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Creek Running North
February 26, 2005
The queen of raccoons and drunken birds
The first line of the poem below was a friend's ironic self-description in a discussion on a BBS some years back.
(A BBS, children, is what your parents used to chat on before there was AOL.)
Anyway, there was something in the rhythm of the sentence jean used as a sign-off to that long-ago BBS post, and a poem fairly wrote itself upon that line with a minimum of effort on my part, it seemed.
I just found it again, and decided it needed a little air after being stuck in a folder on various hard drives all these years.
The queen of raccoons and drunken birds, reigning in fig heaven
looks down upon her minions with an almost-hidden grin
and with but a subtle wave of her contorted ficus scepter
she bades the night's festivities begin.
Having waved her crooked figwood staff, she sets it on the ground
where it roots and sends up shoots as her masked subjects gather 'round
and the common noise of coondom stills: there's nothing but the sound
of intoxicated warblers warbling drunk.
The queen of raccoons and drunken birds wears a chain of seven
braided dried kadota branches in a garland 'neath her chin
it is futile to resist her pow'r, you may as well accept her
ministrations in this world of figgy sin.
As her staff keeps growing skyward 'neath the crowd of sotted birds
And the raccoons chant it upward with a drone of raccoon words
each new branch sprouts leaves in seconds and abundant fruit in thirds.
She stands and puts her palm flat on the trunk.
The queen of raccoons and drunken birds really doesn't even
move the porcelain and silk brocade she uses as a skin
she reaches through the drying bark as fluid as a specter
and pulls from the trunk her scepter once again.
And the coons climb through the branches like a swarm of furry bees
and the birds eat figs fermented until each one double sees
and no matter your entreaties and forget about your pleas
if she looks upon you smiling, pal, you're sunk.
Posted by Chris Clarke at February 26, 2005 06:35 PM
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aw. hey, thanks, chris. seems like we were all drunk on words, back in the day. and yours were always fairly high-proof.
Won't someone PLEASE think of the Bacchanalian children?Posted by: Chris Clarke at February 28, 2005 12:42 PM