THE BALLAD OF HARRY PALMS

THE BALLAD OF HARRY PALMS

 

His life was sweet no more because
His job two years ago
Was lost in economic storm.
Now, he was out of dough.

The winter came to reap his shame,
Unwelcome as he was,
Within his daughter’s basement, where
“Apply for Santa Claus”,

His daughter and her boyfriend gnawed,
“You’ve got to pay some rent!”
“But, we are Jewish!” Harry kvetched.
Yet up the stairs he went

Into the hall and out the door.
The blizzard was a shock.
The once and future Harry Palms
Behind him heard the lock.

His breath condensed into his beard,
His cheeks with cold did burn.
He got onboard the empty bus
Some money for to earn.

He got out at the Shopping Mall;
The stores so gaily lit.
Before he could apply himself
He had to give a shit.

Beside the bathroom stalls he stopped
And saw two men a’kissing.
He grabbed their collars, banged their heads.
They beat him.  Teeth a’missing,

Still Harry Palms had got the job
Of Santa Claus, First Shift.
“I guess my life is now complete”.
His pride he had to sift,

Like cat-box turds, beside his bed,
The night he set the clock
For five AM to catch the bus.
He couldn’t find his cock.

As Santa Claus he did preside
Above the World Toy™ scenes
For Children of Jerusalem,
Sponsored by Marines.

All day long the shoppers climbed
To leave their gifts of toys
And sit their children on his lap.
He almost lost his poise

When three young Persian girls appeared
In line to visit him
Dressed like ornaments with jewels
And voices like a hymn.

“I am Sofa Kush” one spoke
“And these, my sisters, be
Avesta and Daeva”.  Wise
Beyond her beauty she

Was dressed in gold, Avesta white,
And Daeva shaped in red.
The three of them leaned to his ears
And this is what they said:

Daeva: “Listen closely now,
To warn you we have come”.
Avesta: “Toys you gather here
Will harm Jerusalem”.

Said Sofa: “It’s the TNA”.
But Harry looked bemused.
“The Terror Net Alliances.
And we three stand accused

Of being traitors to our lords;
Mawlas, to whom we’re wives,
Will surely stone us three to death.
We offer you our lives:

Please help us save Jerusalem.
Allah’ cannot want this:
There are the toys that will explode
And open the Abyss.”

Poor Harry sat there so confused
Because their Sirens’ voice
Had spun enchanting arabesque
That left him with no choice

But to believe them; was he nuts?
They clearly were afraid
Of something that was going down
That wasn’t a charade.

He turned to find the host Marine
Did have his weapon drawn
And pointed at his geezer brains.
The three young girls were gone.

The mothers screamed and children ran
In chaos so appalling
The soldier had to drop his gun;
The Christmas Tree was falling

Onto his head.  The needles rained
And stuck him in the eyes.
He fell down to his knees and screamed
Vile curses to incise

Whoever had pushed o’er the Tree.
He swore in Farsi tongue
To cut the heart of those who laughed:
Three Persian girls so young

They could not hide their merry laugh,
For they had done the deed
To no Marine: a terrorist
Who thought he could mislead.

Poor Harry Palms had tumbled back
And fallen from the lair
Of Santa Claus, onto the floor,
At circling stars to stare.

“You must arise and follow us”,
He heard the Angel say.
She looked a lot like Sofa Kush
And so he did obey.

Into the Manger Scene they fled
And lifted Baby Jesus.
A trap-door opened at their feet,
So down there Harry squeezes.

Below, past tense and present fear
A tunnel lead them out
The Service Exit Door.  The girls
The parking lot did scout

As if they knew what should be, they
The World Toy™ truck did see
Without a guard nearby.  Not luck:
Avesta had the key.

So off they went with reckless speed.
On, Daeva! Sofa Kush!
Avesta! And on, Harry Palms,
But watch your sorry tush!

“Where do we go?” did Harry cry.
He saw they were pursued
By someone in a Cadillac.
He was not in the mood!

