Monday, April 27, 2015

troubador





i am a wandering troubadour
traveling from town to town
i long for a lady’s soft amour
but receive a burgomaster’s frown

i grieve for the glorious days of yore
when gallantry ruled the earth
for heroic knighthood my heart is sore
though i be of humble birth

how little joy to walk a land
in which poetry never flowers
where love must tremble at the priest’s raised hand
and mammon cruelly glowers

o black-clad men of reason
who lay waste to the woods and fields
in what untimely season
must you set wolves on a poet’s heels?

we are on this earth to love
and for no other cause
no angels line the skies above
to enforce your cruel laws

i am a wandering troubadour
traveling from town to town
i long for a lady’s soft amour
but receive a burgomaster’s frown



Saturday, April 25, 2015

old chums in chicago




i had long suspected cousin mark of murdering grandmother.

wishing to get to the bottom of the matter i requested a leave of absence during the christmas holiday and journeyed back to the cedars, an undertaking i found quite lacking in stirring up nostalgic memories.

by good fortune cousin mark was away, visiting old chums in chicago. i had a long talk with a gardener who had been in the employ of the estate since the aforementioned unpleasantness, and i prevailed on him to tell his tale.

it was as i suspected, and after assuring the fellow that his livelihood would not be compromised i notified the authorities.

i am retired now, and live alone at the cedars with only one servant. as i sit by the low fire with a good crackling log during the long chilly nights i often reflect on cousin mark and am drawn to the conclusion that he was guided not by malice, but only by weakness.