Riffing for England

Part Two of Tea with Lime and Treacle (breaking the fourth wall, the author enters the verse)


Prue wide-eyed asleep

Clive sleeping off his mouse

child left to scuff shoes

in woodland playhouse


bored of her play

she smiling turned to me

offered remnants of

their funny little tea


mulberry decoction 

with notes of sweet lime

in cracked china cups

surprisingly sublime


with the meal over

without Clive and Prue

my shy little girl 

didn't know what to do


Shall we have a game?

hopefully, said she 

what shall we play in

my mind's reverie 


battledore and shuttlecock

can we play all night? 

(In American, bitte?)

Oh, badminton, yes 

I suppose that's alright. 


(we now continue this poem as a play between two voices, Author and Child)

C: Why is it bad mitten? 

A: I don't know. Wait, no it's bad-MINTON)

C: Was Mittens bad? Why?

A: No. I don't know. 

C: Or was she wearing mittens while bad?

A: Minton. 

C: Is that different?

A: Yes. In the US. Here, God only knows. 

C: Wouldn't that be hard? 

A: Would what be hard?

C: To play battledore in mittens. 

A: I would imagine so. Wait, mittens don't come into it. When is Prue going to wake up? I need a drink.)

C: My daddy says that a lot when we play. 

A: I believe it. What does you mummy say?

C: Where's my mother's-little-helper. What do you spose that means? She has Millie the upstairs parlor maid, Mrs. Cooke the housekeeper and Mrs. Holmes the Cook. And  Mr. Door the Butler.  And her lady's maid Needles. 

A: HAHAHAHAHA are those their real names? What's the footman called? Please tell me it's Foote. And the Groom is Groome?

C: No, Boot. And Driver. Say, are we going to play or just talk about servants? And you still haven't said who is mummy's helper. Or what your name is. Or why you're writing about me. 

(*still wiping eyes. So she caught on to that, did she?) 

A: No I'm sorry. My name is Marilisa. And to whom do I have the honor of addressing myself?

C: (rolling her tongue around the strange sounding name) M-ayyree-leesuh. Shouldn't you be Lady or Dame or Mrs. some-one-or-other?

A: I Should be a dame, for sure. But what I am is a Mrs. Mrs. Sachteleben. But I guess I'm just used to introducing myself by my first name. Especially with children. It's easier.) 

C: What's a first name? 

A: Sorry, Christian name, or given, I think you call it. But we still haven't been  properly introduced. How shall I call you?

C: (drawing herself up to her full 36 inches) I am Lady Marie (Mahree) Elise Catherine Frances Eugenie Charlotte Georgina Mont-joy. 

A: Well hello to all of you, my ladies! *many giggles* and what does milady prefer to be called?

C: Poppy! 

A: Perfect. Why may I ask?

C: I just like it. 

A: Fair enough. I tried to get people to call me Ginger like Gilligan's Island, when they couldn't pronounce my name. It didn't stick for a lot of reasons. But Poppy it is. Pleased to meet you!

C: What's Gillie-gun  Island? Is that like a Scottish gamekeeper? And what did you say your surname is, like Zachtuhlayben?

A: My god girl, spot on pronunciation! My own extended family gets it wrong. I see a career as professional interpreter for you! As for Gilligan we got a lot a splaining to do! You do have TV, right?

C: Tea Vea? Like tea I had with Prue? 

(I had forgotten she didn't know that I knew about her and Prue. Because I had written them into existence. And I didn't even know when I had set them. Judging by the mother's little helper references, it was sometime around when the Stones were a thing. But that's presupposing because that song was based on an older cultural drug phenomenon. And I'd not really looked at her dress, as in costume. 

So I did now and kiss-me-quick-and-go-my-hunny it was like 19-naughties or teens at a guess. Maybe older. How did I miss that? Do a mental rewind-reset and fast. 

A: Yes, Poppy, Tea Vea is bevvie you can drink. It's also form of transportation, kind of like a dirigible or a aeroplane. Or even a locomotive which takes a train back to the station it came from.

C: *beginning to look at my attire* You don't come from now time do you? You come from a time that has been or has yet to come. 

A: It would seem so --and Sharp girl! I knew there was a reason I should like you. 

(thought bubble here, should I say where I'm from or ask her where she's from? Would that warp the time-shift continuum thingy?)


C: So you do know me? How? (ow, ow, echo, echo, echo)

(what is with the weird reverb going on here?)  

A: I don't know if do. But I'm glad I do! Now how about some Battledore and Shuttlecock, Poppy? And yes, we can play all night. 

C: Yippee! 

(to be continued)









Tea with lime and treacle


Once upon a ticky-tack

a pocket full of gin

here we come wassailing

won't you let us in?


fickle crickle swamp song

where moose and kittens play

twirling round jewelry box

the ballerina at bay


no time for counting 

nor making words come out right

let verses go sailing

in Honah-Lee tonight 


no more sense making 

I'm sick of clarity

pomp and pomposity

Want some mulberry tea?


