the accidental elephant

A sword's soliloquy

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Sat, 13 Jan 2007 10:45:00 +0000

He rubs his stone across me,
gives me a keen edge,
gives me shine, some glamour,
magic, sharpens up his pledge

to use me just for justice
for the fight for the poor,
to use me in the forests, plains,
against the brigands on the moor

who fight for little reason,
well, maybe money to survive
hard winters, roaring winters,
snowflakes forming to a hive

of vicious hornets biting
those brigands like my steel,
they grow weaker with the winter,
sword or snow their only deal.

He rubs his stone across me.
I will be used for Right.
He chooses victims wisely.
I act through his Might.

Sunset tree

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Sun, 10 Dec 2006 11:27:00 +0000

The tree's on fire
burnt to charcoal
black and crumbling
sunset tree.

The tree's all black
behind it fire
blaze all the clouds
sunset tree.

The tree's leafless
bare branch on show
with fire between
sunset tree.

Sunset tree
sunset tree
take the fire
and simply
blow it out

fan it off
sunset sky
will darken.

The Spider

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Sun, 29 Oct 2006 09:06:00 +0000

Spider, Spider hanging right
in the centre of the night,
what empty hand and empty brain
keeps your web whole in the rain?

Who spun your web you spin all day
to catch the world that flies away
on wings that never want to land?
Who spun your web by loom and hand?

Who cupped your silk, made your spinner,
urged the threads now thinner, thinner?
Who made your patterns, web-like, growing
spiral-wise with genius showing?

You did, Spider, no-one else
formed your spider-silken pulse.
You grew yourself out from the silk
passed down the years like mother’s milk.

You planned designs, perfected them
as faultless as a faultless gem –
hanging dewdrops in the sunrise
dazzle all onlookers’ eyes.

Spider, Spider hanging right
in the centre of the night,
no empty hand and empty brain
keeps your web whole in the rain!

Duck in rain

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Sat, 21 Oct 2006 11:23:00 +0000

Water above me,
water below me
water around me,
what should I do?
Swim to the bottom,
fly to the rain,
paddle again
‘til the rain’s rained right through
and left an empty sky
with empty bucket above?
Much easier for
the sparrow or dove –
they can hide in a tree
‘til the rain’s pattered down.
I’ve the bad luck to not need
just the air or the ground.
Water above me,
water below me,
water swishing all around me.
What to do, what to do…?

.

All together

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Fri, 29 Sep 2006 17:45:00 +0000

When one is there and one is added
two is the product of this addition
when two are there and one is added
three are standing in the station

when three are there and one is added
four are ready for their mission
when four are there and one is added
five are alive to the situation

when two are there and two are added
four are there like corners of a square
when two are there and three are added
five are the number now present there

when three are there and three are added
six results from this computation
when three are there and four are added
seven exist for your information!

when four are there and four are added
eight is the outcome of the assignment
when four are there and five are added
nine now stand in precise alignment

when five are there and five are added
what you get from this is exactly ten
five fingers plus five fingers make ten fingers
five toes plus five toes make ten toes

five fingers plus five fingers
plus five toes plus five toes
are equal to ten plus ten and
all together they equal twenty

"The big world" [a frog song]

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Fri, 01 Sep 2006 17:20:00 +0000

The big world gleamed and glimmered
and I was just a frog!
New York and London shimmered
none knew my bog!
we frogs are happy fellows
obscurity is our fame
as autumn's evening mellows
the flies remain

The big world trilled and sang
a trifling frog was I!
Paris and Petersburg rang
for envy sigh?
we frogs are happy creatures
and bogs are our delight
this field shows all the features
of autumn's light

The big world beamed and flittered
I was a frog forsooth!
Mumbai and Rio glittered
I'd spent my youth!
we frogs are plesant peasants
and bogs suffice our need
the thrill of autumn's presence
we love to heed

Shopping

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Tue, 09 May 2006 17:06:00 +0000

(a "number-dabbling" poem)

(one two) when I (three four) went
to (five six) the corner (seven)
market (eight nine) every cent
(ten) bought me one thing (eleven)

what was that (twelve) that I bought?
(thirteen fourteen fifteen) ought

(sixteen) I reveal to you
what I (seventeen) purchased hmmm?
okay (eighteen) honeydew
(nineteen) melon (twenty) mmmm!

