Toad of Toad Hall: An Early July Evening’s Dream

July 5, 2020 at 10:40 pm (Humour, Literature, Poetry) (, , , , , )

Toad of Toad Hall was having a ball
but forgetting to send invitations to all
He spent the evening dancing by himself
And looking at all those bottles of booze on the shelf

“If I drank them all, I’d have quite the hangover
And wouldn’t be sober enough to spot a 4-leaf clover”
So Toad went upstairs and gazed at his portrait
“My God, you look resplendent, my mate”.

The portrait was painted by Amedeo Modigliani
And showed Toad smacking a maidservant on the fanny
He was warned not to show the portrait to suffragettes
Or he might lose some body parts not so repairable by vets.

Toad went downstairs and sat in his favourite chair
And thought to himself, “How green’s my underwear”
He got his valet to bring him some absinthe
because Toad of Toad Hall lacked common sense
And having partook much of the Green Fairy
He fell asleep because he felt so weary.

Toad dreamed he was smelling some blossoms of cherries
As he strode through woods in search of Titania Queen of Fairies
For Toad fancied he and Titania were lovers
As amphibian sighed happily under his covers

And there by soft yonder gleam of elegant moonlight
Toad of Toad Hall encountered a most frightful sight

Nick Bottom that most uneloquent jackass
Was making of Queen Titania his most bonnie lass

Toad’s poor heart was not made of stone
As he listened to Titania’s pleasurable moan
The amphibian’s tender heart did up and break
And imagined wedding nuptials would ‘stead become his wake

As he traversed through the woods in search of a poisoned gourd
He by chance stumbled upon the great Pyramis’ sword
He thrust the sword through his chest
Saying “Cruel fate! Give it a rest!”.

They buried Toad on the other side of the stream
As Rat, Badger and Mole wished it was but a dream
King Oberon heard their wish as he rode a moonbeam
and Toad awakened to the sound of tea kettle steam

-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday July 5th 2020
inspired by Kenneth Graham’s
The Wind In The Willows
and
William Shakespeare’s
A Midsummer Night’s Dream

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Philosophers In A Bar

July 3, 2020 at 10:49 pm (Philosophy, Poetry) ()

A couple of philosophers were sitting at a table in a bar
“Why?” asked the 1st philosopher
“Why not?” asked the 2nd
At that moment a truck carrying 30 tons of grains, wheat, rice and legumes
bound for a vegan plant meat based slaughter house
spun out out of control
and slammed into the bar
killing both men as they sat

“Life is both meaningless and absurd” mused the philosophically inclined bartender as he calmly wiped glasses
Those were the last words he spoke as
the impact of the crash
caused two giant cement boots
that had the sign Property of Godot on them
and were hanging from the ceiling above the bar
to fall on top of the bartender
killing him instantly

-A philosophcal poem
written by Christopher
Friday July 3rd
2020

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Toad of Toad Hall

July 2, 2020 at 10:34 pm (Humour, Literature, Poetry) (, , , , , )

Toad of Toad Hall
Motorbike came to a crawl
As petrol had leaked in bike stall

So Toad took his car keys out of a jar
And went for a spin in his motor car
But when he hit a tree, it gave his car a dent
But since he owned Toad Hall, he didn’t pay any rent

He took his motor boat for a ride down the river
With Dodds for his kidneys and gin for his liver
He passed Mole, Rat and Badger in a row boat
And not watching his way, he hit a castle moat
But lucky for him, his life jacket did float

-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday July 2nd 2020
Inspired by the characters in
Kenneth Grahame’s
novel
The Wind In The Willows.

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String On A Stick

June 29, 2020 at 9:34 pm (Poetry) ()

String on a stick
Was his fishing line
as the boy sat on the banks of a small creek

No line, hook, sinker of a fancy fishing rod
Just sandals on his feet, a dog by his side
and over his head the endless rolling skies above
Skies of blue and sometimes gray
And a sunset to bid adieu to day

He sat and looked at the skies above
The dog wagged his tail
A cricket chirped a brief hello
and a butterfly danced on his nose

He dreamed someday of the man he would become
As he waited for the fish bite on string that never came

Far in the future no creek, no dog, no string on a stick
Just bills and work and deadlines and rush here rush there
Vows of eternal friendship with old classmates he no longer saw
In the adult world, friends are fickle and fleeting
They’re all around on your way up, all gone on your way down

Childhood dreams turn to dust
like sand after a prairie dust storm
The dark clouds no longer have the dramatic thunder of Zeus
But bouts of depression and occasionally despair
Lightning bolts may be dramatic still
But now they’ll keep one down as they move in for the kill

Life was golden down by that creek
with sandals on your feet
and a dog by your side
and clouds in the sky
and sunset bidding the day goodbye
and waiting for the fish bite on string that never came
but somehow life was happy just the same.

