Writing Hobbies (your prose, poetry, song lyrics, etc)

[C C]

Final version.

STYLE: camouflaged free verse
ALLEGORY: eschatological


Impending

It seems to be an odd silhouette.
The kind that perversely has a face.
But still drab as a snubbed cigarette,
Or ashes from a fireplace.

The way the deaf girl hears her heart beat,
How the blind man sees a timely trend,
Like the tongueless champ tasting defeat,
Maybe I can sense the end.

An outlaw cure? A rogue ambulance?
I scan the stream of passing drivers
That roam the same road his Damned Crew hunts
For journey worn survivors.

The way a bold cancer is appeased,
How dark romance is tortured and penned,
Like a torqued gurgling from the diseased,
Many fetishize the end.

New patients huddle at Hope's last glow,
Harried there by the howling unknown.
Each ferried across the briny flow...
The boatman returns alone.

The way a church greeter hugs a guest,
How a damaged shirt receives a mend,
Like a spent target doing its best,
Maybe I welcome the end.

A shy thief propagates through the ward,
Startling the pre-mourners from their roost.
Even doubt feels a dissonant chord
As the body's ache is loosed.

The way a trauma hides in the gloom,
How a vintage spirit tries to blend,
Like painted sunsets frozen at doom,
Marks linger after the end.

[C C]

Final tweaked and abbreviated version.
- - - - - - -

Masque

Quickly, questioner, quick,
If you wage through their fear.
Do not coddle the sick,
Nor falter for the dear.

Will the old gods intervene
When the bone pyres are lit?
Will the meadows yet be green
When the imp assassins quit?

Hasten, mortal, hasten,
Reach towering retreats.
A mad throng will chasten
Stragglers lost in the streets.

Eschew fabled jubilees;
And be deaf to frantic howls
Of wretches crawling on knees,
After Pestis drains his bowels.

[C C]

ALLEGORY: senior dementia, clinical depression in youth slash suicide, mental illness, etc


The Trumpet Vine

This twilight is unpleasant.
Rising for a steeper decline.
Seems you're my next to final present
From the creeping Trumpet Vine.

Love's persevering figment.                    
Standing akimbo on the lawn.
Imagination lacks commitment
To keep a long-lost daughter gone.

Nine months of tribulation.
Several years that were benign.
But then you were abruptly taken
By the creeping Trumpet Vine.

Grateful you made the journey.
What's it like at the other town?
Here they'd wish me in a morgue gurney,
Pissed I'm clinging atop the ground.

Come sit on the veranda.   
I'll get my tall cocktail of pills. 
Then we'll listen to propaganda 
From those paid expatriate shills.

Appears the lows have lifted.  
Your hinterland left far behind.
Always knew that it had been gifted 
By the creeping Trumpet Vine.

They still broadcast fetching praise
Of our sweet, sweet enemy's ways. 
Even through the gardening of spring: 
What a happy, enriching thing.

So much sadness to relive.
And I really should not malign.
But there's always a finger to give
To the creeping Trumpet Vine.

Come again, we'll stay in touch. 
You haven't aged since twenty-three.
Sorry if I quizzed, inquired too much
About your irreality.

Tell daddy and your dead friends
That I'm the blot on this design.
Forever frustrating those chessmen
From the creeping Trumpet Vine.

[Zinjanthropos]

Was going to call this Ode to O but it became a song. I think it’s finished because I really want it to end . Maybe you’ll feel the same once read….

Mommy’s Little Cellar Dweller

Mary Jane lives down the lane
In her country garden
Always hidden from our view
Until she got the pardon

No longer shy, she stops to buy
Laced party mix and long johns
Fudge brownies and some chocolate,
Gummi Bears and bonbons

(Chorus)
Oh good old Mary Jane
She drives us all insane
And all of us insane
Love good old Mary Jane

She knows a boy who’s name is Roy
Living in mom’s basement
Plays games with me, myself and I
Virtual amazement

He lights a smoke and has a toke
It’s all he can inhale
Hold it for eternity
Eventually exhale

(Refrain)

Now this guy is feeling high
Getting kind of mellow
The mind is sort of almost gone
But he’s still a happy fellow

While in the zone he’s on the phone
To those who want to listen
Stoned beyond reality
It’s life that he’s been missing

Refrain

His words aren’t heard and eyes are blurred
The world seems kind of fuzzy
He says he’s not dependent on it
So is he sane or was he?

