Post by erthona on Jun 30, 2010 2:52:08 GMT -5
I Find I Fear!
I find I fear, I have unwittingly looked,
through Zaphod Beeblebrox’s, prospective detector,
and alas, the perspective that it showed,
could be called nothing less than drear;
hearing the mermaid’s siren call,
who are far beyond my reach, in breadth,
and all, in time, and means, not even in my dreams,
now or ever, or so I fear.
Having somehow been misplaced, or left behind,
I have become, Prufrocked, for time,
has un-Post Modernized me,
into nothing less, than insignificance.
Should I learn to dance, with older women,
who come and go, with their blue hair all aglow,
while drinking tea, by Bigelow?
I digress, I must confess,
for I see, you look askance.
I’ve lost my place again,
become unstuck in time,
a pilgrim here, a Billy there,
searching for a word somewhere,
to end this ever lengthening line,
in a proper sounding rhyme,
that’s not too trite, too hot, too cold;
I’ve come up short, it must be told.
I find I fear, looking back, across these years,
I was never one for action bold,
much more likely, to quiver in,
a foxhole safe below,
where the bullets do not go.
The worse scrape I ever had,
was once I stubbed my toe.
I fear I find, that in fearing I have lost precious time,
while I sat, and cut and pasted, opportunities I wasted,
that in the past, came so easily to me,
now vacation in another clime,
they have sublimed,
like ice, once upon the moon,
or maybe, somewhere there on Mars,
glass flowers, crystalline they bloom.
I fear I find, my life I’ve stored in cookie jars,
with lids sealed tight, so no goblin might,
creep in, in the deep of night, and scare me.
I fear, that I will find them waiting there,
in that cold dark place, of Doré's, Dante’s hell below,
where Satan’s frozen head to toe, and like him,
three faces I also; there my soul does fear to go;
no other place, do I deserve, for there’s no mercy in this world,
just justice blind, of mercy shorn
ere forgiveness can be born, in this weary world forlorn.
Still, Hell I think I will escape, for it is only for the great,
and I have ever been afraid to commit a single crime,
yet still I fear, when each time the night draws near,
so at her alter, coax a flame, and pray for me, in her name,
for to church I will not go, the thought of God, it scares me so.
Most of all, I find I fear,
that you will catch me unaware;
thus giving me a scare, and make me look,
at least it says so in my book,
even more ridiculous than I am.
Balding, going gray, still in jams,
I think I’ve maybe lost my way,
standing here, in the middle of the day,
without a clue, knowing not what I should do,
in this, the post-middle of my little life.
Did you ever hear me say,
that I once misplaced my wife?
I fear I find I have again digressed,
humbly again I do confess, for I see
you’re looking vexed at me.
You see, you see? I am a mess,
of complexes more, than that of Oedipus.
I fear, that I’ll look foolish with you here,
here to see and look at me, in my foolish frippery,
what a foolish thing to see, still more so a fool to be.
Yet fools are wise, so I can only claim,
fool in attire, but not in name.
Should that taste sweet or bittern-ly,
as it comes thus from the sea, the salty sea,
where mermaids no longer sing to me,
for romance is dead and gone,
with Shelly, Keats, and Byron,
Samuel and friend William,
we’d all meet there with Kublai Khan,
in Xanadu for tea and bittern crumb,
and cold hard ashes from beyond,
on the shores of that sunless sea,
with fertile ground, girdled well and all around.
Yet romance is all gone, or so they say,
those ones who say, that war did take it all away,
and no longer comes the Faerie Fey.
For with strict objectivity,
cloaked in rationality,
Modern men did do the deed.
Titania and Lord Oberon
they put them underground,
and from the Fey, hear not a sound,
so we can live in peace and quiet,
sleeping soundly through the night.
Like little children, they clap their hands, and say,
“See, we’ve conquered all the beasts”,
but surely it’s their shame,
that will always be untamed!
I find I fear, that you will run away,
and desert me on that day,
that day I would have met my friends,
there beyond the vale, with their visage drawn and pale,
those poets five, yet reduction, has them reduced,
and parsed and pared them all away.
With no friends, I find my life, near to end,
and in its turn will duly end, significant to me alone.
Or as these modern men do say,
there’s nothing at the end of day,
you simply fade and go away.
For they will never sound retreat,
until Munchausen’s all, great or small,
are worm-turned sod beneath.
Soon, I’ll too be walking there,
without my friends to bring me cheer,
as I pass to there from here,
and trespass, through deaths’ dark land.
Yes, I find, that I do fear, that my end is almost here,
just as I have thought it was, for many, many, years.