-A poem written by Christopher
Monday June 29th 2020

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Reflections On The 10th Anniversary of My Father’s Death

June 16, 2020 at 9:54 pm (Personal essays, Poetry) ()

It was 10 years ago today that my dad died from cancer.

Reflections On The 10th Anniversary of My Father’s Death: A Poem

It’s hard to believe it’s 10 years.
It seems like only yesterday.
And yet so much has happened since that yesterday.
An event so near and yet so far in time.

-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday June 16th 2020.

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Marianne de Lilith

June 13, 2020 at 10:18 pm (Culture, Detective story, Fantasy, Gothic romance, Literature, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )


Marianne de Lililth

Carson Cody Albion sat in his private eye office
From his window, he could get a good view of parts of the city burning
The private eye felt hungry so he ordered a pizza to be delivered to his office

Unbeknownst to Albion, the courier got his orders mixed-up
A pizza that was to be delivered to the leader of a rival gang
A gang in opposition to the gang that owned the pizza shop
Was delivered to Albion instead

The pizza contained several doses of toad venom
Luckily for Albion the pizza cook got his recipe books mixed up
He did not sprinkle enough toad venom on the mozzarella to deliver death
Only enough to give the eater a high

Although Albion might not have died anyways
He was immortal
Having drunk breast milk from the lovely knockers of
the Syro-Phoenician goddess Atargatis back on VE-Day
May 8th 1945

Albion ate the pizza
and drank his bourbon
And soon he was off on a hallucinogenic trip
That would have made Samuel Taylor Coleridge green with envy
For there was no storytelling sailor with an albatross around his neck
Nor a Kubla Khan in Xanadu stately decreeing a pleasure dome

Rather this sight greeted his senses

Marianne de Lilith

I am Marianne de Lilith
said the sexy redheaded witch

Well, Marianne, said Albion,
I love the way you’re holding that broomstick.

Bats flew in the light of the full moon
Behind the dead desolate tree.

“This is but a vision of the mind,” Albion reflected
“As I don’t think the Farmer’s Almanac called for a full moon this evening.”

“The tree behind me died as a result of being watered with toad venom,”
Marianne explained.
“That is a shame,” Albion reflected as he threw his cigarette lighter at Marianne’s feet.
Albion crawled over to pick it up.

“I’m reminded of fishing season for some reason,” Albion remarked as he gazed up her stockings and her skirt.
A spiked stiletto high-heeled shoe crushed his hand.

“This never happened to John Candy when he made a splash with his loose change aboard that boat,” Albion grimaced with pain.

Albion soon found himself in Marianne’s shack.
He started whistling that song “What A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts”
as he gazed at the pair of knockers that weren’t hanging on Marianne’s door.

“I take it you still like being breast fed?” Marianne asked the private eye.
“I do,” Albion nodded, “I’m like Jerry Seinfeld in that respect.”

So Marianne breast fed him.
Breasts that were loaded with toad’s venom and not milk.
Albion went into cardiac arrest and was rushed to an LA hospital.

“Beware the breasts of Marianne de Lilth!” Calpurnia’s ghost warned as she strolled the corridors of the hospital emergency ward.
Her warning came a little too late for Carson Cody Albion private eye.

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday June 13th
2020.

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The Name of The Rose

June 11, 2020 at 10:52 pm (Commentary, Culture, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, Poetry) ()

Cities on fire
Statues torn down
First slave traders and genocidal kings
Then Philadelphia abolitionists
and Boy Scout founders
next all Maria’s favourite things

The center cannot hold, Yeats wrote
Mere anarchy is loose upon the world
The best seem to be dead and gone
The worst prefer fire to right a wrong

Solve and coagula
Motto of Freemasonry
written on the arms of Eliphas Levi’s Baphomet
In Latin, solve means to dissolve
Coagula means to congeal and coagulate
It means to tear down
And then build anew
Reduce to rubble
and start again

Such has always been the belief of a certain style of dreamer
From John Locke to Rousseau
Men who could philosophize
But a tabula rasa in the real world just doesn’t harmonize

They tried it in France in 1789
Robespierre’s reason turned to terror sublime
A reign where human blood became a French red wine
They tried it in Russia in 1917
Bloodbath and famine became the “new serene”

Mao’s Cultural Revolution – a change to even the score
And Pol Pot strolled across piles of skulls to reach Utopia’s shore
Now they’re trying it again in America in 2020
A failed optical vision test × infinity aplenty

Madness reigns
Despot’s gains
Devil’s games
Satan’s plains

The Bard wrote, A rose is a rose by any other name
Dreamers’ dreams become nightmares
Their heaven on Earth built in vain.

