01-18-2024, 01:28 AM
This really more prose than poem, but it's how I wrote it, so.....I'm under the gun here, the dog hasn't had a visit to the dogpark in three days and he's more than a little insistent that I stop this foolishness.
I’ve carried many a monkey
on my back
but never a monkey’s basket.
I feel like a servant
but I carry it to my hovel
and let the dog sniff it.
His nose spurns the bags,
indifferent. He is my Don Juan,
so I’m reassured: no bad magic
in these bags, so I shut my eyes
and gently lift one out of the basket.
I untie it and reach in …….
I’m dancing with Dionysius
or is it Elvis? Hard to say.
I fling the bag away.
I grab another. This is fun.
But it’s not so delightful
as my partner now is Joseph Goebbels
and his limp makes him furious,
so I toss that one in an instant.
I guess it’s dance roulette
something you’d expect from a monkey.
But I’m old, I’m bored,
I grab another bag, and Circe takes the floor.
She looks like Elizabeth Taylor,
beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography*,
and soon I’m enmeshed in her flesh
and I hold on to her like grim death.
But like all drugs, the experience slowly fades.
At my age, I don’t think I can hope
for better than that. I stare at the bags.
What’s one more? You don’t live forever!
It was Zen Master Joshu
and he took the bag from my hand
and replaced it with a sprig
of mountain laurel blooms.
Now I dance without moving
in the fragrance of the flowers.
Smart monkey.
_______________________
*quote from Richard Burton's diaries
As to another three characters, well, take your pick: Marquis de Sade, Lenin, innumerable lost loves.....I didn't like, plan this out. Just waited for the voice in my head.
I’ve carried many a monkey
on my back
but never a monkey’s basket.
I feel like a servant
but I carry it to my hovel
and let the dog sniff it.
His nose spurns the bags,
indifferent. He is my Don Juan,
so I’m reassured: no bad magic
in these bags, so I shut my eyes
and gently lift one out of the basket.
I untie it and reach in …….
I’m dancing with Dionysius
or is it Elvis? Hard to say.
I fling the bag away.
I grab another. This is fun.
But it’s not so delightful
as my partner now is Joseph Goebbels
and his limp makes him furious,
so I toss that one in an instant.
I guess it’s dance roulette
something you’d expect from a monkey.
But I’m old, I’m bored,
I grab another bag, and Circe takes the floor.
She looks like Elizabeth Taylor,
beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography*,
and soon I’m enmeshed in her flesh
and I hold on to her like grim death.
But like all drugs, the experience slowly fades.
At my age, I don’t think I can hope
for better than that. I stare at the bags.
What’s one more? You don’t live forever!
It was Zen Master Joshu
and he took the bag from my hand
and replaced it with a sprig
of mountain laurel blooms.
Now I dance without moving
in the fragrance of the flowers.
Smart monkey.
_______________________
*quote from Richard Burton's diaries
As to another three characters, well, take your pick: Marquis de Sade, Lenin, innumerable lost loves.....I didn't like, plan this out. Just waited for the voice in my head.