agatha

by alice marston sternwall agatha was a solemn child with no desire to run wild while other children played with balls agatha dreamed of stately halls lined with books by ancient sages - how she longed to turn the pages containing the wisdom of the ages - agatha’s life went by in stages she remained solemn as she grew she loved the old and scorned the new and ne’er embarked on slope so slippery as caring ought for fads or frippery if romance ever touched her heart she gave no sign, but played the part of one whose only love, forsooth was pursuit of eternal truth agatha gained a name of sorts the god of fame with her did sport two books of epigrams, quite terse spread slowly through the universe a fearful illness wracked her being she realized her days were fleeing doctors and priests alike she spurned but sought to gather all she’d learned into a final testament - then to her acolytes she sent an invitation to attend a gathering before her end attracted by her flickering flame the mothlike followers duly came and found poor agatha almost gone with little hope for the next dawn they gathered round, from many nations when to their sudden consternation a violent storm outside was heard obscuring the sibyl’s final words then when the thunder did retreat the faithful begged her to repeat her prophecy - but , broken-hearted found agatha’s spirit had departed

thus doth it end

mr z had things to say and he posted them every day then one day to him it occurred that all his passionate words in the cloud were just floating away he suddenly got to his feet and went outside in the street the world was deserted and bare only he was taking the air he fell to the ground in despair he resolved to mend his ways and care not for censure or praise to become a wandering minstrel or monk or a sidewalk-sitting drunk or just lay there forever in a daze at length hunger attacked his frame and to his eternal shame he went inside for a bite the old thoughts returned so bright and he got back into the game mr z has things to say and he posts them every day with his trusty laptop and phone and pizza delivered to his home he wouldn’t have it any other way

blue hour

a languid young lady named lou wore a dressing gown of blue her silver mirror reflected the scarlet life she had selected a perfume bottle of green contrived to complete the scene she heard a knock on the yellow door she had passed this way before her saucy maid entered the room with an air of impending doom oh miss lou, she cried there is a gentleman outside to say this is very hard but he is from scotland yard and it is his unpleasant task some questions for you to ask thank you, lily, said lou i know that your heart is true leave us now if you please with this gent i will shoot the breeze lou greeted her unwelcome guest with an air that would have impressed the queens of england and france if they had been there by chance the detective’s name was bash he sported a gray mustache and without further ado he delivered this message to lou madam, i think it best that you do not resist arrest i have a charge to relate approved by a magistrate that on august twenty-sixth you were seen in company with a man named albert bend who came to an untimely end and was found with four bullets in his head unmistakably dead in an alley behind a chip shop where his body had been dropped his previous movements’ history had remained a mystery though we searched from south to north only now has a witness come forth to fil in the lacunae of the deceased’s last night and day as a result of this information i must ask you to come to the station of course, replied lou with a drawl wait a moment while i put on my shawl for the night has a noticeable chill but i always cooperate with old bill outside a car was parked a black sedan, unmarked with lou settled in the back seat it rolled away down the street evincing no sign of regret lou lit a cigarette and watched as the streets unfurled in the fog enshrouded world the trip went on and on and on were they going to drive until dawn? though she did not break into song lou knew that something was wrong this was not the way to the yard her captors played a strange card all lou could do was wait to learn the decree of fate she felt they were near the river and indulged in a ladylike shiver at the sound of a midnight clock the car pulled up to a dock life is but a dream it won’t do to shout or scream and on that note, my friend our tale comes to an end a languid young lady named lou wore a dressing gown of blue she never knew what was false or true and neither do i or you

