoes, dollar store cologne

Lovers lies and quitters’ scorn

And the still rooms of the should ne’er been born

iii

And yet it is the best of devices

A sucking abyss for idiot crisis

And it leaves our air cleanly grown

Fresh to the lung not previously blown

iv

Yes the Spring is the thing in Saragun

It takes out the trash and dung

It’s a happy exit for the aggressively putrid

We wave bye bye to anti-Cupid

Saragun Verse: Moonfog Returns

i

Moonfog Madrone nods in the lush field

In vegetable dreams seldom revealed

Little goes against Moonfog’s serenity

Save humankind the greedy enemy

ii

Little colored flags and a for sale sign

Once entered the doze of Moonfog’s calm mind

He cast an enchantment into below

Where the little fey gods flicker and glow

iii

“Bring forth a shake to unkind human steps

Those that never feel the earth is kept

By Forces more elemental than gold

Little gods I say do as you are told!”

iv

The flags and for sale sign went away

For when humans touched the field it swayed

Some said nature, others, the will of God

Moonfog cared not, for he was on the nod

Goat v. Lamb Civil Poetry War the Conclusion

Another Introduction

As hoped for, my brilliant post yesterday brought an end to the Goat v. Lamb War. But, not wholly unforeseen, both sides have aimed their antipathy at me.

But being the leader of the realm, I have the personal fortitude and liquor cabinet to withstand obloquy.

So, in the name of see-through-it-ness (I hate the corporate term for that), I stiff upper-lipply present the last two poems on this subject by the formerly warring sides. No one has said so, but I think the kids have gotten a bit bored and are ready to move on toward further vexations. So, I’m going to consider these poems by both sides a peace settlement and move the liquor cabinet closer to my desk.

Leila

“A Hoggishly Hog Pen for the Penname!” by Dame Daisy

i

The barnyard is calm tonight

But the Pen is full of smite!

She insults the Ruminant creed

With a fable of dubiously dubious breed

ii

I say Lambs we should end our fight

And take up against the Pennish fright

She who disparages the Daisy and Sheep

Is the ultimate creeply creep!

“Us Too” by the Lambs

i

Lambs do not caper in the sod

Nor frolick with their bods

The Pen who wrote that trash

Is as guilty as razor rash!

ii

Let the hooves unite

We now know a new fight!

The Pen is our enemy

Unite herbivores in enmity!

Afterword

Well, that’s how things are going in the Springs. I guess the hoofed (or is that hooved?) ones were insulted by their portrayals in yesterday’s fable. Actually, that was the intent. Fortunately the inhabitants of Saragun Springs are all talk and zero action. But, just in case, I’ve hired three Rat bodyguards, John, Wilkes and Booth, triplets born on the Ides of March. And although that joke is a bit American, and dated, like all useless ideas, it can be googled.

LA

Saragun Verse: Goat v Lamb Civil Poem War, Day Four

(The careful, or at least conscious reader, may have noted the header images have nothing to do with the text this week. Now, they could if I decided to go on a metaphysical rant, but I will not. Lacking images from a Pygmy Goat and Lamb Civil War, I have chosen images I like–LA)

You Broke the Wind of War by Dame Daisy

i

Wretched fuzz balls walk on four cloven hoovely hooves

Never in key with the Goatly Goatess tunes

The Moving Hoof is steadfast and mighty

Whilst Lambs trot about unclean and unsightly

ii

Doth Goatesses need to be shown the shears?

Doth Goatesses look the same front and rear?

The answer is too clearly abundant

Goats ruley rule little Lambs redundant!

Oh Yeah! By The Lambs

i

Oh Yeah! Say we the Lamb Collective

Oh Yeah! To you the mental defective

Tin can eater you will dine on your words

You feta dispenser of sour curds

ii

We challenge you to fight a Civil War

We will win and you will lose…um, erm, in a word that rhymes with war

We shall rule the Saragun countryside

And you will kiss the hooves that, um erm, rhyme with countryside in a cool way!

