Saragun Verse: The Power of Rabble Part Five

i

The wee billigits draw energy from an orgone cube

Housed inside an ancient phone booth

Three made jokes about superman

The fourth wee one didn’t understand

ii

“clark kent changed to superman in a phone booth

i cannot believe you are so obtuse”

to which the offended billie put up his little fists

and said “watch me change your face to a bruise”

iii

billigits three and four had seen enough

time is wasted by those who play rough

“have you fellas forgotten we were launched into the sky

by the witch with love in her eye”

iv

The four billigits got on the same page

And decided to find a good guy to sooth Eira’s rage

That’s when they saw hapless Heathcliff strolling across the moor

An idea appealed to the wee four

Saragun Verse: The Power of Rabble Part Four

i

“Make it rain to drown the pain”

The junior Witch said again and again

The billigits are churlishly mellow

They whisper what you want to bellow

ii

“madam fair yet so au contraire how will you employ us

to find you a lad not a cad beyond the surface

but you can make it rain to fill every cracked surface

we wonder are you seeking love or something to plug the orafice”

iii

Eira was enraged by the little orange knights’ audacity

She placed the four billies into a catapult

“Across the moors with you tiny bores

You should know the score by the time you hit Cincinnati”

iv

But Eira had forgotten that billigits fly

And upon reaching the highest sky

They orgone rayed the clouds

And the rains came hard and proud

Saragun Verse: The Power of Rabble Part Two

i

A vainglorious voice called from above

“Tell me boys, what’s so good about love?

It agonizes defames and neutralizes

The best it can do is tell little white lies-us”

ii

The billigits knew the voice and origin

‘t was of the Witch apprentice Eira Borgia

Who’d recently split with a sorry young man

Whom she turned into a Toad named Stan

iii

“our dearest eira your voice like a lyre

there is no one as gentle as you are-uh”

said the third billigit from the left

“and yet your sorrow tis a feather when put against your ire’s heft.”

iv

“Flatter me not words ungainly

For I have called upon you boys plainly.

Cull the wisdom from your orgone booth

And use it to find me a charming rube!”

(end part two)

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)

Big Announcement For Halloween and the Future

(The image is the remnant of a Good Idea of yore; we aim to be around for awhile as well)

In Citizen Kane the mythical Philadelphia Inquirer (founded by callow Charlie with his inheritance) published a high minded Declaration of Principles which were quite inspiring until Joseph Cotton mailed them to Kane’s fireplace. So it goes with the objects of thirty-plus word sentences, but, mostly, it is the thought that counts.

So in the spirit of aiming high and hitting, well, something, Saragun Springs will become an official publication in two months. Co-Editor Dr Dale Barrigar Williams and I have decided that even though there is much in the way of writing in the world, little of it is meant and most of it appears to be founded in avarice instead of honesty. Therefore terms such as “good” and “bad” are found only in the scorched souls of the failed angels and have zero meaning in the Human Spirit. Sincerity is the dream even if one struggles to spell it or any other word correctly.

I will continue to be an Editor with Literally Stories UK unless they fire me. I once founded a band named Saragun and was voted out of it seven years later, so one must remain philosophical. The Springs acceptance rates will not be very high, but one should take heart in such a thing. You see, we will run nothing unless it is up to the standard of art.

In days to come submission guidelines will be made available and I will be going from virtual door to pretend door to get us listed on duotrope and other such high places of information.

We will run various features Monday through Saturday. Short stories, poetry, photography, essays, plays, novel excerpts and such creative things that can possibly be published will fill those days while Sundays still belong to The Drifter.

How different we will be greatly depends on the contributors. Since there is no money to be made in this adventure, the effort and response will be the hire and salary. But these things do matter, the rest swings from a rope.

Leila Allison, Co-Editor of Saragun Springs

And now a few words from Co-Editor DWB

SARAGUN SPRINGS is totally unlike any other literary magazine or site being published in the world today. Whoever doesn’t believe me hasn’t read or looked at any of it yet.