Be a vaper, roll some paper
One way or another
His meals and bed and laundry done
Glad I’m not his mother

Refrain
Repeat refrain

[confused2]

Ah, the creeping trumpet vine.

We have it in the garden now
It's spreading rather well
It's just the kind of thing you need
To hide the gates of hell
~~
I think I had a daughter
Or a cat that spread its hairs
I often think about her
While I'm falling down the stairs
~~~~~~~
I haven't seen my lovely wife
For what seems like half an hour
They're searching in the garden
While I'm drowning in the shower
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have a problem speaking
It really isn't me
Sometimes I ask for ka ka ka
And end up having tea
~~~~~~~~~

[confused2]

Final verse is..

I have a problem speaking
It really isn't me
I asked the nurse for ka ka ka
And now I'm drinking tea

Done. Finito.

[C C]

Was going to call this Ode to O but it became a song. I think it’s finished because I really want it to end . Maybe you’ll feel the same once read…. https://www.scivillage.com/thread-13451-...l#pid58316

And unlike jazz era Willie, today's cannabis version of a Hikikomori may never snap out of his smoky euphoria long enough to notice having been immortalized by a new song or verse.

"When...bing, bang, bing...the dope gave out." --Willie the Weeper

[C C]

Ah, the creeping trumpet vine.

We have it in the garden now
It's spreading rather well
It's just the kind of thing you need
To hide the gates of hell
~~
I think I had a daughter
Or a cat that spread its hairs
I often think about her
While I'm falling down the stairs
~~~~~~~
I haven't seen my lovely wife
For what seems like half an hour
They're searching in the garden
While I'm drowning in the shower
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[...revision?...] Final verse is...

I have a problem speaking
It really isn't me
I asked the nurse for ka ka ka
And now I'm drinking tea

Done. Finito.

Wow. So it's actually been there quite awhile. Despite no hummingbirds on the other side to enjoy such, it still stubbornly crossed the Atlantic.

"The flamboyant flowering of Campsis radicans made it obvious to even the least botanically-minded of the first English colonists in Virginia. Consequently, the plant quickly made its way to England early in the 17th century."

No doubt the House Sparrow was payback a couple of centuries later. Nicholas Pike just being a convenient, rich dupe foolishly buying into the "insect control" and "European immigrants would find the birds a pleasant reminder of home" salesman pitch:

https://badgerlandbirding.com/2021/11/26...-get-here/

The House Sparrow is one of the most common birds in the United States. [...] With a fierce attitude, this aggressive bird out-competes other species and is considered to be an ecological pest. ... Much of the disdain toward the House Sparrow stems from the fact that it was not originally native to North American, putting it at the top of the list of avian invasives. So where did the House Sparrow come from? And what do we do with it now that it’s here?

[...] for the House Sparrows westward expansion: let’s go back to the year 1850...

[...] At this time in American history, a fascination arose for trading wildlife from one continent to another. Many wealthy individuals and societies on the east coast began dabbling in this hobby. One such organization  was the Brooklyn Institute in New York.

To know the story of the House Sparrow we have to know the institute’s director: Nicholas Pike. Pike cemented his spot in the story as the man responsible for the first House Sparrows brought to the United states when he had 8 pairs shipped over in 1850.

[...] In 1852, Pike was appointed Consul General to Portugal and sailed to Liverpool where he made a large order of songbirds including 50 pairs of House Sparrows. The birds were shipped over on the steamship Europa. Pike however was on his way to Portugal and was not present when the sparrows made it to America. 50 of these birds were released in the Narrows in 1852 and then another 50 were released at the Green-wood Cemetery Chapel a year later in 1853...