cherry

under a blue familiar sky polly baked a cherry pie the farmhands fell down in a coma overcome by its aroma through the fields the effluvia spread the hands fell down as if struck dead and through the corn rows, stern as sin john the baptist came again john, cried polly, half in fright why are you here before midnight? the end approaches, john replied i am just along for the ride dark clouds appeared like flying banners but polly did not forget her manners she kept her wits as she was able and asked john to sit at the table in a calm collected state she put some pie upon a plate and poured a glass of orange juice for catastrophe was no excuse john tentatively took a sip outside in the apocalypse the sky had turned to darkest night and demons howled in rare delight as prophesied in ancient screed the fearful four on flaming steeds filled the horizon from side to side the gates of hell were opened wide from duty polly did not swerve she thought a cup of tea might serve before the world was finally gone polly put the kettle on but before the water she could pour the pale rider came through the door no time for lengthy lamentations or exculpatory explanations "john, it was so nice knowing you" "polly, i really liked you too" then death, with a knowing glance so sly finished off the cherry pie

a pastoral

ah corydon, poor corydon why beats thy heart so sore? phyllis is aflame with love and walks along the shore and yet she never looks thy way not even when the breeze from distant lands and distant skies should give her gazing ease but looks away, away, away awaiting her true knight with nary glance for her poor slave ne'en a shadow in her sight thou piteous piteous wight lost neath heaven's blue eye thy chance of love is slight what canst thou do but ply thy pipe through meadows green thy song through forests dark thy love unheard unseen to which only phantoms hark

the peaceful village, part 2

part two of two

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the monster curled his sneering lip and slouched against his silver spaceship and considered the little town and whether to swallow it whole down he had traveled through all time and space ravaging worlds with an ill grace sometimes he got bored and wondered if he should cut the cord which bound his fragile existence to a universe which made no sense and then on the radar of his ship another world would make a blip and he would think, just one more and land on its blue or grassy shore terrorize the population and leave behind him desolation he had once been wild and free but now he suffered from ennui and could hardly summon the energy to level a village or uproot a tree and the creatures he crunched between his jaws sometimes almost gave him pause the neurons in his brain grew loose and he wondered, what's the use but his fragile ruminations were cut short by the sensation of a living creature approaching on his radius encroaching it was none other than johnny smith who had taken it upon himself forthwith to challenge this monster in his own domain and did it not for fame or gain but because it was the thing to do his resolve was firm and his heart was true though such considerations on the monster's brain made no indentations he only detected a pest and you can just guess the rest - or can you? can you say with total assurance who carried the day? is there a final cosmic text to describe what happened next? or only endless wind and rain obscuring what happens again and again stories unfold and refold are over and over again told all hear what they wish to hear as into the fog they peer in endless universes you can supply your own verses johnny might get eaten or the monster might get beaten or johnny and the monster become good friends and head off to some other earth's ends or both be hit by lightning as they are heroically fighting in endless possibility there is a dark city where the monster slices the pie and johnny is a private eye in the window there is a dame who plays her own game playing johnny and the monster for chumps as they endlessly take their lumps on a street with no beginning where all the suckers are winning and the wise men bide their time until the final flower of crime when the final case is cracked the last lion and tiger tracked as the saints and angels slumber for a good time call this number

the peaceful village, part 1

part one of two

once there was a peaceful village with no murder, rape or pillage everyone did honest labor and was friendly to their neighbor every door was opened wide so that folks could come inside all elders were respected no crime was ever detected they had no silver, jewels or gold but through the valley a river rolled bringing water to boundless crops that folks could eat until they dropped mom and dad got up at dawn and polly put the kettle on all day long they did their chores so that they were never bored grandmothers were round and wise and made excellent blueberry pies grandpa though his hair was grayed enjoyed his pipe beneath the shade little boys ran and spread the news little girls minded their p's and q's it was the way that it should be for all of eternity and then one day a shadow fell across the world they knew so well thunder rolled across the land the distant horizon was fearfully scanned nightmares visited young and old strange tales around the fire were told people kept their doors shut tight and could hardly sleep at night outside the village a monster lurked skulking in the fog and murk waiting for the silent hour the unwary traveler to devour no longer could the children play even in the light of day birds abandoned the cloudy skies the villagers scanned with frightened eyes laughter was replaced with fear throughout the long and dreary year the leafless trees felt winters chills and the monster laughed behind the hills things might have gone along this way and the village perished, who can say? but fate would not be so forlorn because a hero had been born johnny smith, a faceless sort showed little sign, by all reports of standing out among the crowd not too quiet, not too loud even johnny's mom and dad little suspected that johnny had the stuff of heroes in his being none indeed were so farseeing the night was dark, and wet and drear the little household huddled in fear mom and dad and johnny and sis as the rain against the windows hissed dad whittled at his favorite stick you could hear mom's heartbeat tick sis stared into space and wiggled her toes then johnny from the table rose his algebra homework he put down and looked around with a puzzled frown he listened to the rain and scratched his head i think i'll go for a walk, he said sis looked puzzled, dad looked sad mom cried, johnny, are you mad this is something you must not do outside, certain death awaits you aw gee ma, don't talk like that said johnny, putting on his hat my clouded brain needs a fresh air shock i will just walk around the block so without saying anything more johnny walked over and opened the door and disappeared into the wind and rain would he ever be seen again? part 2