the street

andy woke at midnight and listened to the rain remembrance of reality overflowed his brain betty lived across the hall she had trouble sleeping especially when andy was awake and silent creeping chandler was the landlord or maybe the concierge he had terrible dreams at night and in daytime terrible urges danny lived around the corner in a cardboard box he had seen and done it all and was immune to shocks eddie drove a taxi up and down the street he kept his brogans polished and his fingernails filed neat frankie was a player for eternal fame if coach would only put him in he could change the game gilda was a night person slept but once a week but did not take it kindly when called out as a freak harry was called “the horse” for lack of imagination among his fellow tenants in the chambers of degradation irma was a “floozie” a word now obsolete but she brooked no nonsense when she walked the street johnny was the leader what he said went down but what good did it do him when everyone left town karen wrote a novel and lost it on the bus and then went home and hanged herself without any fuss larry was a wino who had once been a preacher murder was his mama and hard knocks was his teacher maggie was a mother who ran away and hid she just couldn’t help it she didn’t like kids nick was a cowboy born out of time if he could have rode with jesse james it would have been so fine olive was a poet her fingers often shook as she wrote down her secret thoughts in a little red notebook pete was a dreamer with long and hairy arms and wished that more women would appreciate his charms quigley was a dreamer too his dreams ran deep most of his fellow humans thought he was a creep ricki was a sleeper would have liked to sleep all day but society had taught her that that was not o k shirley only wanted to be left alone all humans were her siblings and all the world her home toni heard voices in the walls and in the air inside or outside they were always there uncle joe had a mustache which sometimes did droop he was not a member of any organized group vinnie was a gambler whose luck had run dry he sat on the sidewalk and watched the world go by wanda was a pushy sort who aggravated many and when she counted up her friends she found she had not any excuse me for a minute while i catch my breath an old friend is calling and his name is death oh young people hear my words the street is for the people and the air is for the birds zeroes on the wheel of life zeroes in my brain zeroes are beyond counting we will meet again

a king

adapted from the akkadian a mighty army took the field to no opponent did it yield a king rode forth with upraised sword urging on his thundering horde cities fell like windblown flowers nations knew their final hours empires heard, from sea to shore the laughter of the god of war the victor king, whose name is lost his enemies’ last defenses crossed he buried them in burning waves and made their kings and queens his slaves upon the conquered lands laid waste towers and castles he now placed and monuments to his own fame as eternal glory he did claim philosophers rushed to his throne sculptors etched his face in stone artists painted him for the ages scribes with his story filled up pages of all the lackeys at his call the poets had least shame of all and sung and scripted the monarch’s praise in endless verses all his days eventually the great king passed assured his memory would last inscribed in stone, and words, and song in archives vast, and towers strong the years went by, then centuries as swiftly as a summer breeze new kings rose up, to glories new demanding each of fame his due our king was lost beyond time’s mist as history’s unending list of mighty heroes onward scrolled and tales of him no more were told jackals prowled, and pilgrims stumbled through his palaces as they crumbled the ruins fell beneath earth’s crust and all the poems turned to dust

the party

your friends are at the party, the ones you’ve known for years they’ve shared your joys and triumphs, laughter and tears they see you coming, and turn on the charm and welcome you with open mouths and clutching arms there’s plenty of potato chips, and plenty of booze and they can’t wait to tell you the news who fell out with who, and who fell down the stairs and who in sad circumstances was caught unawares the fox is in the henhouse, the train has left the station life is a chronicle of degradation and though the shocking chronicle never ends it’s all right, because we are all friends outside the wind begins to howl, the rain begins to patter and everything you hear starts to not matter there’s nothing left to say, and who wants to think? you happily accept another drink you look up and the party’s almost done everybody has had enough fun you notice time has left its nasty traces on all the old familiar faces who are these people anyway, and who are you? they are your companions, tried and true your shoulders sag, your shoes begin to scrape and all you want is to escape outside you are welcomed by the wind and rain it’s over - until duty calls again safe inside your clothes you are nice and warm out of the fog appears a shuffling form she wheels her vehicle along mumbling a sort of little song the cart is filled with plastic bags and adorned with little american flags how fortunate you are to have your locked upholstered car you have your i d, safe and dry and can look authority in the eye you have your friends, your registered name your knowledge of how to play the game no use to cry, no use to moan and yet like her - you are alone