At the same time, it exists within the long tradition of American independent literary publishing. From Laugh Literary and Man the Humping Guns, put out by Charles Bukowski and Neeli Cherkovski as part of the Mimeo Revolution in the 1960s, to The Stylus of Edgar Allan Poe, which Poe called, at the very end of his life, “my one great literary purpose,” independent magazines and independent publishing have been the backbone of American Literature from the beginning.

Now, in the very near future, SARAGUN SPRINGS is throwing open its doors to global submissions in English.

The goal is to create a new and lasting forum for the best literature and photography being created in the world today.

We invite, and ask, you to send us the best of your work (or things that are among the best) for our consideration.

Writers’ Guidelines available on December 3.

First Issue will be posted on January 3, 2025: the birthday of Founding Editor, Irene – Leila – Allison.

Don’t let them tell you that the fine arts are dead in America.

We are here to prove them wrong. And we want you to join us.

Saragun Springs Presents Daisy’s Dell Part 2

(Please recall the hoodwink warning issued yesterday)

Five of us wound up at “Daisy’s Dell.” Aside from Daisy, Renfield and myself, we picked up a pair of hitch-hiking Black Rats named Tully and Aiedeline. They were on their honeymoon.

We arrived at a little clearing at the edge of the ever enlarging Enchanted Wood. For once Anita Know (a Ghost who, by choice, and without being asked, mind you) was not around, because she was attending a Ghost Conference. So I dug for meaningless information as annoyingly as possible.

“Isn’t this a meadow?” I asked.

“No,” Daisy huffed. “It is a dell, Daisy’s Dell.”

“You sure it’s not a glade? I have heard that there are shady characters in glades.”

Daisy hopped into the air and landed all four hooves at once. “Dell!” she snapped at me upon said landing.

“Alright, take it easy, have it your way,” I said. I got out of the cart and nearly fell on my face because it was still moving.

“Careful,” Tully and Aideline said together.

“Um, yes, thank you,” I said, glaring at smiling Renfield who finds physical humor that doesn’t involve her, funny.

“So, this a spa?”

“We think of it as an Entertainment multiplex,” Daisy said.

“We?”

“Yes,” Renfield added, “we have many investors.”

I looked around. There was the bottle of Jack the Boss had sent through the interdimensional vortex. The vortex greatly enlarges inanimate objects. Thus the “pint” (and blessed contents) was ten feet tall and had a siphon hose attached to it. It stood between a pair of plastic picnic tables and benches from something like a Barbie camping set, which had enlarged to the size of your basic picnic bench and table arrangement. It became apparent to me that every structure in Daisy’s Dell was a small toy enlarged to the size of the item represented by its, um, toyness.

“Have a drink,” Daisy said. The Rats didn’t need an invitation, they were already at the pint filling thimbles. I didn’t require extra urging, and I found a tumbler glass by the siphon that had my name (spelled “LAYLUH”) written on it in what looked like a sharpie held by hooves.

The siphon was a well made one and it had a little hand pump. Nary a drop was wasted. I filled the tumbler to two fingers. This was done out of muscle memory, not a conscious action.

I glanced around and saw a large circus tent and several green and red houses that looked like the hotels and houses in a Monopoly game. But these had working doors and I saw plenty of Saragun citizens coming and going. Everyone was smiling. I figured they were probably high on something.

“So, what is this some sort of casino?” I asked. I figured that the answer would require a bit of a buzz for me to understand. So I swallowed the contents of my glass and refilled it.

“Yes it is,” Daisy said. And we welcome all readers to drop in and visit Daisy’s Dell at Saragun Springs every daily day. Especially on Halloween, in thirteenly thirteen days. We will be sharing a Big Announcement near the giant bottle–provided Leila leaves any.”

“Ah shit,” I said, the Awful Truth now numbing my mind. “Do you mean that the last two days have been an advertisement?”

Everyone who has been in this tale the past two days nodded enthusiastically.

Sigh….

Well, here I am holding the glass, so to speak. All right, readers be sure to drop into Daisy’s Dell on the 31st for big news. Sorry about the intrusion into your lives–but it’s not like we are using them for anything if we are involved in this—right?

