July 28, 2016

The Dinner Theater of Medea Moonshine ........................................ On Poem Island Lost Socks and Cyclops

Odysseus Fighting with the Beggar
Lovis Corinth - 1903








<each gaze to the darkened stage read like
   playbill-menus for us behind the curtain>



the orders 
were wandering 
wondered ordeals 
cyclical ritual feasts 
at which I was 
a banquet server 
a ripe and sometimes 
randy beggar Robin Starveling ...

on over a rover clover clay dug red 
and green and red again 
velvet loom looming 
I was told 
play the prey fallen prey 
a groom once on pace perhaps ... 

snails leave trails 
that glisten listening 
to you steeping 
swimmingly carefree 
in your own sweet tea 
pools and reflection ...

I would spy water 
glasses thresh pulsed 
diets tied to 
billow spread life 
what's the 
mattering splattered 
over surmising 
any surprise each new 
murmuring audience held ...

I would go ribald Tybalt 
to Mercutio o'er 
their tables lit 
w/candor to coy sexy 
language-d as intent 

(and in an aside) 

most incidental 
or personal telephone 
booth to text 
poems of a future 
not yet dreamed of 
would cast attention 
away from us 
into this den 
of smitten with mostly 
their own direction(s) 
and it was this misdirection 
that was the subterfuge needed 
to get into what their succulence 
held and we had hoped to pluck  ...

because we knew 
every once or twice 
we would catch them looking 
and steal their eyes 
by selling them 
on feeding our noses 
their ever ever wishing 
for more frequent greater visions ... 

and when spoken 
especially gleefully 
in said conditions  
time doth mesmerize 
their ability to reason 
and in this light 
we did advantage 
ourselves 
of every Eden 
we could ... 


et voilà :


si vous voulez voir plus
alors vous devez
payer pour entrer ici voila 


this act written 
to the you 
understood and portrayed 
as played on this 
a sense 
of reaping repeatedly 
what has been tilled 
sown grown harvested 
and gone turn again ...

we hear crickets 
they are beginning 
to inherit 
the reins outside 
of this new normal 
this weird weather Wednesday 
Friday frinday Tuesday Maundy 
maudlin manics with mirrored light 
settling in on a pattern for the evening ...

sew needle pulling thread 
I am fucking around with 
fucking with something 
I don't often do 
and it is quite possible 
it can or will end badly ... 

or be seen as wise 

should I survive or even thrive 
after said cause and effect 
dog and pony show ...

this is a handy plot device 
no matter what part 
of the space and game show 
you want to send 
your imagined loyal army 
of lady robot sous chefs to 
who by the way of inference 
from description can handle knives 
and your time's management ...

they're fleshed accordingly 
a tonality hushed fingers to lips 
whisper traipse you've entered 
into the role playing 
part of the programming 
so let us seek shadow riders 
reed breathers thinkers 
and the bitten with 
under water until 
the Moon says 
come play and be 
with me for awhile ...

midsummer's slide 
toward Autumn 
with Pandora 
is nearing 
innuendo crescendo 
cue the timpanis  
would you please 
for having suspended 
belief, we are 
serving the audience 
their own roan thin 
sliced sentimental once ago(s) ...
  
an entire audience's 
eyes poached with pears 
and figs in port wine ...

what delight it is for us to see
all of what traded humanity 
has in store for these pleasing moments 
we thieve or think we should keep to eat ... 

as when to start 
dear audience did 
believing  in us and 
the tales we spoke
of becoming 
their very own 
dessert this evening ...

permanent 
or legacy 
we stated, was an 
inner sight per 
performance 
and the cost 
of flight 
was what forever night 
of theirs meant, 
we fancied ...

EJR ©

2 comments:

  1. "we would catch them looking
    and steal their eyes
    by selling them"

    I love that.

    And the last line ... "we fancied" ... Are you familiar with the Fancy Nancy books? :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. P.S. Best title ever.

      "I would spy water" ... beautiful line break; I would spy on her too

      "swimmingly carefree in your own sweet tea" ... hearts for this, being a southern girl

      "what's the" ... I really don't know. I guess I'm going to figure that out.

      Delete