Jargon jaunting: part B

the jinx on the mountain,
certainly reveled in hijinks
thunderous boom!
indeed did that loom
in the form of an
elegant elephant

pray, it was a
lack, to confirm,
to have fear of
this pachyderm

rather it was surely
a jinx of other breed
a wild hare or steed
perhaps sparked the
stampede of hoof
and paw, foot and claw

thus it was an avalanche
without a branch
to cause a stanch
to falling fur and
feather and scales and
shells and whether
or not they, the bees,
did as they please
above the trembling
trees, it has to be said:

they clearly caused
the dread in each and
every animal head of
a malevolent force,
besides the obvious horse,
which sourced the course
of the rumble and stumble
and then the... tumble
and eventual... bumble
of the beastly jumble

but the tiny bees,
yet not quite as tiny
as fleas, continued
on with their tease
for they evaded the
blame and guilt was
pinned to another name

for after the calamitous
plummet from the
high advantageous
summit remained only
one animal from... it

there with crossed legs
elegant sat the prim and
proper elephant with jars
of jam tucked snugly
in a push or pull pram

the bees hissed so and
the geese and snakes too
and it seemed as though
the rest of the throng
yelled out a loud boo!

regardless of the noise
and shouts hurled at
the seated elephant
the long trunk rose
above and served as
its own celebrant

of course the proof
was not in the pudding
as this case found some
place else for its footing

the evidence was obvious
unbeknownst to the rest of
us, there the elephant, sitting
most elegant, was dressed
from head to knee in a suit
colored as, you guessed it, a bee

and found in the pram were
not little jars of jam but rather
filled instead with honey and
on their way to be sold for money
yes the elephant wore black and
yellow stripes, but soon that would
be traded for black and white
as the pachyderm, with the help
of a law firm, was soon to serve
a rather lengthy prison term

it was found as well,
consequently while the
elephant was in jail, a
little needle that had
a tale to tell or even yell

for that is what it led to
when it was stuck in
the red backside of
one Mr. Blabby Baboon

and that first yelp of wild
pleading for help infected
the crowd with a whelp

the needle that told this
much told more after a
touch for a toe print was
found from such... a touch

thus it was found from the
needle off the ground that
the elephant's guilt abound
and instead of money
from stolen honey the
pachyderm, in a very
certain term, was far
from living free for
falsely impersonating and
criminal theft of a bee

Barren treasure tree

fragments of the outcasts...
shards of iron and of glass

littered among the dust
in trodden mud and
quenched cellular earth

chains to tow now loose
links buried in the snow

earthen branches sprawl
weaving the net to catch
these artifacts in time

mechanical bones, broken
vessels the holy relics
for the amassing graves

fenced in by weathered
wooden arms and claws

droughts and gully washes
play chess and move
their pieces around the squares

these gaming forces hold
the keys of crusted chests

and in the sinking sun
when loving lies are spun
sparkle the paths of past

the paths that resurrect
metallic inventions that
man has no decision for

hallowed rust to dust is
swallowed in a windy gust
then forgotten evermore

The elders

is it the sun's grip
on the limbs of trees

is it the longer shadows
that guide me to a past
I rarely know now

winds of last night
beckoned me in my
sleep to places my
bare feet once touched

to the waters my
bones, flesh and blood
had arrived too late to

to the restless grains
of sand that danced
when zephyrs stirred
the waters of the sky

to the thirsty roots
that grew like forests
inside the torrid land
and sometimes found
themselves exposed
and gnarled and weary

the scattered remains
of gray giants littered
those restless hills and
were fodder for them
and relentless wind

beneath their armor
the giants bore silky
bleached bodies of
which my fingertips
could not ignore

between their flesh
and armor was an
ethereal silky tomb
which housed the elder
gods in aged cocoons

from their bodies
coiled the veins of
reverence or guilt

there was abandoned
Eden with its renounced
splendor and ambrosia
I dared not to resist

my feet became their
roots and snaked into
the cool damp below
and my back arched
in the current gliding
through the slender grass

the bones, flesh and blood
too late for the waters
I still long to breathe,
these were their device
they dreamt of long
before they drifted from
their parents in the wind

they uprooted me and
did as their parents did
casting me out into
the late August wind
and I was lost to them