Dame Daisy after seeing the Lambystan Anthem has insisted on equal time:

Daisy Dell (sort of to the tune of Good King Wences)

Daisy Dell promises hell

To the children of Shee-heep

Daisy Dell shall ring the bell

When their dip gets to dee-heep

Adverbally wonderfully and swee-eet

Daisy Dell will be hell for the children of Shee-heep

Saragun Verse: Goat v. Lamb Poem Battle Three

(Everyday I have struggled to come up with a somewhat sense-making explanation for this situation. Today I give up.)

Leila

Pain in the Asp by Dame Daisy

i

A wise Asp told me to never trust Lambs

“They pull wool over the truth like lil tams”

When you can’t get a good word from a Snake

You are the foulest natural mistake

ii

It offendly offends the Moving Hoof

To waste her lines on silly goofly goofs

Whilst bacteria, germs, fleas roust in snout

Yet are more attractive to write about

And The Lambs Say…

i

Tut tut Goatess in a childish huff

We are well learned in useless stuff

Yo Mama was as scary as a scream

Daddy’s brain boiled in Baily’s stout creme

ii

You insult and cajole Lambs on the whole

You dig into our ire like a Vole

Lo! Moving Hoof you are a churlish sort

You keep coming back like a common wart

Bonus Song:

The Lambystan Anthem (to the tune of Christmas Tree O Christmas Tree)

O Lambystan O Lambystan

Your warriors are brave and true

O Lambystan O Lambystan

They will conquer and enslave you

Throughout the night we will lead the fight

And be great woolly winners by dawn’s light

O Lambystan O Lambystan

We will kick your ass like no one can!

Saragun Verse: Civil War for August

The Poems of the Saragun Civil War by Dame Daisy and Various Lambs

Introduction

The Poems of the Saragun Civil War between Goats and Lambs are presented this week. Everyday we will feature a poem by the Pygmy Goatess Dame Daisy Kloverleaf that she sent the Lambs of the Lambystan community in Saragun Springs and the reply poem from the Lambs, ostensibly written by their leader, but it appears that it was a team effort. This was perhaps the only Civil War in history that never escalated to violence. To paraphrase Sandberg, “We held a war but everyone went to lunch.” But, to quoth Daisy. “It was hotly hot by word.”

Leila

The First Pair of War Poems

“Haggisly” by Dame Daisy Kloverleaf

i

Little Lambs O little Lambs, thou annoy

Goatly measures of pride with silly ploys

It is so clear that you don’t give a damb

About becoming humble Ewes and Rams

ii

The cold hearted dastardly deedly deeds

That invade the garden of my sweet ease

Will not by I be soonly forgotten

Each of you is an apple quite rotten

iii

By the hot beat of my hooves I proclaim

This meadow will never be samely same

Until you recant calling me sour feta

Soonerly soon than laterly latuh

“Our Reply” by Shaytan Shotten, Viceroy of Lambystan

i

O dope Goatess who’s hardly the mostest

Everything you say does so offend us

The name of your “pomely” poem perchance

Infuriates the demons of Sheep dance

ii

I am spelling as slowly as I can

We know your mind is like a can of spam

You hold onto the stupid stuff you think

Forcing the best of us to smell the stink

iii

By ruminancy powers we declare

You will surrender your foul underwear

After we win the day on the field

Mighty Lambystan shall never yield!

Afterword

Well, there you have the flavor of the struggle.

L.A.

Leonard Cohen on the Phone by Dale Williams Barrigar

(Image of Berwyn, Illinois, U.S.A. provided by DWB)

“Show me the place where the word became a man.”

– Leonard Cohen, “Show Me the Place”

Poetry can create

and does create

urban

affection, the tiny,

brief

reaching

out

to one’s fellow

humans

that us city

folks (the vast

majority

of the planet

now) need to

indulge in so we

can remain

connected

to one another,

our fellow

humanity,

in a real way,

however strange or

however much

a stranger. Whenever

people compliment

one of my beautiful

animals (Siberian Huskies

or pit bulls), I take it

personally

and return

the favor.

Walking across

the parking lot,

I resolved

that I

would continue

to do so. And I turned

the Leonard Cohen

song way up

on my phone

and placed it

near my ear

one more

time

for now.

Dr. Dale Williams Barrigar is a poet whose own poetry transformed his own life: suddenly, and then gradually. It’s good enough for him.