Category: fantasy

Past Prime Ministers (day 690)

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I name off the past Prime Ministers of Canada
As I vigorously make love to you in the night
This helps me accept the fact that
I’ll be slipping with my consciousness soon
Lapsing into a nether region where
Hawks and eagles walk among men
Tipping their hats in respect for animals while
Dining on fine wine and inhaling Cuban cigars

It’s not that I don’t enjoy our time together
Or that my nether regions don’t explode with furious passion
In the presence of your captivating demeanor
Sensuous curves and inviting aroma
I quite like it actually, appealing to all my senses
I just like to dream of Fantasia
Land so vividly different to familiar Earth
A dreamscape of my own devices
Rhythmically naming the past Prime Ministers
And rattling the headboard of your mothers bed chamber

If There Was No War (day 685)

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If there was no war
Lions and cheetahs as friends
And if there was no war
Chimpanzees would sure be free
If there was no war
My happy feet’d take me to thee
‘Cause I’ve got love baby
Love enough for you and me

Can you image life without a wall
No distraught to make it tall
Or foes to climb at all
It’d sure be a funny thing
Calling what mine mine
When the whole world was shared
Yours and mine together you see
Friends at last we’d always be

If there was no war
No holes would mark and scar the land
And if there was no war
No poppy would be remembering for
If there was no war
My happy feet’d take me to thee
‘Cause I’ve got love baby
Love enough for you and me

Now if there was no war
No war to pick our pockets for
And if there was no war
No war for few to fight the many
If there was no war
My dog would open up the door
Welcome in the buffalo
Roaming wild and free
A sea of peace for you and me

Captain Charles A. Bigoff (day 664)

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Captain Charles A. Bigoff
Of the 98th Battalion
Secret commando troupe
Special Ops for behind enemy lines
Reporting for duty Sir

Reconnaissance yesterday
Went as planned
We swooped in on the target
at 2235 Blackberry Lane
Bird feeder was located
Nearby vicinity was swept
No enemy squirrels
None were found
However, we did find tracks
That led into the forest
Which we followed
To the den of the suspect
We found the fox Sir
Two pups and the mother
The bombers took two passes
Dropping the heavy boys
We believe the threat
Has been neutralized Sir
The area is clear for landing

Excellent job Captain
You are dismissed

aBluejayCaptain Charles can be purchased here.

Deep Crimson Baskets (day 658)

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Shallow pools of unspoilt water
Sit below a Betty Crocker window
With hanging deep crimson baskets
That fill the air
With freshly baked flowered Mondays
Spreading out is the pony picket fence
That shines White House Tuesday
Separating the gumshoe green grass
From the oilskin decay
Of the Red Riding Hood forest
Sporting Wednesday’s haircut
Half-way there
Here’s where the country house patio
Holds the dad’s weekend project picnic table
Thursday’s moldy sandwiches
Crawls into cracks upon the Indian paintbrush deck
Where Friday morning dew drops
Freshens up the green spots
Under the Saturday afternoon oak
That tickle the fresh from shower toes
Wiggling for joy amongst the John Deer grass
Where taste tests start
Out of the Sunday brunch basket
Two drive-in lovers packed
For their dollar store romance
Fresh in from the Marilyn Monroe raindrops
Settling the shallow pools of water waiting
Under the Betty Crocker window

A Free Soldier (day 654)

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A lost soldier makes his way home
Elsewhere, grenades go off in combat
Where trenches are dug deep into earth
Casually the soldier wanders home
Through orchards full of fresh fruit
Through rolling country hills
And friendly strangers minding
Their own important business
Along double track dirt roads
Fields of flowers for napping carelessly
And picking, one hangs loose about his shirt pocket
Heavy combat coat flung freely about his shoulder
Fresh cut grass sends over the valley
A smell so potent and refreshing
Even the young birds come stay for a visit
Enjoying the new horizons created
By the arching suns daily pattern
Carrying it’s essence onward
Into the mind of the young soldier
Making his way home away from battle
In peace so strong a hand from nowhere reaches out
And assures him that all will be right
And walks him onward, into the light

Inside of There (day 643)

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I see wizards
Mingling
With hazardous potions
I see angels
Screaming
To mindless pebbles
And rustling up darkness
Digging deep down inside
Like leather bound bikers
Full of anger
Peddling motionless
Save small nods of the head

I see guard dogs
Chained
To harvesting trees
I see trimmed hedges
Floating
Like lingering strangers
Passing through the darkness
That creeps along
The side of the house
Trampling
Brightly coloured daisies

I see chains
Swinging
Back and forth and stairs
I see widows
Standing in the doorway
Holding a straw broom
Blue and white checkered apron
And a tight bun
Holding in gray
And many years of
Deep isolation

Run Like Thee (day 641)