His basement room seemed pretty good,
Retreating in his mind.
If he could just get out of this
He nevermore would find

A fault within his broken life.
It always can be worse!
To Harry, like the Bible’s Job,
Jehovah seemed adverse,

Because just then they overturned
The World Toy™ truck and smashed
Right through the lobby, where the staff
Of Trumpet Towers dashed.

A shroud of smoke concealed the four,
Untangled from debris.
Avesta, Daeva, Sofa Kush,
And Harry all did flee

Into the elevator car,
Penthouse Floor they keyed
To where the Persian girls did live.
It cost not chicken feed.

But suddenly their motion stopped,
The elevator dead
One floor below the penthouse suite.
They exited instead

And ran into the studio
Of KABL Radio.
The three girls knew the DJ well.
The DJ exhaled, “Whoa”.

Kid KABL Rock, as he was known,
Did listen to the girls
As he stared at Santa Claus,
His stoner mind in whorls.

He locked-up tight the studio
In record time, for then
Upon the door fell pounding fists
Of several angry men.

Kid KABL Rock was monitoring
The evening TV news
That pictured Harry (Santa Claus)
“Police uncovered clues

That Santa Claus had helpers who
Conspired to steal each toy
Donated for Jerusalem
Baseerah, Hebrew, Goy.”

The World Toy™ lawyers fed the news
And Sofa Kush just knew
They had to broadcast their own side
To rescue what was true.

Kid KABL Rock was ‘way ahead
And sat down at the mike
To spread the “Siege of Santa Claus”
Which children wouldn’t like.

The children listened everywhere
To hear their hero speak.
Kid KABL Rock laid down the scene
And it was getting bleak:

“Our door those men are battering down,
With force to hit home-runs.”
Kid KABL Rock beseeched the kids
To get their parent’s guns.

“Come up to Trumpet Towers, all!
To station KABL Rock!
Help us to save Santa Claus!”
He rallied them ad hoc.

Avesta cried “Time’s running out!”
But Daeva had a scheme,
“If Kid can hack the broadcast net
We can send a beam

That reaches to Jerusalem
Before they land those toys.”
Kid KABL Rock was on the case;
“His talent he employs”,

Said Sofa Kush, “to hack for fun
The broadcast net before.”
Avesta held a cell-phone high,
“I took my husband’s phone.

It has the code to detonate
The high-explosive bombs,
Before the children have to die
And grief consume their moms.”

But Harry saw the door give-in
And shatter to the floor
As men crashed through and aimed their guns
Upon the other four.

What happened next was like dream
As Harry leapt between
The gunmen and the other four,
Screaming, so obscene,

As bullets patted Harry Palms,
And so did Santa slay,
Avesta plugged the cell-phone in
Where Kid KABL did say,

As Sofa Kush a doll did throw
Toward a gunman’s face,
Avesta pushed the icon dial
And blew the coup de grace,

So fire ate alive those men
And ruptured in the lobby.
The plane above Jerusalem
Was hailing Abu Dhabi,

When in a super-nova blast
It blew to smithereens
And starred above, just like all those
Nativity night scenes.

 

.

.

 

.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

DECEMBER IN THE RAILROAD WOODS

December in the railroad woods the sun is bright
and sky full of blue
but warmth is a cold memory.
I root myself on damp earth and I fill the barrel
with water for horses.
I revolve on the damp earth that blushes
with green new grass grateful for the plowing of horse hooves
and the rich horse turds
and the overflowing barrel of water,
the hose making the same sound as a horse pissing.
I see
therefore I exist
among the Eucalyptus woods planted a century gone
for the feeding of the iron horses, the steam railroad.
The clouds are hung over from a righteous night of  riotous rain.
I tap like rain against my iPhone.
Let this inside world outside.
My electrons howled in the Solstice of Winter,
the longest night of the year,
dwarfing the queen rat among the discarded couches
and the soggy rugs
and the exhausted tires
and the baby shoes
and the  lamb skulls.
A creek once scurried here but the loose silt
now holds the earthy remains of my dog
wagging with worms for the end of her drought.
The silt is damp now with redemption.
I raise up my cat to my shoulder.
My horse nudges me and nods.
The truck with alfalfa cometh.
.
.
#
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~
🐟

THE GRASSHOPPER IN WINTER

 

In all the facets of his eyes, with Meadow of the Valley burning green,
The rolling colors up and down the hillside shined, petted by the wind.
Galahad the Grasshopper did thus not need to dream,
Offering to Aesop Ant, in passing, morsels of a leaf that he did love,
From high atop the towering weed, from where his heart did leap,
Called Galahad to him below, “Hey, can you stop, Aesop, my friend, and watch the spring in beauty burn?”