As for me I’ll seek the rose

For a dreamer’s new Earth is soul’s loss but a demon’s gain

-A poem written by Christopher
Thursday June 11th 2020

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Mermaid’s Tears and The Ocean

May 26, 2020 at 10:33 pm (Folklore, Mythology, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , )

Mermaid’s Tears and The Ocean

It was but a drop in the ocean
He reflected
As he emptied a mermaid’s tear

A mermaid’s tear kept in a tiny bottle 
By an elderly aunt
Who had been given the tiny bottle as a child by her father 
And was told that what appeared to be a tear inside was a mermaid’s tear 

That elderly aunt had passed away 
a few weeks ago 
And the bequest given to him
Was he was to take the bottle 
And empty the tear back into the ocean
So that somehow the mermaid’s tear 
Would be reunited with its owner

A drop in the ocean it was 
And the mermaid’s tear quickly disappeared in the surging tide

Sail away, sail away oh mermaid’s tear 
Among the currents and ebbs of the sea 
And return to the eye that shed thee
Considered but a drop in the ocean 
In this eternity

He turned and there standing on the beach 
Was a friend of his
The Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka

She looked at him,
How kind of you to return a mermaid’s tear to the sea
She kissed him
And they embraced 

Seeing the sight 
from distant ocean waves
Mermaids wept
… tears of joy

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday May 26th
2020.

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A Late Autumn Dream In The Midst of Life

May 23, 2020 at 10:26 pm (Poetry) ()

A Late Autumn Dream In The Midst of Life

Wandering through the late autumn forest 
The coloured leaves have long since fallen to the ground 
and been blown far far away 

Walking along desolate gray ridden paths
The grass isn’t even brown or red or gold
But a peculiar shade of neutralizing gray
It seems these woods have become desolate of life 
And the snows of winter have not yet arrived 
to give them that glistening glowing magical wonderland look

Devoid of life 
Devoid of magic
Has this what my life has become?
Walking a desolate gray path
Through woods dark and dreary
bare of leaves 
bare of life 
The empty trees stretch their branches upwards 
as if wishing for a hug and an embrace 
from the ever widening ever social distancing desolate gray sky above

It seems I turn a path
and there she stands 

It is just so like her 
The woman who would take baby goats out for a walk 

Who is she?
I do not know 
But I know she’d be the type of woman who would take baby goats for a walk 

I say hello 
and she vanishes 
I awaken on a desolate path 
Through desolate woods
It has all been but a dream
But a dream

I sigh a sigh
That’s met with the silence 
of the gray desolate sky 

I continue walking along this path
A path of reality devoid of dreams?
Or a path of dreams devoid of reality?
I do not know
I know only this
I have miles to go before I wake 
I have miles to go before I wake

-A poem written by Christopher
Saturday May 23rd 2020.

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Morrigan In Cornwall

May 21, 2020 at 10:50 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Gothic, Gothic romance, International Intrigue, Mythology, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Morrigan In Cornwall

Along the cliffs she walked 
While a raven flew by
Morrigan the Irish Celtic goddess of war 
Beneath where she walked was the surging tide 
watery grave of many a sailor that died 
Behind her was wood of ancient fallen tree
Cast over these cliffs in storm that shattered tranquility 

These were the shores of Cornwall wild 
where wild desolate moors and cliffs of smugglers’ coves beguiled 
Not far from here was the Arthurian legend born
A brief ray of hope in a land forlorn 

Far far north of here were the mists of Avalon
Where the Arthurian sun set after Arthur was gone 
Now this land along with the world was pandemic bound 
So here far from eerie silence of death was bird cry and raging surf sound 

Like many immortals from ancient pantheons Morrigan returned to walk the earth 
when guns of August 1914 heralded a bloody rebirth 
A century of war 
and blood galore
Fascism, Nazism and Communism 
A three headed cobra with deadly fangs it bore 
Never far from human hearts the poison surged to the planet’s very core 

And now Mother Earth itself was filled with hate
A virus arose of deadly destiny and most fatal of fate 
Floods and cyclones now arose in the midst of May 
Were earthquakes now on the way neath skies so gray?

And war itself may not be far behind
That fiery red horse so insidiously unkind
Ares was still stomping his feet 
waiting for Morrigan to pick up the beat

-A poem and vampire novel chapter 
written by Christopher
Thursday May 21st
2020.

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