vendredi 1 février 2013

Fishwolf Poem

My uncle, who loved to drink tea
acted down and out complaining his head hunter had a 
pea brain                 he was caught red handed
for trying to steal the intimacy from the glory of
elves
And all the papers wrote about it in Geatland.

One day when the breaker of saucers cut himself
during an interview for a job                     
his battle sweat dripped (blood) on the desk
onto the floor of the conference room
he panicked and took to the whale road (sea)
but there was such a thick curtain of smog that he couldn't see the sky candle (sun)
so he lost his way and dove into a pub instead of mounting his horse of the sea (ship)
ordered a Chai latte with cinnamon and learned that the mead hall (pub) was going to close



The emptier of pints had long ago sang their songs
Those were the days when clients could boast of
hardship: seeker of fortunes, the Fort Knox of arms, the mender of bugs
and the healer of cats and dogs.



On a slight ginger buzz my uncle contemplated the joy of birds (feathers)
and the ringing of the needy
Where was a hunter when you needed one? he thought
A battle dance composed itself inside his head
He sipped another Chai latte as he saw a pretty
dwelling ornament (a woman) approach him by his side.

"Are you a ring giver?" she said in a husky voice
"No, I am a simple ghetto serpent" he replied
and with a quick move he danced across the pint plateau (the bar)
pretending to be a dragon with a flexible bone house.



"I am looking for my horse of the sea but
I got lost because the sky candle dipped
behind the curtain of smog
And thou, beauty of the retina, giver of chromosomes, babe of babes
Could you first guide me to the public receptacle of massive trash
As I have a cardboard shoe box to recycle
And as I am an earth walker without a sword's tree (warrior)
I would delight if your perfumed bone house would accompany me."

End of Part I
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