ending a spring day
punctuating a haiku
ravens in flight court
this moment is this
no other sun or shadow
this blossom this bee
A Mid-October Morning’s Dream, or, The Royal Listener; being a fable for dark days.
There once was a kingdom with a Royal Listener. It was this person’s office to listen to the king, As a badge of office, the Royal Listener wore a pair of the king’s old used underwear on his head like a hat, crossways so the ample crotch covered both his ears. Thus hatted, he sat at the king’s feet and listened, while the king spoke freely on topics ranging from the anxieties of rule, to his personal struggle with gout.
In the middle of one night there was a terrible catastrophe–flood, fire, earthquake, tornado, air raid, volcano, plague, you name it, they had it. As the court fled the castle, the king called for the Royal Listener. The bearer of that office hurried to the king’s side but was without his badge of office. In the rushed midnight flight, it had been impossible to grab the royal garment so the Royal Listener was hat-less.
“Never mind that!” cried the king, amidst hubbub and turmoil. “I need to talk to you.”
“How?” protested the Royal Listener, “how can I hear you?”
“Just listen,” the king urged, and began to speak of the current emergency, but the Royal Listener interrupted — actually interrupted!
“How can I listen, with my ears not covered by the ghosts of royal farts?”
Queso, this is an actual dream I actually had, and I wouldn’t share just any dream in my blog, but I think that this one was given me by the great Doler-Out of Dreams, to share, as an allegory on the current state of US politics. The Trolling of the 2016 Election. The King is the Power, the Listener is the People, and the King’s Underwear, of course, represent The Press.
How can the people hear the news, without filtering it through farts?
Where is the real power, when a very popular candidate is denied a run at the presidency—denied it by lack of press coverage—lack both of amount and accuracy of coverage. Why is another candidate’s most-reported attribute, for good or ill, mere gender? And what in the hell is a scary clown doing running for our highest office? Why did the press ever report that as a serious candidacy?
Finally, what we have to ask ourselves, is, “Who is doing the real farting, here?”
That is all.
Talk like a pirate and fight like a girl. Her last words to Captain Calico Jack Rackham were, “Had you fought like a man, you need not have been hang’d like a dog.”
This lyrical nonsense based on Anne Bonny was inspired by the prompt “furbelow” at a writing session with Virtual Writers, where I always find inspiration or, if not, then commiseration.
Faith is a fickle friend. Here are two poems, to give equal time to Doubt and Belief. They also present conflicting impressions on nudity: is it a form of vulnerability, or of freedom?
First, to express doubt, I offer a “Feathered Thing.”
And then again, there are those transcendent moments that call forth belief, and so we’ll answer that dismal “Feathered Thing,” with the upbeat, “Uplifted.”
Care to comment? I’d love to get some reactions — to the poems, to the ideas, to the debate.
I am fascinated by fashion history, truly.
All those poems, and tarot, too. I’ve been reading for decades, but recently, as word spread and demand for my readings grew, I decided to donate the proceeds to a very good cause: help for a housebound 23-year-old disabled by severe M.E.. Please read more about it, in my Tarot Reading tab.
I don’t read with playing cards, but with a tarot deck. The queen of hearts just went so well with my manicure, I couldn’t resist. By the way, those are Jamberry nail wraps, and just coincidentally, purchasing nail wraps and other nail care products from Pajamaberry Jamberry will also help that same good cause!
Folks who have gotten tarot readings from me in the past, please let me know in comments to this post, how did I do?
And please share my links to let your friends know.
Is the forest trees
or a drop of sap whose scent
brings back wilderness?