Postcards from the Edge

                        1 Byzantium

 

Woke, afloat, awkwardly discomfited

by the barking boil, red rage, bubbling

up from the depths of the low-cost class,

I’ve begun to wonder whether Stendhal

and the Christian anarchist will be enough --

should I have brought Taleb’s Black Swan along as well?

Though your advice of a good book, seemed sound,

I confess I’m at a loss as to what to expect.

Never having attempted an all-inclusive

of this sort, I’m a little reticent to plunge in

to this sea of ill-tranquility. Whatever their pleasures,

my ship mates hardly seem the type to enjoy  

discerning conversations over port of

‘When you are old and gray, and nodding by the fire …’

 

                        2 Mr. Prufrock

 

A lovely gentleman, baker by trade …

Though he could have been a banker …  

I’ve learned it’s best to remain vague,

never delve too deeply into the dark web

of what any particular who might do

for a living. Plausible deniability

is the unquestionable first rule of

this merry band of adventurers.

Mr. Prufrock, I’m told, has discovered

a diabolical cabal of underground trolls

intent on banishing gnomes from lawns

across our great nation. No matter

the conspiracy, every truth has to be respected,

kept free from the critical eye of disbelievers.

 

                        3 St. Anthony Expounds

 

Around midnight, you hear the strangest things.

Mourning dirges for fantastical mortals, saints

of an old-world order, suddenly being brought back

to life to shepherd the flock through the eye

of the needle. So long as one’s prepared,

of an open mind, and possessed of the right stuff,

the ticket to ride the great cannonball is assured.

My minder, sensing doubt, the wavering scent of

skepticism, sought to allay any backsliding thoughts  

by retelling his own humble conversion story.

A restless scion, in need of a simpler life,

‘I forsook the assigned road, their silk pajamas,

for the hair cloth of the poverty stricken …’

Shortly after dawn, his Lamborghini finally arrived.

 

                        4 Suntanning in Marrakech  

 

The blue-eyed touta couldn’t speak English,

but after twenty minutes she managed to point

in the general direction, to where we were headed …

Only later, after we’d discovered, we had come

too far inland in search of the sea, would I

comprehend her confusion. Yes, crazy fools!

When I thought of returning, the idea

of an explanation struck me as nonsensical

as the need for clarification … ‘No,

we only live in igloos during the warmer months!’

Sometimes, it’s best to leave the sleeping

stereotypes of ignorant foreigners lying in the sun.

We’d given her a story to tell, something to amuse

her sibts, whenever she wished to explain ‘Crazy!’

Ken e Bujold

Reviews

[Ken Simm.]

In Xanadu Kubla Ken
A stately pleasure poem did erect.
And I like surrealism.

[W. Barrett Munn]

2 then 4 are my favorites.