pals and booze: a fragment

the original concept of the pal is lost in the mists of time but i summon it, o muse to invigorate my rhyme let women, priests, and bureaucrats judges, jailers, and fat cats look down their long and pointed noses true pals will always come up roses the only thing better, i confess is pure delirious drunkenness but what are pals, in song or story but those who share in liquor’s glory? oceans ebb and flow empires come and go some win, some lose, but only booze will light life’s brightest fuse and when bright dawn comes pitiless to sneer at night’s now lost excess consider that the coming end may be your best and final friend

not that

morrison happened to be at the f—— — — club when the unfortunate dustup occurred between caldwell and burnaby, and after a few meaningful glances from the other members who were present, he attempted to negotiate a truce between them. caldwell assumed his usual air of slightly self-satisfied indifference, as if to say, “come now, is this really worth arguing about?” - his habitual pose after deliberately provoking someone in his sly way. but what, really, could good old morrison do? after listening to both sides, he cleared his throat snd addressed burnaby - “well, old fellow, i agree that caldwell here could have been a little more tactful - i might even venture to say, a bit more gentlemanly in the way he expressed himself - but after all, we are not children here, to cry about hurt feelings, eh? i suppose one member of the f———— club can express himself in a forthright fashion to another member, can he not? and on any subject he pleases, eh?” “but not about that!” burnaby cried wrathfully. “not that!” and despite’s morrison’s effort to restrain him, he rushed out the door, down the stairs and into the street, where a steady rain was falling. poor jeffsworth had to be despatched after him, to give him his hat and umbrella. although the incident was never spoken of, the feeling of good fellowship at the f—— — — club had been irretrievably punctured, and the club began its slow decline. sometimes, on rainy afternoons, i can still hear burnaby crying - “not that! not that!”

carnivore

call me a carnivore, call me a bum but everything is yum yum yum my shoes are scuffed and my suit is not neat but everybody needs something to eat as earthly creatures walk through dust and to survive do what they must to get the energy to move their feet some are eaten that others may eat oh how my senses quicken at the thought of deep fried chicken and how my soul doth quake at the dream of a thick steak o vegetarians so solemn i just take’em as i swallow’em and prelapsarians so stern please let me take my turn with philosophers and fools at the banquet of molecules some called living, and some not some ice cold, some piping hot i shove them down my throat with a half-remembered quote from a suave gourmet who stated that all to be devoured are fated the universe is one big mouth draining its glass from north to south chewing itself from east to west without rest so let the hot sauce burn for some day your own turn at the celestial barbecue will come due

out of the woods

people are bad, they should be good once they lived in an enchanted wood and listened to the voices of witches and elves but now they just want to be themselves and so they burnt the forest down and packed their bags and came to town and sit in rooms and watch television and never know what they are missing but what they are missing who can say? as i was saying just the other day if only i was a movie star and had a rolls royce with a built in bar and everyone in the world was my friend and the good times would never end what would i have to look forward to? i would still be sad and blue wouldn’t you? and yet it’s true i would get no sympathy just because i was me and not people who were not myself how i wish i could be an elf or a witch in a forest dark or a dog being walked in a park by a human who wants to get back to cut himself some slack and just stare at the ceiling because the world has lost all feeling i am sorry if i lost my train of thought sinking in civilization’s rot my soul has been sold and bought and all is what it once was not

humans

humans are strange creatures with many curious features they have two sides to their brains a fact difficult to explain the two sides are at war but do not know what for and why humans do the things they do no one knows - strange but true a human could get by with some water and a patch of sky a banana to ward off hunger pains and a tree to sit under when it rains instead, in many instances they choose to spend their brief existences forming empires and nations and heeding prophets’ stern orations to rise against the things that are and listen to voices from afar the voices of creatures who never die but live forever beyond the sky in such ways they fill up the minutes that flow through the world while they are in it it may seem curious from afar but that is just the way they are o you from galaxies far flung and universes no longer young who are you to judgment render on human life so soft and tender? their life, like yours, is only smoke and if they treat it as a joke or matter for the deepest sorrow it will all be the same tomorrow

dark night of vengeance, part 2: phll and bill

part two of ?