©2010 ~Erthona
I find I fear, I have unwittingly looked,
through Zaphod Beeblebrox’s, prospective detector,
and alas, the perspective that it showed,
could be called nothing less than drear;
hearing the mermaid’s siren call,
who are far beyond my reach, in breadth,
and all, in time, and means, not even in my dreams,
now or ever, or so I fear.
Having somehow been misplaced, or left behind,
I have become, Prufrocked, for time,
has un-Post Modernized me,
into nothing less, than insignificance.
Should I learn to dance, with older women,
who come and go, with their blue hair all aglow,
while drinking tea, by Bigelow?
I digress, I must confess,
for I see, you look askance.
I’ve lost my place again,
become unstuck in time,
a pilgrim here, a Billy there,
searching for a word somewhere,
to end this ever lengthening line,
in a proper sounding rhyme,
that’s not too trite, too hot, too cold;
I’ve come up short, it must be told.
I find I fear, looking back, across these years,
I was never one for action bold,
much more likely, to quiver in,
a foxhole safe below,
where the bullets do not go.
The worse scrape I ever had,
was once I stubbed my toe.
I fear I find, that in fearing I have lost precious time,
while I sat, and cut and pasted, opportunities I wasted,
that in the past, came so easily to me,
now vacation in another clime,
they have sublimed,
like ice, once upon the moon,
or maybe, somewhere there on Mars,
glass flowers, crystalline they bloom.
I fear I find, my life I’ve stored in cookie jars,
with lids sealed tight, so no goblin might,
creep in, in the deep of night, and scare me.
I fear, that I will find them waiting there,
in that cold dark place, of Doré's, Dante’s hell below,
where Satan’s frozen head to toe, and like him,
three faces I also; there my soul does fear to go;
no other place, do I deserve, for there’s no mercy in this world,
just justice blind, of mercy shorn
ere forgiveness can be born, in this weary world forlorn.
Still, Hell I think I will escape, for it is only for the great,
and I have ever been afraid to commit a single crime,
yet still I fear, when each time the night draws near,
so at her alter, coax a flame, and pray for me, in her name,
for to church I will not go, the thought of God, it scares me so.
Most of all, I find I fear,
that you will catch me unaware;
thus giving me a scare, and make me look,
at least it says so in my book,
even more ridiculous than I am.
Balding, going gray, still in jams,
I think I’ve maybe lost my way,
standing here, in the middle of the day,
without a clue, knowing not what I should do,
in this, the post-middle of my little life.
Did you ever hear me say,
that I once misplaced my wife?
I fear I find I have again digressed,
humbly again I do confess, for I see
you’re looking vexed at me.
You see, you see? I am a mess,
of complexes more, than that of Oedipus.
I fear, that I’ll look foolish with you here,
here to see and look at me, in my foolish frippery,
what a foolish thing to see, still more so a fool to be.
Yet fools are wise, so I can only claim,
fool in attire, but not in name.
Should that taste sweet or bittern-ly,
as it comes thus from the sea, the salty sea,
where mermaids no longer sing to me,
for romance is dead and gone,
with Shelly, Keats, and Byron,
Samuel and friend William,
we’d all meet there with Kublai Khan,
in Xanadu for tea and bittern crumb,
and cold hard ashes from beyond,
on the shores of that sunless sea,
with fertile ground, girdled well and all around.
Yet romance is all gone, or so they say,
those ones who say, that war did take it all away,
and no longer comes the Faerie Fey.
For with strict objectivity,
cloaked in rationality,
Modern men did do the deed.
Titania and Lord Oberon
they put them underground,
and from the Fey, hear not a sound,
so we can live in peace and quiet,
sleeping soundly through the night.
Like little children, they clap their hands, and say,
“See, we’ve conquered all the beasts”,
but surely it’s their shame,
that will always be untamed!
I find I fear, that you will run away,
and desert me on that day,
that day I would have met my friends,
there beyond the vale, with their visage drawn and pale,
those poets five, yet reduction, has them reduced,
and parsed and pared them all away.
With no friends, I find my life, near to end,
and in its turn will duly end, significant to me alone.
Or as these modern men do say,
there’s nothing at the end of day,
you simply fade and go away.
For they will never sound retreat,
until Munchausen’s all, great or small,
are worm-turned sod beneath.
Soon, I’ll too be walking there,
without my friends to bring me cheer,
as I pass to there from here,
and trespass, through deaths’ dark land.
Yes, I find, that I do fear, that my end is almost here,
just as I have thought it was, for many, many, years.
©2010 ~Erthona