[This poem is a little "recitation exercise." It can be recited by two people: one saying the numbers, the other telling the story. If it's done that way, they both try to keep the rythm of the lines going as if it were one person speaking both parts. Even better than two people, is if it is two groups of people -- one group for each part, of course. They can also devise hand gestures that go with the recittation. For example, the numbers people can do very vertical gestures, while the storytelling people can do storytelling gestures -- going leftwards or rightwards and at all kinds of angles too! If there is a large enough group, the numbers reciters can divide into two sections: one for even numbers, the other for odd numbers. I this case, the even numbers can do horizontal gestures, and the odd people can do vertical gestures, and the storytelling people can do all kinds of gestures, but especially angles, and maybe even some circles. Then, after they hvae recited it with all these gestures, they can recite it again with NO gestures -- and speaking intensely but very quietly. Then, the numbers people can whisper the parts while the storytelling people speak rather strongly and grandly. (But they have to be able to listen to the hushed tones of the numbers people in the silent parts when they are not speaking. A final phase is when the numbers are not spoken. Instead, the numbers people CLAP their hands to represent the numbers. Another phase, even after that, is when the storytelling people only clap (one clap for each syllable) instead of saying any words. Finally, the numbers people can use other syllables -- like "oooo" or "oohhh" or "mmmm" instead of clapping, and the story people can say the words of the story, but in a quiet -- but intense -- tone of voice.)]

"The green-life" [a frog song]

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Mon, 10 Apr 2006 20:28:00 +0000

the frog-life
with its bog-life
is alright!
the green-life
with its keen-life
is superb!
the bugs would never dare
a frog to bite!
mosquitos fancy froggies?
too absurd!
we go about our way
befilled with song
our views are stark
some say
our feelings strong

the frog-life with its bog-life is delightful
the green life with its keen life is amazing
the bugs would never think to take a biteful
thus unmolested we keep busy praising
we go about our way our songs extend
so long as time flows round the river bend

original photo source: Red-Eyed Tree Frog

"to tell you all about it" [a frog song]

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Sat, 01 Apr 2006 09:20:00 +0000

O green am I! O glad am I
to tell you all about it!
quite keen am I most mad am I
the livelong day I shout it!
exact am I! no platitude
to tell you all about it!
intact am I with attitude
the livelong day I shout it!

how wise am I! so clear am I
to tell you all about it!
the lives all die where fear have I
the livelong day I shout it!
alive am I! & deep am I
to tell you all about it!
a'thriving? aye! with weeping eye
the livelong day I shout it!

extreme am I! but circumspect
to tell you all about it!
in dream am I I recollect
the livelong day I shout it!
so sad am I! how glad am I
to tell you all about it!
on pad am I gone mad am I
the livelong day I shout it!

(image modified by d.r.i.) / orig. photo thanks to Red-Eyed Tree Frog

"When spring returns" [a frog song]

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Wed, 15 Mar 2006 03:50:00 +0000

When spring returns
and the freshets flow
wonderfully!
my singing burns
and my carols grow
wonderfully!

When spring returns
and freshets run
eagerly!
my singing churns
and my lay is spun
eagerly!

When spring returns
and the freshets zoom
mightily!
my singing yearns
and my psalming blooms
mightily!

When spring returns
and the freshets sprint
crazily!
my singing learns
how the song can glint
crazily!

When spring returns
and the freshets jog
dashingly!
my crooning turns
like a hurtling log
dashingly!

When spring returns
and the freshets call
enchantingly!
my heart discerns
how the woods enthrall
enchantingly!

When spring returns
and the freshets sing
boistrously!
my soul returns
from its wandering
boistrously!