pals, part 6: devastation and retreat

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"an early night, ben?" jane casually enquired, and then although it may have been my imagination i thought i saw a deputation of angels of compassion (but in no emphatic fashion) flit across her pale face but they quickly passed without a trace i was at a crossroads my brain staggered under heavy loads and its barely connected parts after a few fits and starts stopped functioning altogether and i didn't know whether i was dreaming or awake or if the world was real or fake how much time went by? i will not even try to approximately calculate but it probably determined my fate jane's eyes began to glaze her brows she slightly raised there was nothing left to say i knew i had better be on my way my brain contracted with cosmic fear i mumbled a goodbye she probably couldn't even hear and staggered away with a flea in my ear (to use an old fashioned expression so drear) the night was dark - what else would it be? but somehow i was able to see my way home to mrs brown's front door as i had done so many times before it was late - very late no one wondered at my fate or questioned my steps on the stairs as they had their own cares mrs brown slept the sleep of the good and the other boarders understood that everyone's world was their own in which they could silently squirm and moan replays danced and twisted in my head i tried to remember all that was said in the fateful hour just flashed in which all my dreams had crashed one thought especially thundered through my brain as i wondered what henry and jane were saying about my premature straying if i had stayed one minute more my head would not be in this uproar now i could picture henry's smirk because i had been such a jerk beer and pretzels they 'd be quaffing as at me they were laughing and then another terrible thought went through me like a shot i could picture their lips moving in conversation most improving i could hear their voices rise and fall as they never mentioned me at all not even in mockery or scorn i might as well never have been born the little man who was not there vanished into thinnest air i felt a strange reassurance at contemplating this possible occurrence and with this thought so deep i finally drifted off to sleep but not without a final musing on the dream i was losing but the dream was - what? maybe it was no dream - but images of henry and jane fell like raindrops in my brain henry turned into a yellow dog and jane to a doorway in the fog to be continued

dante

dante wrote about heaven and hell things he presumed to know very well in his smooth and elegant rhymes he chronicled all things and all times he knew the living and the dead all were lined up in his head saints and sinners, early and late he assigned them each a fate and when the final judgment sounds and st peter makes his last go round and the check is cashed for the human race no smile will flit across dante's face as he stands beneath old eden's tree unfazed by any mystery - all very edifying, no doubt but what did he really think about? i bet dante had some folks back home and a little gal he could call his own and a faithful dog who trotted by his side and a favorite chair by the fireside a home cooked meal and a hearty brew a good cigar would be welcome too when curfew tolled at the end of day heaven and hell would be far away

ace of night, part 5: carla

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carla stood under the awning in front of the hotel belmore and watched the cab disappear down the dark street. she shook the rain off her coat and her beret as best she could and went inside. the girl at the front desk was reading a romance comic and blowing bubblegum and hardly glanced at her when she crossed the lobby and headed for the elevator. the lobby was empty. the belmore was a women only hotel - no men past the front door - and unlike some other similar establishments that carla had stayed in, it was very quiet, the way she liked it, with no nosy chattering females filling the hallways and lobby. the elevator was empty too, and she did not see anybody in the corridors leading to her room. was she the only person in the place? she heard voices - not too loud - in one of the rooms. she felt reassured for some reason. when she got to her room she took her time getting her wet clothes off, drying herself off, and putting a bathrobe on. there was a small lamp on the table beside the bed and she turned it on, leaving the overhead light off. she had plenty of time - almost four hours before she had to go out again. she would allow herself one cigarette and then have a nap. she had a perfect internal clock and could always wake up when she wanted. she did not have to look outside to see if it was still raining. she could hear it, and the wind, louder than ever. she hoped it would stop or at least let up before she went out again, but what could you do? she never worried about things she could not control. as she blew smoke rings toward the ceiling she thought about the guy in the cab, jeff. what a jerk! but maybe she should have been nicer to him, strung him along a little, set him up to maybe use him down the line. she might need some help, someone to watch her back. even an oaf like that. but she had been feeling lousy, in no mood to turn on the charm, and he had caught her off guard. thinking about it, she realized he had reminded her of larry, even though he didn't look anything like him, with that same smirky bulldog way. did bulldogs smirk? whatever. maybe he would pop up again. like he had been so happy to point out, he was just across the street. maybe she would sound him out, see if she could use him. but she didn't want him around tonight, that was for sure. a sudden thought popped into her mind. what if he hung around outside tonight, saw her go out again? then she laughed at herself. at three in the morning? and maybe in this rain? he would have to be the most puppy dog guy in the world to do something like that, and that wasn't this guy, whatever else he was. no, that was the least of her worries. she put the cigarette out in the ashtray beside the lamp, and turned the lamp off. it was nap time. carla could often - not always, but often - dream what she wanted to dream about. tonight especially she wanted to dream about being back on the beach in portugal or morocco with larry, only this time she would get the better of him, instead of the other way around. but as she started to fall asleep she saw the guy in the cab instead, that she was so sure she could handle. and then she remembered how crazy larry had been, and how jealous, and how sure she had been that she had him all set up for the double cross - but he had double crossed her instead - he had got her good. to be continued