Aesop Ant replied, “Well, meadows do that sort of thing”, and tilting head from toil’s burn,
“You will find the Meadow is not always green,
And what is real is dreadful preparation.  Somehow does the worst upon us always leap.”
Appalled at Aesop’s rude philosophy, cried Galahad into the wind:
“What of Love?”
Aesop Ant just smiled and waved good-bye, “Good luck with Love, a Dream.”

A shadow fell on Galahad, and startled him from Aesop’s troubling Dream;
Above him saw a Butterfly alight upon the flower, wings a prism interceding for the sunlight’s burn.
“Sorry to disturb your dreaming.  I am Bethanie.”  She sipped the flower she did love.
“I am Galahad.  It is a lovely day.” His armor never shone before so green.
And Bethanie enjoined, “I hid when I was just a silly little caterpillar, dreaming of the wind.
But now I raise my wings to me and into beauty soon shall leap!”

Into every facet of his eyes did Bethanie’s true beauty leap.
Galahad did nod with every movement of her wings, to hear as if he did thus deeply dream:
“But now is time to drink the world and spill no drop into the wind.”
Then suddenly was Galahad no longer happy; something in his eyes did burn.
Added Bethanie, “But, you are welcome to accompany my journey high above the green.”
Galahad restrained himself from leaping then and there, while saying “That, I would be sure to love.”

“Can you stay apace with me?” asked Bethanie, “No matter what you love?”
Galahad without restraint said, “Yes, I can.  For I can glide the farthest of them all after I leap.”
“Then let us go while sun still shines and all the grass is green.”
Away from Galahad she fluttered like a dream.
Galahad leapt to the sky, and spread his wings to glide; to leap and glide until his legs did burn.
Down the valley to unseen horizon blew the wind.

Galahad did slowly fall apace, and finally descry not Bethanie in bygone wind.
Heart of his, a beating compass, blindly pointed love
Until the sun of that first day was no more seen to burn,
And from behind, a full moon crouched and into stars did leap.
Galahad now found himself beside a tiny creek that fell into a sandy pool, inviting him to dream.
Wearily he nibbled on a leaf, and heavy was his armor, fading green.

Far away, a Cricket choir chirping helped his spirit into slumber leap,
Rekindling desire, cherishing an unforgotten Dream.
Something cold did his way whisper, withering that Dream so green.

Waking up most suddenly from all he thought were memories still green
Galahad felt fiercely cold and bitten by the wind.
In all the facets of his eyes were tears that froze that former Dream
Of springtime months ago; Of Love.
Winter cold was gnawing now upon his heart, to death if he away could no more leap.
Beyond the gloaming garden, thence he knew not when he fell, he smelled a farmhouse fire burn.

Shivering, an ember in his heart did once more flare and burn,
Shining in all facets of his eyes, again so brightly green.
A leap
Into the wind,
Gliding for his unseen Love
With their waiting Dream,

Narrowly ajar, an open window, shining bright, perchance another dream,
Through which Galahad could see a lusty fire burn,
Embracing in the fireplace a sweet dry branch with love.
And near the windowsill in colored lights bestrewn, there stood a Christmas tree still green.
Galahad nudged through the open window, as it kept at bay the wind,
To the Christmas tree then did he leap.

Sailing to the crowning star where with that faithful leap,
Galahad, now warm beside a golden light that shined just like his Dream,
Without the wolfish winter wind,
Within him fever still did burn,
Glowing tarnished armor green.
Thus did he believe delirium brought Bethanie, in visions of his Love.

Galahad was sure that now he truly saw his Love;
All the facets of his eyes across the room did leap
Above the mantle, on the wall, inside a frame of green,
Where Bethanie, transfixed as mid-flight in a dream,
Held her wings outstretched, where interceding shadows race and burn,
Everlasting in a chambered replica of wind.