Take a gander

a gobbling gander
flaps and flops in
gibbering style

he thinks to make
up his offensive
jabs with a smile

but a fowl's foul
is always most foul
when armed with a jest

and what's worse
is his march and
protruded proud chest

yet he's unaware
or so he futilely
attempts to explain

that any of his
petty, pointless actions
are made in vain

waddle and sway
but still keeping his
head high on neck

he's unseeing of
his path that he's marked
with many a speck

thus one can
at all times see where
the gander has gone

of course the
gander's no bird
I'm sure you caught on

Tomorrow, last year

tomorrow, last year
your voice thawed
my still heart

a breath held for
a lifetime was released
into what I said

and tomorrow, last year
you reached through
the veil to touch me

to waken what had
overslept deep within
my soul's lonely bed

our hearts recognized
what our eyes could not

they heard what our ears
dismissed and discerned
what our lips failed to explain

tomorrow, last year
stripped away the
shields we held

little safety we
wielded to bear the
pain of the past

for tomorrow, last year
we didn't need
shelter from the rain

the refuge we had
sought we had found
in each other at last

Tree routes

they never desired
to be ornamented
with suspended
lifeless bodies

nor did they wish
to surrender their
own carcasses so
bodies could serve
as examples in a
more convenient locale,
their arms piercing
others' skulls

their fate is always
of that tied to us
ascending ladders
rising higher to
cloudy oceans and
smoldering quasars

but ladders possess
both directions and
tunnel deep into
depths overlooked by
everyday eyes and cares

deep into solidity
where pressure and
wait marry dismal
with brilliance

either ladder end
bears its own reward
and what is sought
can be found in both
depths and heights

only from mines
deep within can be
found gems adorning
crowns on high

and ladders are
climbed to and fro
as lungs inhale and
blow away collected
perceptions of existence

that is their fate
to be entwined and to
entwine what always
will be with what has
always been:

the germ and its
many coils flowing
down a stream of
dreamt toils

Gender rolls

the great baker man
turns out cake in pan

stirring together
one part carbon
to three parts water
and a pinch of
calcium, sodium,
and the spice of life

cracking open shells
and pouring out souls
to whip into frothy
means of existence

placing into wombs
a batter of body to
bake for many moons

but the sweet dessert
always comes last
the revelry and feast
after the long dull fast

though the baker
turns out budding
bodies from piping
hot female kilns
the buns aren't
ready to serve until
they've been buttered

and only a bun
can know when it's
ready for that
and find it's place
among the giant pan
of gender rolls

Bottle in a genie

a loan, just a loan
can you throw
me a bone

this needs gold
and that needs...

silly me to think coins
come down from
hanging gray skies

or are found in
the morning...

do they even
accept these bits
and pieces deep
within my chest

always the same
their wish's name
always why they came
lame the game

a loan, simply a loan
was there anything
you have thrown

as you can tell
I am in my own...

help! if you can
as I tire of the throngs
rubbing my belly
as though I was
from some eastern land

I wish they'd see
the genie is already free...

sort of, because I
swallowed the bottle
a bit too much to drink
you might say

and there's the loan,
a mere loan
for though I'm
out here on my own
in the bottle still
lays my wishbone

Gooseboots

'twas an article,
a simple piece to
wear when the world
had worn enough

away from you
my station passed
into a waning horizon

the sun dimmed
the view, blackened
blue flooding an
upturned empty bowl

spilled out the
moments onto its
canvas we stretched

over the bones
of our life to splatter
with oiled faith and
watery figments

flowing over
forgotten stubble
uncut from dull blade

the necks of many
waiting their penned
turns, rabbit hearts
leaping in their breasts

from the seconds
still to tick within
a few given minutes

comprise an end
to the last of walks
for which these brief
boots were fashioned for

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 9

Off to school

chilly the wind of
early spring mornings
imploring rosy
cheeks on siblings and I

too long a walk
though it seemed
down a pebble paved
road the length
of our homeland

past neighboring
pens which caged
the animals that
captured a child's
avid curiosity

but there were
other things to
tend to then

finding our way
through tear soaked
views brought on
by the sting of cold

in the waiting
for a bluebird
with a giant yellow
body to carry us off
to the limits of
our silly little minds

in the waiting
we burrowed down
digging earthen chairs
in sides of the ditch
and ducked below
the cold wind's grip

in jacket or coat
huddled down we
waited to hear the
advancing diesel
engine roar and the
squealing brakes of
the giant yellow bluebird

for in there at least
was a bit of heat
enclosed from the
chilly morning wind