A Jester's Travels (or, Make Of It What You Will Or Will Of It What You Make)
He or she who can name all the song titles listed within the following poem will receive a hefty gift of five dollars from me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I picked this purple turquoise flower
And smelled its sweet perfume,
But the old man with the ivory walking stick,
Told me that it was dead already,
Long before it had crossed my path.
I said to him “You are an old fool,”
And I reached so far into the center
Of the rare and beautiful flower
That I wore its long green stem like a sleeve
To warm my arm.
And out of it I pulled these rubber traits,
For only my part of the world
To see and to know and to cherish,
But what once was is now
The lost art of keeping a secret,
And the treasures I found there were soon dispelled.
Onward down the path
I danced a jig to the tune
In my disco science mind
Ignorant of the cracks I had made
In the fabric of the world’s knowledge,
Until a scarecrow with a spoon in his mouth
Turned on his wooden bar prison
And said to me “I turn my camera on.
Smile pretty and wide, for you shall see
These pictures I take shall set you free.”
I turned in my open freedom and said
To the silver spoon tongued hay stuff
“You are a brainless puppet,”
And I shook out my hands and feet
In mockery of his plight.
He then said “I hate to say I told you so,”
And a great flash blinded my eyelids red.
My limbs wobbled and I fell limp to the ground
As the darkness closed in around me
To the soft eerie sound
Of a sandpaper shuffle and chuckle.
I woke to find myself surrounded
By thousands of blindfolded dummies
With headphones drilled to their temples.
In a monotonous chorus of zombie anger
They cracked the headphone cords like whips
Lashing across my sore thumb back
Screaming again and again “Sell out!”
I knew not what they meant or what I had done
What they had heard or what I had not
But it seemed to me I had found myself
In an arco arena of misguidance
Where the powers that be had planted and sown
The seeds of despair and angst
In the hearts of their crowd of followers.
I turned to see upon a stone slab
My friend, Dario, chained down head to toe
As the big breasted nurse with a devil’s goatee
Read to him his last rights
And oh, such romantic rights they were
That echoed in that open chamber
Before the bull came charging out of its cage
With the fire from its eyes heating its nose ring
And a tail that waved a pirate’s flag.
Like a greedy fly, I took straight
To the foul odor of courageous retreat
And it was clear to me that the monster behind
Was somewhat let down
By the site of such a giraffe yellow spine.
Nevertheless I was caught
As my legs had not yet fully recovered
From the earlier shock of photo light
And the horns blew me away over the stadium walls
Like a cannon man fired high
And I flew under control for miles
Until I landed with a dull and heavy thud
On foreign terrain.
When I came to and raised my head
From the gravely grave below me
I saw before me a golden road
Stretching as if forever over hill and over plain
To somewhere I did not yet know how far away.
Beneath the blue grass shade of a tall tree
There sat a blonde haired brunette
In a purple turquoise dress
Oddly similar to the flower I had picked before.
Her name was Emily Kane
And as she stared at me with pearls
And eyes so fair and full of not
I looked up at her chosen dwelling spot and said
“My, what strange fruit hangs from way up there.”
She did not move or even blink
As she said to me “Do you know the old man
With the ivory walking stick?”
I did not respond and rather said
“I wonder how such fruit grows up so high,”
And she said to me so calm and cool
As the shade in which she bathed her skin
“Mind over matter, young lover.”
And with that she lifted up her dress
To reveal all the brilliant rays of the sun
Caught within its bowls
And as I am one of few,
The last of the famous international playboys,
I could not help but go towards the light.
So much later down the long winding path
The ever so fine and faded gold beneath my soles
Worn through to the bone hard skin
Of the Johnny Appleseed in me
I came across two more
Rare and beautiful flowers
So like the one I had seen before;
2 more dead, and I was yet on my way.
