The Saint Louis Atheists have started to follow me on Bluesky (which pleases me to no end).
Their quote is: “If you wish to make apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe” ~Carl Sagan
Which pleases me even more.
Of course, I follow back.
One chore I have
As Lighthouse Keeper
On Partridge Island,
Is to count the ships
As they come
And as they go.
They signal me with their bells,
And some, with their new-fangled horns.
It was one of those blasts
That took me down to the dock.
And, indeed,
A ship was leaving for sea.
But first,
(Much to my surprise)
It let off
Sister Darling of
The Rarefied Church Of The World (reformed)
” It’s Saint Walpurga’s Eve”, said she.
“What?” asked I.
“Don’t be an oaf.”
She hit me on the shoulder.
“Grab the cat.”
She heads along the shore.
I scoop up
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as the Furies
With one white mitten.
And away we follow.
Sister Darling scoots along the
Narrow path beside the water.
And comes to a stop,
Looking far out to sea.
“Start praying!”
Which I do, for after a
Bout of fervent prayer,
Sister Darling wants fervent relief.
She speaks and sputters about
Ghosts, and opening veils, and
Blessed Saint Walpurga, opening
Doors to God.
Blessed Be! say I
Paw and me, we exchange
A certain glance
Knowing we both
Will feast tonight.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA.UEL
My book of short stories, The Elephant Talks to God, consists of many conversations that an Elephant has with God. In one of the stories, he breaks out into {his version of} poetry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The monkeys, in the trees,
Cause a breeze, when they sneeze.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I nudged the boulder with my shoulder.
It was older, and much colder.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is a stone, which has grown
In a zone, all alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is a thrill, to have free will,
That is until, others say `nil’.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That’s not my last, don’t be so fast,
My muse to cast, into the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rock of ages, dissolved in stages,
And proved the sages’, `noblesse obliges’.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s just a guess, I do confess,
That more is less, in the wilderness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
God – as God is wont to do – did have the last word.
Poems are made by fools like thee,
But only I can make a tree.
The elephant was contemplating his muse.
He was lying beside the river, trailing one of his big feet in the water.
He watched as the current rippled and sparkled past, and noted the occasional
leaping fish with bemusement.He looked across to the other shore with a sigh,
and then closed his eyes to more fully experience the race of the river against his toes.
After indulging himself in this manner for awhile, he flopped onto his back, so he could
look at the trees.
He traced their outline against the blue sky with his trunk, and followed
the curve of some branches overhanging the river with interest. He even smiled benignly as a family of monkeys clambered up one tree, leapt through the canopy of leaves, and
raced down another.
He suddenly slapped his forehead with his trunk, rolled over with such force that
he jostled a boulder with his flank, and began to emote.
“The monkeys, in the trees,
“Cause a breeze, when they sneeze.”
“Pardon me?” said the boulder.
“I nudged the boulder with my shoulder.
“It was older, and much colder.”
“Oh boy,” said God.
“I am a POET,” said the elephant.
“Oh boy, again,” said God.
“It is a stone, which has grown,
“In a zone, all alone.”
“Would that I were – alone, and away from the voices.”
“I’m expressing myself,” said the elephant.
“That is a statement of truth,” said God, “which does not contain the whole truth.”
“It is a thrill, to have free will,
“That is until, others say `nil’.”
“To be fair,” God stifled a chuckle. “You seem to have grasped the concept of
rhyme – although your reach sometimes exceeds it.”
“But that’s what heaven’s for,” pointed out the elephant.
“You’ll get,” said God, “no Browning points from me.”
“That’s not my last, don’t be so fast,
“My muse to cast, into the past.”
“You’ve heard about too much of a good thing?” asked the boulder, giving a nudge of its own.
“Yes,” said the elephant.
“Well – this isn’t it.”
“You don’t like the way I make the words dance?”
“I’d rather sit this one out.”
“In the misty morn, he sat forlorn;
“He wouldn’t adorn, the dance floor well-worn.”
“Oh boy,”said God.
“As you can see,” said the elephant. “I provide a lot of bon mot for each and
every occasion.”
“Such a threat is enough to make a boulder crumble,” said the boulder.
“The rock of ages, dissolved in stages,
“And proved the sages’, `noblesse obliges’.”
“Oy veh,” said God. “I’ve become a straight man for a stand-up elephant.”
“I could pack a hall,” said the elephant.
“You could pachyderm,” pointed out God.
“It’s just a guess, I do confess,
“That more is less, in the wilderness.”
“This could go on forever,” said God.
“You’re the expert there,” pointed out the elephant.
“Then I think I’ll repair to the forest,” said the boulder.
“He stood, in the wood,
“Where he could, do most good.”
The boulder rumbled with a voice which filled the jungle.
“Poems are made by fools like thee,
“But only I can make a tree.”
Sister Darling, of
The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),
Stepped onto the dock of
The Partridge Island Lighthouse
This Valentine Day morning,
From an outgoing fishing boat,
To spend the day (and night)
On behalf of my religious studies.
Provisions she brought, beyond
Usual Lighthouse Keeper fare,
Incl. chocolates and bottles o’ wine.
There were even finely cut
Fresh fish fillets for
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as soot
With one white mitten.
And when my religious instructions
Were done,
And before our festive feast,
We greeted each other with
Such enthusiasm,
That her hair-holding bun
Became undone,
And cascaded across her shoulders,
Giving Paw, the cat/kitten,
A place to hide.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
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