for part one, click here

the streets are merciless they don't care if you confess to the most desperate crimes or stoop to pick up nickels and dimes phil stumbled through the night with no coherent plan of flight but only hoped to make his way through the darkness into day he had seen it all before he had heard the oceans roar in his drowning desperate brain and had felt the whole worlds pain he was the cursed one the seventeenth son of the seventeenth son but just as you would expect he got no respect in his youth he had struv to earn the world’s love but to his eternal shame he could not learn the rules of the game when emily brown, who had welcomed his advances on bill smith cast friendly glances phil had no veneer of civilized grace but his passion blazed forth on his red face emily laughed out loud and quickly attracted a crowd which with untrammeled hoots and jeers derided poor phil’s primal masculine fears phil seized emily by the throat the onlookers quickly took note and rescued the poor damsel before phil could finish sending her to hell phil was charged with assault he hired a lawyer named walt walt did the best he could but the results were not good phil testified so forlorn but the jury reacted with scorn to his tale of provoked passion for such pleas were no longer in fashion the judge brought down the hammer phil got five years in the slammer and as he was led away he heard his rival bill smith say as a law-abiding citizen i insist that five years is a slap on the wrist and when you get out, old son your troubles will have only begun emily brown went away exactly where, no one could say bill smith blamed phil for her fleeing and hatred consumed his whole being in letters to phil, bill let loose with an endless stream of abuse and promised phil, when let out, a harsh fate because bill would be waiting at the gate four years went by - and then phil busted out of the pen! when two true desperadoes named roger and clyde obligingly took phil along for the ride roger and clyde left phil by the side of a dark road - with nowhere to run or hide hunted - without a friend! hunted - though the road never end! somehow the years went by always out of the corner of his eye phil waited for the hand on his shoulder as he grew slower, weaker, and older phil somehow found employment though he never knew what anything meant and fell into a routine and almost forgot who and where he had been of desires he had only one - to remain in oblivion was that now to be denied? to the pitiless sky phil cried his cry echoed down the dark street and the flapping of his running feet and the bubbling in his brain were only heard by the wind and the rain (to be continued)

the ballad of the moogle and the dink

i don’t know if you have noticed, said the moogle to the dink but we have been too long without a drink my friend, you are right, the dink replied let us remedy that situation, before our souls are tried and so they entered the first bar that they approached and there they found a rabbi, a nun, and a football coach the rabbi was weeping into his beer so foamy and the nun was saying, sir, you don’t even know me the football coach was singing a happy song and the bartender was trying to hum along cheer - some good, some not so good - was spread when suddenly the bartender dropped dead good heavens cried the moogle, as he sat upon his stool they never taught us about such things in school i hope the poor fellow was properly insured and that a long wait for our drinks we must not endure this place is cursed, the dink replied, alas there seems to be no one to fill our glass and this poor fellow seems to have no friends to mourn his most untimely end not so, the football coach suddenly asserted no, not at all, the rabbi weepingly blurted he was the finest of men, the nun assented and yet his earthly form was only rented if the pope were here - he left only minutes ago all the proper prayers he would surely know but we can only meditate on fate and hope for our next drinks we have not long to wait these meditations of the assembled drunks were interrupted by a gang of punks and hoodlums with an agenda of their own who proceeded to make the place their home the bartender’s corpse was quickly tossed aside no barbaric impulse was left unsatisfied the coach, the nun, the rabbi, and the dink watched helplessly and knew not what to think the moogle shook his head and softly sighed this, my friends, is the end of earthly pride all is mirrors, all is smoke and no one ever got to tell a joke