And the old man with the ivory stick
And the photo scrap scarecrow,
The headphone dummies
And the fine sunny legged lady
All called to me
And they said with enthusiasm
“Clap hands,”
And I did,
In rhythm with my laid back stubborn pace,
And I carried with me
More and more wondrous flowers,
Though they were all still dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Go for it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I picked this purple turquoise flower
And smelled its sweet perfume,
But the old man with the ivory walking stick,
Told me that it was dead already,
Long before it had crossed my path.
I said to him “You are an old fool,”
And I reached so far into the center
Of the rare and beautiful flower
That I wore its long green stem like a sleeve
To warm my arm.
And out of it I pulled these rubber traits,
For only my part of the world
To see and to know and to cherish,
But what once was is now
The lost art of keeping a secret,
And the treasures I found there were soon dispelled.
Onward down the path
I danced a jig to the tune
In my disco science mind
Ignorant of the cracks I had made
In the fabric of the world’s knowledge,
Until a scarecrow with a spoon in his mouth
Turned on his wooden bar prison
And said to me “I turn my camera on.
Smile pretty and wide, for you shall see
These pictures I take shall set you free.”
I turned in my open freedom and said
To the silver spoon tongued hay stuff
“You are a brainless puppet,”
And I shook out my hands and feet
In mockery of his plight.
He then said “I hate to say I told you so,”
And a great flash blinded my eyelids red.
My limbs wobbled and I fell limp to the ground
As the darkness closed in around me
To the soft eerie sound
Of a sandpaper shuffle and chuckle.
I woke to find myself surrounded
By thousands of blindfolded dummies
With headphones drilled to their temples.
In a monotonous chorus of zombie anger
They cracked the headphone cords like whips
Lashing across my sore thumb back
Screaming again and again “Sell out!”
I knew not what they meant or what I had done
What they had heard or what I had not
But it seemed to me I had found myself
In an arco arena of misguidance
Where the powers that be had planted and sown
The seeds of despair and angst
In the hearts of their crowd of followers.
I turned to see upon a stone slab
My friend, Dario, chained down head to toe
As the big breasted nurse with a devil’s goatee
Read to him his last rights
And oh, such romantic rights they were
That echoed in that open chamber
Before the bull came charging out of its cage
With the fire from its eyes heating its nose ring
And a tail that waved a pirate’s flag.
Like a greedy fly, I took straight
To the foul odor of courageous retreat
And it was clear to me that the monster behind
Was somewhat let down
By the site of such a giraffe yellow spine.
Nevertheless I was caught
As my legs had not yet fully recovered
From the earlier shock of photo light
And the horns blew me away over the stadium walls
Like a cannon man fired high
And I flew under control for miles
Until I landed with a dull and heavy thud
On foreign terrain.
When I came to and raised my head
From the gravely grave below me
I saw before me a golden road
Stretching as if forever over hill and over plain
To somewhere I did not yet know how far away.
Beneath the blue grass shade of a tall tree
There sat a blonde haired brunette
In a purple turquoise dress
Oddly similar to the flower I had picked before.
Her name was Emily Kane
And as she stared at me with pearls
And eyes so fair and full of not
I looked up at her chosen dwelling spot and said
“My, what strange fruit hangs from way up there.”
She did not move or even blink
As she said to me “Do you know the old man
With the ivory walking stick?”
I did not respond and rather said
“I wonder how such fruit grows up so high,”
And she said to me so calm and cool
As the shade in which she bathed her skin
“Mind over matter, young lover.”
And with that she lifted up her dress
To reveal all the brilliant rays of the sun
Caught within its bowls
And as I am one of few,
The last of the famous international playboys,
I could not help but go towards the light.
So much later down the long winding path
The ever so fine and faded gold beneath my soles
Worn through to the bone hard skin
Of the Johnny Appleseed in me
I came across two more
Rare and beautiful flowers
So like the one I had seen before;
2 more dead, and I was yet on my way.
And the old man with the ivory stick
And the photo scrap scarecrow,
The headphone dummies
And the fine sunny legged lady
All called to me
And they said with enthusiasm
“Clap hands,”
And I did,
In rhythm with my laid back stubborn pace,
And I carried with me
More and more wondrous flowers,
Though they were all still dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Go for it.