[image source: tropical-frog]

"More than blue" [frog song I]

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Sat, 25 Feb 2006 10:10:00 +0000

The moon was more than blue
the sky was more than dark
my heart was very true
the pool was still

I felt the residue
of ancient songs: their mark
reminded me of you
it always will

the moon was more than blue
the sky was more than deep
my heart was very true
the pool was full

the song I sing for you
is like a mountain steep
I scale it for the view
of midnight's chill

The Frog Literatus

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Sat, 25 Feb 2006 05:03:00 +0000

(i)

"Fundamentally, I am a frog," remarked the frog (who also typed those words).

"My fiction and poetry both reflect this fact," the frog added, by way of elaboration.

"As for non-fiction, I address some range of subjects, it's true," the frog allowed. "Still and all, froginess oftentimes comes to the fore. Even when ranging afar, a frog's-eye-view indubitably influences the subtext. Frogs, you know," the frog added, "have never developed a unique socio-economic philosophy. But in matters of esthetics (especially poetics and musical theatre), our contribution is well-known." The frog was perhaps thinking of his species' high fortune and celebrity in Indonesia and certain other out-of-the-way cultures. The relative neglect frogs suffered from humankind's characteristic general disregard, was an injustice (or at least a shortsightedness) the frog had long since come to accept (for frogs are famously happy-go-lucky fellows).

(ii)

The frog, at any rate, having written so many words on his archaic manual typewriter (he was not fitted out with electricity in most seasons), felt satisfied for having usefully filled the better part of a lily-pad-page. He liked the sense of eloquence a filled-out lily-pad tangibly bespoke.

Up beside a certain fir tree (not so far from the riverbank), the frog had stacked a careful collection of his writings. This lily-pad, too, he added to the pile.

(iii)

It was late on a Friday night. The frog felt the urge to croak.

The stream was flowing nicely. Probably it was raining, somewhere upstream? The image of rain never failed to move the frog. He sang first a dirge, then a ditty, then finally a lengthy saga, reflecting on the feelings frogs harbor for rainwater.

Yes the stream was flowing nicely. Certainly rain somewhere upstream! The waning crescent of a moon finally appeared over the eastern horizon. The frog knew several lunar tunes as well, and began to sing one.

note on illustrations: frog images borrowed, w/ thanks, from these respective sources (hereby acknowledged by means of hyperlink): frog #1, frog #2, and frog #3.

Solar System Songs - Venus

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Sun, 22 Jan 2006 19:22:00 +0000

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

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Sun, 22 Jan 2006 10:57:00 +0000

The Princess & Her Chapati Bird

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Sat, 21 Jan 2006 08:58:00 +0000

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"

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Tue, 17 Jan 2006 05:24:00 +0000

I would not like a griesbrei bowl
I'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

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Sat, 07 Jan 2006 22:44:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Mon, 02 Jan 2006 17:50:00 +0000

gr8! someone said
but did they have to shout it?
gr8! someone said
but what was gr8 about it?

gr! said the dog
8! said the cat
speaking of the mouse
but what was gr8 in that?
asked the ltl louse
with her ltl hat

typing in her blog
about her gr8 adventures
with the ltl dog

When new years came

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Mon, 02 Jan 2006 16:35:00 +0000

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!

Loch Na-Cuidigh

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Thu, 29 Dec 2005 19:23:00 +0000

My grandfather had on his mantlepiece
an old photograph tattered and muddy.
He said it showed the view that his father
could see as a child over Loch Na-Cuidigh.

And I asked him if he had ever seen it -
that boat and water at Loch Na-Cuidigh.
He stared blind out across the motorway
and said: "I don't think there's anybody

who's seen that same view for many a year.
No man, nor woman, nor living body
has set their sunlit eyes on the water
that rushes in and out of Loch Na-Cuidigh."

And he kept it clear, safe, above the fire.
And I keep it still, but have placed it higher.

Note: Cuidigh is said to rhyme with "muddy". It means secret/hidden or maybe help/assistance.

In the Neighbourhood

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Tue, 27 Dec 2005 23:31:00 +0000

Take a walk down
this street that I live in
and you will see all
my neighbours and friends
as well as the enemies
I’ve gone and forgiven
and the people I don’t know
who live at the far ends.