Then Galahad in flashing horror saw a pin was driven through her back, to hold her in imaginary wind.
He cried out as he leapt across the void to be beside his Love.
Tapping frantically on glass reflections in which shadows race and burn,
Slipped and fell he to the hearth.  In paralyzed despair he watched for an eternity the hellish fire leap
Until the flames revealed his fate inside a final Dream.
Into the glowing ashes dipped he tattered wings that once were green.

With wings of fire, back up to the crucifixion chamber’s frame of green
Galahad did leap his last, to lie with Bethanie and immolate his Dream.
The mingled smoke did through the open window toward unseen horizon leap.

.
#
.

.

 

 

THE GRIMPILS FARM

THE GRIMPILS FARM

          A coyote is walking up the road from the city to the country.  On the back of the coyote is a crow.  On the back of the crow is a cockroach.  The three of them are friends from the city.  They are traveling up to the Grimpils farm for Giving Thanks Day.

A few hours pass and the three companions find themselves admiring the countryside.  A turkey meets them in the road.

The turkey says, “I am Snood.”

The coyote says, “I am Moontalker.”

The crow on Moontalker’s back says, “I am Caucus.”

The cockroach on Caucus’s back says, “I am Scurry.”

Snood the turkey says, “I will guide you from here.  Welcome to the Grimpils farm.”

Moontalker the coyote replies with a suave voice, saying, “Happy Giving Thanks Day.”

Caucus the crow replies with a rattling voice, saying, “Yaw, yaw.  Say, Snood, will there be Red Wing Blackbirds there?”

Scurry the cockroach replies with a soft hiss, saying, “Caucus can’t keep his pecker still.  Happy Giving Thanks Day, Snood.”

Snood the turkey turns and a raises a wing, saying, “Follow me, please.”

Snood and Moontalker, with Caucus and Scurry, turn off of the dirt road and climb through the old wooden rail fence.  Many of the rails are weathered and dislocated.

Snood and Moontalker, with Caucus and Scurry are now in a rolling green meadow, glazed with tiny yellow and purple wildflowers.  The warm air trembles with grasshoppers and butterflies.  Ahead they can see the Grimpils farmhouse and the enormous red barn.  As the four of them approach, the distant farmyard seems to be boiling.

Snood acknowledges the illusion and assures the others, saying, “It is all of the turkeys and their guests the cows, the pigs, the sheep, the chickens, and all of the others who were Born Again!”

Moontalker trots more quickly, saying, “A good turnout for Giving Thanks Day.”

Caucus starts to hop up and down Moontalker’s spine, saying, “Yaw, yaw, I see Red Wing Blackbirds!”

Upon Caucus’s back, poor Scurry hangs on like a burr on a bucking bronco, saying, “Cau! Cus! Will! You! Please! Be! Cool!”

When Snood and Moontalker, with Caucus and Scurry, finally arrive the vortex of animals is gravitating toward the big red barn.  The big red barn has an enormous doorway but no door.  Above the door can still be seen the faint white lettering: GRIMPILS FARM CAGE-FREE POULTRY.

Erected in front of the big red barn is a pole with what was once known as a scarecrow.  It is comprised of straw feet, a straw-stuffed pair of tattered overalls, a straw-stuffed red plaid shirt, and on the top of the pole is a human skull with a straw hat.

Moontalker growls softly, and then he says, “Sorry.  Habit.”

Caucus clicks and rattles nervously, saying, “I still have nightmares.”

Scurry scrambles a figure-8 over Caucus’s back, saying, “I don’t like religion.  Can’t we be thankful without it?”

Snood says, “Please excuse me,” and then he flaps and flutters up onto the head of the scarecrow.

Snood tips his head back and calls out over the crowd, saying, “Gentle animals, welcome, all, to this Giving Thanks Day; to this gathering of the Born Again!”

The variegated crowd assents.

Snood begins to preach, “Hear me, Born Again.  We must never forget.  On this day seasons ago we lived in what Man called Factory Farms.  All of us!”

Across the crowd rolls an ominous vibration.

