Abstract Children Comedy
(I)On the wall of a Spanish inn,
lizards crawl in the sultry heat.
The fluting tones of the mandolin;
The strumming notes of the guitar
Snakes above the friendly lunch-time din.
(II)The diners chat happy, fork tines
and crockery merrily clink, and food beckons
over the heady scent of the choicest wines.
Then along comes a poet and frames an ode
to the lizards sporting in the ivy vines.
(III)Half a world away, obscured in the Infanta's solace;
In a kingdom known to (Oscar)Wilde alone,
In the royal garden of this unknown place,
The lizards skitter jolly on the side walks
and simply revel in rustic grace.
(IV)Lizards act alike with princess and fey:
and search for cracks wide and narrow
to sun themselves during the day;
They then come out at dusk and dawn,
To philosophize, then play.
(V)Yet lizards look at me with rather suspect,
because in my house, I am so sorry;
they are treated with ample disrespect,
Lizards are tossed of the balcony
and then meet an unpleasant prospect.
(I am afraid, the cats think lizards are good dinner)
(VI)I Read of them in Wilde's tome,
Flicking their tawny tails,
Gliding on a sun-kissed lawn,
In my house lizards are tardy, but when
menaced? A blink, and they are gone.
(VII)I don't get it, lizards, so ugly and scaly,
and even when we hate them so:
how come do they always remain so gaily?
They do not seem to be a tad bothered,
despite being cursed and bashed daily.
(VIII)Lizards with their shiny cream backs
And beady black eyes; They
share with me my shelves and racks
So looks like I must try to come in peace...
..."Eww gross! There is lizard c**p on my table!
Somebody please clean this up!?" ...
My own exclamation on lizard droppings punctuate my poetry. So sorry.
Ill-fated home in the
depths of the great blue brine,
Ill-fated man, thy born astride
a funeral shrine.
Or in the lake below,
with the heavens above,
Death is the last gate out to reside
in the arms of a forbidden love.
Or for a tiller of the dry land,
a frosted farmer with no home left,
Death becomes a quick escape to the land,
where one hopes, the eternal slept.
Godless, forsaken and broken
Wings clipped and impaired
To fly to the happy home,
when truth of life is bared.
Meager human life is yours
No time to live after birth,
Walk, run towards the end
All embracing death.
Death there is, as it was
Life seems to be a universal fraud
You work, you starve, maybe attend conclave
Yet final result, you are dead.
So what is the point in getting a grade point 10 or even topping the class? Are we not quite missing THE point of living?