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Listen locked up troubadour
I’ve had just about enough from you
Flat tones with hardly any decibel
What part of the unwritten story
Didn’t you read?
Weren’t you just a little bit stunned
When the little Draculas
Began roaming these cliffs
On the cold nights
The windy nights
Where out in the distances
Witches are heard
Cooking up their recipe
Madness with glee
Forever is the preciousness
Longing is the game
Put forth a valiant effort
And you shall not run like thee
You see
Troubadours and lab technicians
All united; a singular cause
Pulled into the parking lot
Brushed away the wild sea
Battled the neckerswaps
And unscrewed the top
Crossed the great yellow barrier
By walking in through that door
The market was ahead of them
It awaited there lovely wallets
Where they stared in all it’s preciousness
In glitter and in shine
And you shall not run like thee
You see
Pulling away from the parking lots
Mad hatters and tea sets
Blinded by ammunition
The Troubadour and his silent friend
Set out for sea
Bleeding through darkness
Into night
Peddling for fire starter
Drinking whiskey for the cold
Laughing at all glorious things
As wheels of giant steel spun
You shall not run like thee
You see
Past moons and past reefs
The cold sea lay in splashing
Madness settled over mortals
Hell welcomed in
Demons and rat infested decks
Lay crawling amongst eyes of stranded
Bitterly washing away stains
Laid down by the blood of another man
Coveting distant targets
Booty unheard of, unfound
And you shall not run like thee
You see
Reaching the distant lands
With the devil at their backs
Reeling from sheer horror
Exotic bazaars and neon lights
Collector man watched his pray
As the Troubadour and his friends
Circled the shore
Marching two by two
Their prize lay in the hands of a king
Bloodshed played over widowers
Death lay the victim asleep
Washed over with a thin black veil
With a light shower of diamonds
The King was laid below
And you shall not run like thee
For thee has run too long
Over distant mountain tops
Into far off valleys
Soaring across blue skies
Crumbling foreign castles to their demise
Fair haired spoils
Fruits of hard labour
You see
You shall not run like thee
Black masks and pony tales
Sidekicks and sport goggles
Ripped jeans and too good hats
Curly hair and bending knees
Diamonds in these eyes you see
It is over for you thin man
I see you standing there
Troubadour in your madness
You shall not run like thee

Bicycle (day 639)

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Your marvelous wheels
That catch a shining glare
Turn all the girls heads
When we roll on by
Summer golden locks
With pink crop tops
Big eyed shades
It’s gelato time
And racing through parks
Jacket flowing wide
Wind in my hair
Big smile on my eyes
Freedom!
Freedom at last!
As we curl past the final gazebo
Home stretch in front
We’ll stop just in time

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Shippin’ Off Blues (day 638)

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Blues running through my veins like a thousand year old steam train
Shufflin’ with rhythm unprecedented, unfounded, and glorious
Hustlin’ with mood set out for bad-ass gangsters fixing for the night

I’m gone baby, I’m ready for the big show
I’ve been shining these here two toned, Italian made leathers far too long
I’m shipping off in the next thing that moves
Towards better days with freedom I call home

Fixating on darker things of the night
Little noises
Smoke wafting up fedora covered heads
Huddled around the exclusive club
Ladies with silk dresses courtin’ slips
Not of tongues, but of long slender lines that draw up the side of a beautiful woman’s leg
Moonshine whiskey in small parlour glasses that clink with each sip from thawing rocks

Baby, I’ve got the blues tonight
Steady glow from jukebox blues
Ol’ wooden chairs that drag on hardwood floors
Pompadours for men with long chains scraping round the ground
Bouffants on pretty ladies with elbow length satin gloves
Sittin’ ‘mongst the men, leanin’ on tables and chairs
And Lady Theodore, the spectacle of my amazement
The light of the establishment
Glory and style and beauty encapsulated

I’m hustlin’ tonight baby
I’m ready for the big show
I’m shippin’ off ‘n the next thing that moves

Earth as We Know It (day 636)

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Apocalyptic desires spread across the landscape into horizons of jubilant joy, needlessly wandering about the edges in a vignetted blur of reason and sacrifice.

All that was known then suddenly became lost, like the vision from the eyes when consciousness is shifted into the willing arms of a sideways glance, a flicker at the edges of a landscape.

Energy begins to build with anticipation and excitement; roaming birds know this feeling well, they make love to the feeling on sunny days when warm winds blow fresh scents of motherly creations of earth upon their nest.

Laying absentmindedness at the door, whipper-whisps swap the mind to the present, dust floats up from the awoken floorboards hitting sunlight that delights lovers, playing with time and space it’s exchange grows with anticipation into one final exultant gasp and releases such a tremor the rest fall into a deep dark sleep.

Deep within runs wild, from all except the grumpy gnome, the soldier of harbouring resentment, who scowls at all life and pushes away forthcoming joys to create for himself the place he never wished he had.

Alongside this dwelling of darkness runs a brook wild, over mossy rocks, through gnarled trees, past covered bridges, and out into the pussy willows and lily pads.

Taking away with it, from upstream down to the lowlands, all hate, love, magic, potions, desires, misspent emotions, and dying flowers into a new season of germination where new things shall sprout and grow with playful arches of sun that float onwards and away as the magical fruits of earth we know.