Saragun Springs Presents Daisy’s Dell Part One

(Warning: at the end of the second part of this post tomorrow some of you might feel hoodwinked. If so hoodwink back. It is allowed-LA)

-1-

I am always sitting in my office when I open these stories. People must have caught on by now, but they are either polite, or no one is reading, or anyone who does read me does so with lowered expectations, and my always being in the office is not the worst sin they must forgive. Still, why open it anywhere else in the realm? Why be wandering in a garden just to be approached by the usual thugs I write about? They can find me in my office where I always am when not pressed into going elsewhere. There’s booze, an ashtray and comfortable passing out places in the office; why would I need more? Therefore they would have to guess where I was when I might be wandering in said garden. That sort of thing would cost many words to straighten out and we are on a strict budget. This paragraph alone costs about a hundred and fifty words–something like five percent of the budget! No, it is best to always open in the office…

I sat back and looked at the paragraph I just wrote. “Let’s italicize that,” I muttered because I am addicted to using free stuff such as italics. They make the dumbest shit look important. I highlighted and clicked. “Perfect.”

That is when I became aware that Dame Daisy Kloveleaf was on top of the desk, just sitting there, studying me.

“How long?” I muttered.

“Long enough to know that you need a vacation. And I know just the place,” Daisy said, her little Goat eyes afire with naked avarice.

I knew something was up because: A.) Even though she is a Pygmy Goat, Daisy is numero uno as the local thugs go; B.) She is constantly up to things; it is her nature, and C.) Sincere concern for my well being is not exactly what you’d call high in Saragun Springs. Who prays “Dear Lord, I hope you are feeling well today,” unless they are buttering the Queen into springing for something big?

“What now, oh hooved wonder?” I lit a cigarette, which opened enough synapses to allow information to come in. My brain is mostly closed to new ideas, but nicotine opens doors.

“Daisy’s Dell is the place you should go,” she said, standing, moving closer, crowding me in. “We have gardens, sin and our liquor license.”

“So, that’s what happened to the case of Jack the *Boss sent over,” I said. All you need to have for a “liquor license” in Saragun Springs is the hootch itself.

(*“The Boss” is the person whom I am Penname to–fortunately I’ve turned out to be more real than she will ever be; she often sends goods to us via our **interdimensional vortex.)

(**All realms have interdimensional vortexes; ours is an older model once used in Pooh’s Hundred Acre Wood.)

“Are you through ***asteriskingly asterisking?” Daisy asked.

(***Daisy is shamelessly addicted to adverbs of her own conception; we all have a jones to feed.)

Daisy stomped on the desk. “No more asterisks!”

“Gotta fill in the backstory somehow,” I said. “****Anita Know has the day off.”

(****Anita Know is—)

“Hey! That smarts you little villain.” Daisy had delivered a well aimed hoof at my elbow. Upon comparing the minimal satisfaction that asterisking gave me to the potential of further hooves to the elbow, I decided to give up.

“Yes,” Daisy continued, “Daisy’s Dell is the place.”

“Oh, all right–let’s go.”

Renfield, the second in command of the Springs, entered the office. She was carrying the key to our electric golf cart, which meant a road trip.

I gave her the ugsome eye. “I smell a conspiracy.”

“Not every plan that you don’t know about is a conspiracy,” she said. “You need rest–we wouldn’t want you to get all Josef Stalin on us.”

(To be continued tomorrow)

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 Springs Verse: I Am Big Ed

(Note-Big Ed came to me with an idea that was a good one because I had none for this particular day. In the Springs the arrival of any sort of idea is gold. So, with apologies to Neil Diamond, here is the realm’s number one singing Woodpecker, Big Ed –LA)

Did you ever read about a Frog

Who dreamed about being king

So the story goes

But since I am naturally illiterate

Printed stories are lost on me

Dont’cha you know

I am Big Ed

I can fly

I can beat the hell out of shit

With my beak that’s why

I am Big Ed

The Northern Flicker dude

And everyone will care

Even that chair, with the attitude

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)