“All of us!  And we were treated by Man like we were his personal vegetables!”

Across the crowd rolls an ominous vibration.

“Behind me in the shelter of this benign red barn was once a prison for innocent turkeys.  Innocent turkeys who never knew the comfort of a natural environment or the satisfaction of instinctual behaviors.  Today, Born Again baby turkeys stay with their mothers for months, but seasons ago these poor turkeys never experienced the safety or warmth of the nurturing mother they instinctively longed for.”

Across the crowd rolls an ominous vibration.

“Instead, they endured confinement in a ‘cage free’ barn, crowded beak to beak, the tops of their beaks broken off so that they could not kill themselves, their toes were sheared off; they were diseased, neglected, sometimes for days without water, abused by the attending Men; they bore a short life of intense suffering that ended in brutality: in the end they were hung upside down and their throats were slit and they bled to death.”

Silence crushes the crowd.

“Those who bled to death were the lucky ones.  Those who had not died yet were dumped alive into the steamer that scalded their feathers off.”

Some animals begin to cry out inarticulately.

“Three hundred million turkeys were raised for slaughter every season!  More than fifty million alone were slaughtered for a day that Man called Thanksgiving!”

Some animals begin to wail, “Why us?  Why us?”

Snood then takes a deep breath and with his wing he indicates the sun brightly above, saying, “And one day Great Sun took pity upon the poor animals under Man’s bondage.  Great Sun grew angrier and angrier.  And one day Great Sun cried out to the earth.”

The crowd opens their mouths and makes the loudest sounds that they can make.

Snood continues, saying, “And then for forty days and forty nights great Solar Flares engulfed the earth, flooded the earth.  First the Machines died.  Then Men died.  And then even the Men who could live without the Machines went mad from the radiation and they perished!”

“And finally, the God that had given Man such cruel, sadistic, unfeeling dominion over the world…, that petty, jealous, vengeful God of Man was dead!  Dead!  Dead forever!  So help us Great Sun.”

The crowd opens their mouths and makes the loudest sounds that they can make.

Snood shakes his wings in climax, shouting, “And Great Sun gave unto all the innocent animals his Gift of the Light, the Light of our Born Again Minds!  And we were all one upon the earth at last as it once was in the beginning!”

And Scurry cries out to Caucus and Moontalker, saying, “Happy Giving Thanks to all of us, every one!”

Inspired by: Woodstock Animal Farm Sanctuary

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

FOLLOW THIS LINK TO MY AMAZON.COM SITE

MY BROTHER’S THANKSGIVING TOPIC ADDRESS

Grant

MY BROTHER’S

THANKSGIVING TOPIC

ADDRESS

(2014)

.

        I, who have nothing but the clothes on my back donated by the grace of those who gave to the Salvation Army, said the following during an 8AM meeting of Narcotics Anonymous in a city park while surrounded by homeless people.

     Narcotics Anonymous teaches us two basic things: Get out of yourself and help others. Doing so helps us feel good about ourselves and that eliminates the need to use drugs or drink alcohol.

     Today’s topic is The Will of God because we need God’s will to help us get out of ourselves. You can’t get out of yourself by yourself. So God helps us step aside from our selfish ways. Once we do that we look back on our past lives and say, “Oh,… shit.” Then we clean up our mess. Moving forward we help other addicts clean up their messes, too. So the world gets a little better one addict at a time. And we feel good. So we don’t use. One day at a time.

     Today is Thanksgiving and I’m thankful that I’m not sitting in line somewhere waiting to buy a big-screen TV. Those people are just missing the point of Thanksgiving. The Pilgrims didn’t line up for big-screen TVs on the original Thanksgiving. The Pilgrims gathered with Native Americans to thank them and God that there was enough of a harvest to make it through the winter.

     Those of us here today in this place in this circle should also thank God because we are among the wealthiest people in the world. You know that, right? Most of us have a safe place to sleep and food to eat and clean clothes to wear by the mercy of the donors to the Salvation Army.

     There are billions of people on this planet who don’t have that.

     So I thank God that I am not in line purchasing a big-screen TV because there is no big-screen TV big enough to bring me that sense of happiness.

