Poetry: April 06, 2012
WOODY: Did you ever play football Nate?
LATE NIGHT NATE, our resident night owl: Yes.
WOODY: What position?
LATE NIGHT NATE: I played hunchback for NOTRE DAME.
LATE NIGHT NATE, THE OWL: What's wrong Woody, my friend, can't you get any sleep?
WOODY, ZOOATHALON'S RESIDENT WOODPECKER (the OTHER Woody, not the registered one): I thought I saw a glimmer of hope, but it turned out to be just a firefly caught in a mosquito net!
NATE: Is that what's bothering you?
WOODY: No, I'm being kept awake thinking about the RENEGADE POLICE COW. Do you think he did it?
NATE: Did what?
WOODY: Caused 'the incident'.
NATE: The incident they should be looking into, is who had the dumb idea to turn cows into police officers in the first place. Who would think of something like that? Why not just keep the dogs?
WOODY: The dogs were ruining the town's image, the dogs had gone on strike, one thing lead to the next. Now dogs out, cows in.
NATE: Then why not us owls? We are pretty well known for our detective work.
WOODY: Yeah, but you got to admit that a Renegade Police Cow, on the 'lamb', sounds a lot funnier, you can get more jokes out of a cow on the run. And can't you just see them with those police hats and bullet proof vests? So do you think he did it or not?
NATE: Look, it was probably invented to sell more newspapers. Come to your senses man! Who ever heard of a police cow? That's 'UDDERLY' insane. Grab my other tit and milk it some more! Are we now that gullible that we are to believe that men have trained cows for police work? Horses of course, and if you have a horse, then of course, you know how coarse your horse is. But cows, I just don't see it, being trained for special forces.
WOODY: Yeah, but if he can control things with his mind, what if he can control my thoughts and dreams?
NATE: Then he must be controlling you now, because you sound like an idiot. Go to sleep.
WOODY (in a voice warbling and trembling as if overcome by an invasive spirit):
“MOOOOOOOOO! Here I am, talking to YOOOOOU!
Excuse my intrusion, this broadcast is not an illusion, and your confusion
is a secret kept. I walk through darkness with feet lit up by lamps,
when I want to be heard, I just turn up my amps, to sublimate the skeptic
in your mental stew. I push the envelope, YOU lick the stamps.
THE INCIDENT, were not my intent. I were simply the cow the government sent.
Notwithstanding, my mind goes blank, when things get too demanding, my brain gets cramped. Though I was the last cow standing.
And despite the report, I were NOT hell bent.
If nothing else, TEMPTATION helps to expand our idea of who we are.
The most accessible higher power we have access to is our common sense,
our star, which melts what it can abide. And stirs within what it must lament.
Indeed does every COIN have 2 SIDES, until it is time to spend it.
I saw your mother at the break of dawn, though I wouldn't recommend it.
AND TERRIBLE WAS HE WHO STEPPED
inside my dream world as I slept. That bumbling
steward who wept and paid his debt to time, while I fumbled
with worthy rhymes to take his mind away.
His caravan of comely maidens swept away my lidded eyes,
to one I told one day, boldly jerking back my stranglehold,
(for in breaking silence, I break the mold)
'You are my taciturn rose, I'd sweat on you like a garden hose,
I 'd like to see you wearing my clothes, though heaven knows,
I like the pose you now suppose, diaphanous gingerbread girl.
I'd like to see you bathe in waterfalls, that fall from the mountains' nose.'
And then I leapt, into a manual depth I now navigate, which by surprise no longer
eluded me. Annually, the fact of it included me, enunciated,
though I was deluded when out of my
slippers he crept and left me disconsolate,
and my blood on the rise.
Footprints in phosphorus, bacterium grows, well prized, atoned.
HAIL the infants for whom CUPID'S JAVELIN HURLS!
An oyster shell I kept stimulated, which measured its height by what it loves,
and its weight in precious stones and pearls.
I take off my gloves, and
I PAY MY TAX TO THE EARLS.
THE REST I LEAVE TO MY SWEETEST GIRLS
for their tenderness and their perils, and the tears already cried,
even the ones yet realized.
IF THEY SIT ON TOP OF THEIR FEELINGS,
THEY SIT ON TOP OF THE WORLD.
And the earth must spin!
I see them holding back a sigh,
as down their faces it slides and settles on their braces.
And what cannot be hidden well, finds comfort where the lace is.
Or anywhere the fabric bends to conceal a ransom's alibi.
('Sweetest' I said, not 'Swedish', though if the Swedish come,
bring their fetish, there is always fresh mayonnaise to slap upon
the lettuce!) Besides, I mustn't be defeatist.
And rooted in these feats, these sunken
heralds are gifts I accept. I collect them as treats.
YOU see them as bribes. I see them as tribute paid to the tribes.
Bring them in barrels!
As for the men, there are few enough Henry's
and far too many Harold's. My friends, ADAPT!
(face the facts or get your face slapped)
THE RENEGADE POLICE COW STRIKES AGAIN!
I WILL APPEAR TO YOU WHEN I AM BIGGER IN FINLAND.
Keep your attention rapt! And your third eye on the sparrow.
Remember; I CAN ALWAYS GET THE CHARGES DROPPED.
Straight are the gates whose straits are narrow and from its
roots, the trees gain comprehension, and wear bigger boots,
digging into the earth like marrow, rubbing caution into the breeze.
Both me and the butcher agree, (and the candlesticks not to mention)
THE LESS EVIL WE ARE, THE LESS EVIL WE SEE
(said the baker who kneads his dough while singing carols,
and humming fresh invention, while improvising joy
and memorizing sorrows).
So, from this closing whisper I extend to you;
IT IS NOT THE FOOD THAT KILLS, but the menu.
So don't let it send you.
Now be aware that I CONTROL YOUR MIND, and that in future
I may continue.
Don't ask; 'HOW?' Just know;
RENEGADE POLICE COW!”
…..and when WOODY and LATE NIGHT NATE awaken, they will have no memory of this.
They will recall nothing except for the mind controlled password, BIGGER IN FINLAND. The Renegade Police Cow strikes again. Welcome to ZOOATHALON!