There’s Mr McKenzie
who wears a hat like a bowl
painted black and upended
to cover his head.
He pops into the shop
for six morning rolls,
a newspaper, some milk
and a trip back to bed.

And my mate Nathaniel
(it took me ages to learn
how to spell his name
even though I’ve never needed)
stays six doors down –
just leave my house and turn
to the left and walk straight
and it’s that way you’re headed.

On the corner, that’s Danny.
I hate him, he hates me.
We fought once at school
and he busted my lip.
I remember last year
when he was real clumsy
and I laughed when he fell
when raking in a skip.

And Auld Mrs O’Boyle
who invites us inside
to get a glass of ginger
if we go to the shops
and buy her her messages.
And I always get a ride
on the back of Nat’s bike
while my wee sister hops

on the pavement and sings
all her daft, wee songs.
Look, Jamesie and Rab
coming back from their work
and banging the lamppost
making big giant G-O-N-G-S
and shouting all the way
‘til it starts getting dark.

And that leaves Nat and me
and John, Kieran and Connor
and Liam and Kyle
and all of the rest
still playing out for a bit
(Kyle once found a tenner)
and then getting called home
by mum, who’s not impressed

by the time of night.
"What time do you call this?"
And I could just tell her
that we’ve been really good
and behaved and did nothing
but she wouldn’t believe us
so instead I’ll just tell her what
happened in the neighbourhood.

Some words/phrases you might not know

skip: one of these, for collecting rubbish in.
auld: old.
ginger: this means any sort of soft drink.
to go for messages: to go shopping.
tenner: a £10 note.

The Bicycle

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Sat, 24 Dec 2005 08:28:00 +0000

photo-credit: Anita Bora

Who parked the bike
beside the red wall?
it looks rather new
I wish I could ride it!

if this were my bike
I'd ride it each day
I'd park it right here
quite out of the way!

Who parked the bike
behind the red pole?
it looks rather nice
they sure didn't hide it!

if this were my bike
I'd ride it to school
I'd wave at the school-bus
like nobody's fool

Who parked the bike
beside the blue door?
it looks like it's loved
though no one's beside it

if this were my bike
I'd ride it real slow
& watch the world pass
in the sun's orange glow

Castle Gloom

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Thu, 22 Dec 2005 16:57:00 +0000

Castle Gloom
Castle Gloom
high up on the hill
what room
do you have
for friends?

Castle Gloom
Castle Gloom
I ask you still
as you wait
do you have
any room for friends?

Castle Gloom
Castle Gloom
I'll will ask until
one face appears
to show you have
some friends.

Castle Gloom
Castle Gloom
will you never fill
your roofless halls
and empty gardens
with friends?

Castle Gloom
Castle Gloom
I know you will spill
your gathered raindrops
on the surprised heads
of future friends.

.

Three camels

deemikay@gmail.com (deemikay) — Sun, 18 Dec 2005 10:41:00 +0000

Three camels walk, three camels walk
three camels walk beneath the sun
that baked the earth to fully cooked
as the day had begun.

Three camels ride, three camels ride,
three camels ride on the sand
in a line towards the horizon
of this empty land.

Three camels run, three camels run,
three camels gallop away
from the empty sky behind them
to the dark end of day.

Three camels sleep, three camels sleep
three camels sleep beneath the dark
star that floats like a sandstorm
and leaves no mark.

.

The Yard Museum

noreply@blogger.com (david raphael israel) — Wed, 14 Dec 2005 00:59:00 +0000

In the museum
called My Back Yard
leaves are exhibits
and stones too

the yard museum
never closes but
the yard museum
sometimes changes

in winter the
musem seems drab
the curator must
have gone to sleep!

in midst of spring
this musem has
quite a blockbuster
on its hands!

in spring some birds
appear at my museum
they're welcome as
a special bird exhibit

but sometimes
the winter museum
has its own very
rare occasions --

there's been snow
here everywhere
since yesterday!
what an exhibit!