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Monday, January 23, 2006 Solar System Songs - Venus  Hidden, sweeping over, unseen. No gap in-between the clouds to peek through to what it’s really like. And pointless anyway: where a day is only a lightening of cloud and slight weighting of the heat that beats upon the surface, what point is there in waiting around beneath acid clouds on burning feet? No grass or flowers on vicious Venus No happiness or calm, no strolls in the park, there are no parks or anywhere you’d want to call a park. But were you to land and walk you’d see red rock to horizon and clouds. No sun, no weather, no change at all. Night is like day except darker. Day is like Hell only hotter and calmer. And were you to raise your face for rain there’d be none, no rain at all. It evaporates long before it can fall. And there is almost nothing to see a few rocks and mountains, volcanoes – all dead and hot and dry – few craters, little wind, no sunrise. You cannot see the stars, cannot trace the hidden constellations in the sky. . 
Hurry-Up Charm 
The Princess & Her Chapati Bird  1. I think the time has come to tell the tale of a bird who flew beyond an ancient wishing well & nested in a tree a lovely bird was she they say her feathers all of green or blue her singing filled with charming play in tender melody 2. This wishing well were in the north & north she flew when spring returned she'd wintered in a distant south where life flows leisurely but with all wintery snows well gone from northern climes her soul discerned its need for travel once again to seek an olden tree 3. The tree stood near the wishing well (beyond the well as I have said) standing on its slope I tell a thing my eyes have seen! when such a bird in such a tree is perched & sings your ear is led through mysteries of melody her feathers gleaming green 4. There lived a princess dwelling near this wishing well she'd wander by of course in afternoon she'd hear a minstrelsy so keen one bird who'd travelled north again when spring arrived now caught her eye there in a little vernal glen gleaming blue & green  5. She said to me this princess did can you catch that bird for me? I wondered at what meaning slid into her thoughts & words did she desire the bird to be placed in a golden cage? did she consider how a bird when free can be the happiest bird? 6. Were I the guru of this girl? not I! I couldn't presumptuously instruct her on the moral world or emotional life in birds yet she were oft' a thoughtful lass betimes she brightly noticed me in silence caught quoth she alas don't keep from me your words! 7. Fair princess! I with caution spake (addressing one of royal birth is what could make a person quake for we of humble station) the bird you heed & love to view belongs to tree & sun & earth & proffers free her song to you with perfect intonation 8. This ancient well if I were she if I were such a bird as this would hark a trenchant wish from me well mark its implication O water! grant I dwell in sky this branch is all my happiness! I live to sing & love to fly for all of life's duration! 9. The Princess heeded well my words & pressed me not toward catching birds instead to sit she often came in quiet by the well here she'd read her myriad books in afternoons with friendly looks cast treeward now & then again time passed with naught to tell  10. The bird & she turned friends for years recalling this a tinge of tears invades my heart the bird she named "chapati bird" how strange! a silly name at first it seemed for none of us at first had dreamed she'd feed the wild thing once tamed chapati bird would change 11. A time arrived when trusting her chapati bird came following her back home in evenings just as her own dinner hour would come a serenade would sound from fruit trees all through dinner caroling her with southern songs whose mellow beauties framed the setting sun 12. Next autumn once again the bird flew south each year it proved the same each year when spring arrived she heard that princess her wee chum new southern melodies she'd bring & yet this spring no music came without chapati bird fair spring dropped like a voice struck dumb  CODA: the princess sighed & in gentlest whisper caroled a prayer for her blue-green sister concerning "griesbrei"  I would not like a griesbrei bowlI'd like it neither half nor whole I do not want it breakfast-time no matter how you chide or chime I will not take it for my lunch nor late in afternoon my hunch is even eve will never draw a bowl of griesbrei to my jaw  the gries of griesbrei is my bane perhaps I've made this matter plain? the brei is merely mush meseems I would not touch it in my dreams! let griesbrei grease nor bowl nor plate & may its mush ne'er mar my pate! although the stuff I won't consume... the word itself I will translate griesbrei = porridge (in German) With apologies to Dr. Seuss (and thanks to Indeterminacy). Redmond wore a yellow sack  Redmond wore a yellow sack back in the days when fireworks, Turks and lone Byzantines burst firstly, wholly in the sky trying up to ante them. Gems of light parading down, clowns of fire sparking out shouting for the silver sliver riverbank and wondrous day. "Say can you see," asked Redmond - headwound sparkling with each bang - "hangdogs, drowncats, electrified snide and libellous hamsterwheels? Fields and fields and fields of them. Come take my hand and grab that sack, tack that dress on top of mine, climb on me and let us run one mile and more on riverbanks. Thanks go to those who gave me feet. Meet us there, when life has gone, dawn has arrived and sunset fallen. Stolen by the end of days..." Amazed by this our Redmond chose clothes that suit this glorious sight: light and airy like the sun. Pun-infused with scent of dead wood Redmond chose his yellow sack. . a ltl natural history of gr8 gr8! someone said When new years came they got loud-drunk it seemed sad-strange one might have thunk they could've behaved in quite-quieter ways when matters so grave as the dying of days & the birthing of years were current? I'd claim the gleaming of tears when new years came  it's true they wept and then they slept I'm here awake and quite o'er-swept with wondering what a year can mean? I feel inept and scratch my bean a year twelve months fifty-two weeks? with three-hundred-sixty-five mountain peaks! |
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