.

#

.

 

.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Follow This Link To My AMAZON.com SITE

 

ILLYCIT

+

ILLYCIT

+

I should not have been born.

It be twenty years of an earlier time our Pilgrim Fathers lead our families to this new world.

Seeking to preserve us midst wickedness that is England, our Fathers put faith into God’s Hands and sailed their congregation of five score souls hither on a sea of troubles.

Forced by the elements to avoid their true destination in the Virginia Colony, it was God’s Will that we settle here the wilderness of Cape Cod Bay.

Half of our good Pilgrim founders died that first bitter frigid winter.

It was then my mother dishonored our Pilgrim Fathers. She sought warmth in dark sinful embrace, she did so confess, darkening the pious light from our spiritual City Upon A Hill.

Our good General Court did decree my mother’s chastening and penance ‘ere I was born. As constant admonishment I was to be named, as I am, “Illycit”.

I was verily conceived of that bitter cold.

It so be seventeen years of an earlier time my mother brought me into this world.

I have always been shunned by my good peers as thus wisely instructed by their good mothers.

I have so borne my repentant mother’s punishment as she had so borne me into life.

I have seen her tears of anguish that she did give me such of her life, this dowry of sin.

At night often do I come here and in my soundless spirit follow along yon moonlight road upon dark water.

Pray pardon me to have been startled by your approach, good Pilgrim.

I have not noticed you in town likely for my head is often bowed.

I am unworthy for your company, young Brother Clemence. You are kind. Know ye, your presence is sweet water to my parched soul.

I am so bleak. Do not depart me just yet. Remain yet a while hence.

I have always drawn much solace from our honorable visits though I dread what might bethought of our innocent unchaperoned assignations.

It is your honor at risk, good Clemence. My honor has been denied me summarily by decree.

I fear I shall enter and dwell in the allegorical pig and drown, only in loneliness.

Clemence! Harken that! Who goes there?
Clemence, hide thee!

The Constable! And goodwives of the colony!

How fare ye this night, all?

What say? The Devil? I am no foul witch! I spoke not to the Devil this night!

Unhand me, please!

All is innocence!

Since you demand, it was good and honorable Brother Clemence offering me mere words of kindly Christian consolations. He took charitable mercy upon this sinner.

What say ye? Why do ye mock my humble testament?

Say ye all? There is no Clemence who habits our colony?

I swear a good Christian Clemence heard my prayers and came to me! Not the cruel and foul Devil! I could not be so fooled!

Pride? I am already cursed with sin?

You have known me! I show ye penance each day!

You would murder me by fire! I am not a witch! I am not a witch! Dear God of Mercy Who is my fair witness! I am not a witch!

Clemence! Clemence! Show yourself! In God’s Name I pray thee! I see you in my mind! I do verily!

What? You all see? What?

Now I do see there too! A star falls from heaven! No! It be a wandering star, not the Devil! Not the Devil falling to earth!

I am doomed, merciful God! With that Sign You have sentenced me to fire!

Thus does Your Infinite Wisdom set me free of this world that wants me not.

Oh, Wandering Star, for whom the gloom of utter darkness has been reserved forever, Clemence! Kind Clemence, will you be there for my lonely purified soul?

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~

 

 

ELEGY FOR OUR CAT RONCHO


November 20, 1980

 

 

We love you.

That will never pass

Though all else seems to end.

Hey, fuzzy guy,

We love you.

You are still

Our little friend.

This morning was clear and bright

But it was not right.

The warm sun was out of place

Because you hid your sweet face

Beneath the garden

Where you would play

And capture butterflies

On their way,

Or touch the water

Against your fears.

We wish you were here now

To touch our tears.

Last night

With the moon so nearly full

We let you rest

Forever

On my shirt

While your sister played

Unafraid

In the open dirt.

We held a simple light

And stroked your pretty fur.

You were so peacefully with us

We wondered where you were.

You even had your sleepy smile

As we scratched your little cheek.

The sorrow fell

In shovelfuls

And buried us complete.

We love you.

That is never good-bye.

We love you,

We love you,

We love you,

She and I.

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~