poetry

Saragun Verse: The Power of Rabble Part One

The Learned Introduction

This Week the Springs presents a six part epic poem featuring the billigits as the knights of orgone (for persons unfamiliar with the orange flying fellows about a foot and a half tall, they eschew capital letters and most punctuation marks).

Orgone energy is called a pseudo science that often involves rain making. The great Kate Bush wrote a song about it and starred in a video with the equally great Donald Sutherland about, amazingly, forty years ago.

In the poem our Apprentice Witch to the Great HeXopatha Eira Lysbyrd performs as Eira Borgia (she chose the name for reasons she hasn’t shared). Still a Witch in the poem, Eira (perhaps a bit of a pill) has been let down by love and summons the four knights of orgone (the billigits) to find her a trustworthy soulmate. 

On earth Orgone boxes attract and store Orgone energy fields. In Saragun Springs a telephone booth (pictured above) holds the Orgone of the realm in which, along with occasional rainmaking, is under the short but effective arms of the billigits.

Eira believes the billies and the magic phone booth will find her love or at least get her a date with someone she won’t change into a Toad, as was the case with the guy who jilted her in the poem.

For those of you already confused, please relax and remember that most epic poem writers do not try to explain the content of their masterpieces. Moreover, poetry does not have to make sense. It gives smart people a riddle to solve.

Leila

Now we begin the journey…..

i

Silence your lips and snarls begone

Hear this tale of heroes orgone

Energy booth warriors foretold in myth

Who stand no insult sprayed by lisp

ii

Four billigit soldiers in orgone armor

Flew forth in antique square honor

“i say four dynamic red mars are we

i, myself, and of course you three”

iii

They knew not the cause of the tussle

Except inside every castle is the same cold hustle

But no one lone billigit can be called upon

You get them all and they stand as one

iv

And so here we are at the start of the journey

Under a fawn sky like a Cow of Guernsey

But after a while the question poses

Why are meek billies in war clotheses

(end part one)

For Paranoid Job Seekers by Dale Williams Barrigar

Hey don’t sweat it so much, something will

Appear when you least expect it to so stay

Real drunk on water like Rodin’s Balzac

Statue if that’s what it takes from you.

Walk on land, contemplate water, and

If you end up on the beach scavenging

For sardine tins, you will have joined the

First Christians.

They who were played for dead

Just like you and me.

– Two on the beach in Rogers Park, Chicago, one speaking, 2013

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