You shall be mother 

I poured out last time

Let us raise pinkies 

skip lemon and try lime


oh yes please, and treacle

said my dolly Prue

I love how you think

my good friend and true



(Prue can never get enough treacle. Or rhubarb sauce on scones.) 


went rummaging we two

in nursery larder found

half-eaten Hob-Nobs

when Nanny wasn't around


along with the mud pies

we'd put in to bake

a vase of stolen flowers

too bad there was no cake


Clive the cat brought a 

dish to pass of mouse deceased

not to hurt his feelings 

we added it to the feast


(on an old plate which 

we neither of us touched. 

And which was for the best as 

Clive was feeling a bit growly-possessive 

so we left him to it)


Anthrax be damned. 

sick the author feels 

at this unorthodox tea

don't mention jellied eels


Tea with lime and treacle

the grown-ups scoffed at us

what a daft thing to play

just preposterous 


Probably best not to

bring up Clive's repast 

bring it up is what 

they'll do and do it fast


they were right of course

a mad hatter recipe 

was quite horrendous 

Our Monstrosi-Tea


but we et (sans mouse)

Just to prove them wrong

when did grownups cease

to hear their child song? 


Now Prue feels poorly

so she was laid to rest (sleep!)

in pine needle counterpane

prayed her soul to keep


now I'm all alone

don't know what to do 

I should jolly well 

like to play with you. 


(to be continued)

Cetirizine daydreams


Cetirizine daydream
Here we go again 
Round the tilt-a-whirl
Of KAOS back when 

Blue Benzedrine 
Pink amphetamine 
Amped up nightmares
fun ones end in -ine

Day-glo insanity 
something I can drink? 
Vengeance best served cold? 
When pushed to the brink? 

Wrinkled like a shirt 
Set on tumble dry 
Rainbow blurred by
A speck in my eye

Uniformi-tea
Force-fed nasal drip
Don't step out of line
Swallow or gag on it 

What's the use of choice? 
If there's only one to choose 
Only thing to ask 
Is which lance to use 

This is a bleak one
got no resolving chord
no happy ending
wish I could afford 

We've ground to a halt
a rest with no end 
a change as good as
no turn but a bend

Some go down to ships
some ride the storm out
I verse my angst in 
pillow muffled shout


--thanks for reading. Do drop in, anytime you need my grayer shade of pale












Leave the moonlight on for me


well look who's back

Omi and Opi

flew in from dreamland

settled in our tree


nested by the bird seed

grampa always hid 

he knew the good spots

so of course they did!


downy woodpeckers

you may call these things

they're my elder sparks

grand spirits with wings


Once upon a memory

I'd dream of we three

walking by our big lake

my granddad and me


to their eternal rest 

they were finally sent

but came back to visit

from wherever they went


All tears dried we hear

but if heaven's so swell

then tell me why them

leaving hurts like hell? 


Maybe they knew I 

couldn't cope alone

didn't want to leave me

again on my own


so they came each night

then they had to leave

these nocturnal visits 

always made me grieve


it must be hard when

earthlings hold you tight

but I was stuck too 

in a death grip plight


then one night they said

I must let them go

perhaps it hurt them

to see me hurt so 


so I did so they did

cease to visit me

must have been ready

for I didn't even see


they live in recall

verses woven in foam

yet it seems they found

a new place to call home


I hang a feeder

in the backyard tree

like they always did

where birds love to be


when the seed runs out

they scold and nag me

they keep on dining 

when I walk to the tree


we startle each other

it's quite an affray 

we laugh and beg pardon

he never flies away


perched supervising

feeder filling time 

I fully comprehend

his mute pantomime


and in the evening

when birds go to bed

I still see friendly 

shade shadows in my head


elder sparks hover

in twilight requiem

I daren't blink or move

lest I might miss them


these feathered fairies 

whatever they may be

neither fact nor fiction

still drop in on me 


now we've gone gentler 

in dark night of soul

in fairy fragments 

I find full-moon whole


a back dune meander

Elysian daydreams 

driftwood and fireflies

Tlingit moonbeams


now play hide and seek

for grandpa is silly 

when the moon is new 

no light we can see 


like he always did 

bidding me goodnight

began to shut the door

thereby dousing the light


it was just pretend 

just so I would howl

always left it open

my dear wise old owl


sacred was the ritual 

bed bugs and sleep tight

moonshine wish kisses

hugs with all our might


my elders sparks still 

twinkle for us to see

never shut the door and

leave the moonlight on for me




Panic Attack Ack-Ack


deep vein thrombosis

throbs through my whole

shell shock reverberates

shockwaves in my soul


musty sweet sickness 

I know this of old 

Tupperware bowl of

moldy oatmeal stone cold


gut lurching forward in

backward high-speed train 

elevator major lift  

minor fall migraine


crash land on reentry

rank, dank memory

rag rug pulled away

rage storm drowning me


panic attack ack-ack

mind's machine gun nest

can't find my gas mask

for air raid warden test


this ain't no test nor

car backfire sound

my heart knows the drill

of sucker punch pound 


world without an end

they are mad again

me in the crosshairs

cue the great amen


comes the fusilade

flak- ack-ack attack

scapegoat in the middle

no one has my back


angry fingers drum

a morse code of shame

in military tattoo

stenciled on my brain


blindside blindman's bluff

family ambush game

everyone playing

pass the buck and blame


in clown monkey band 

chimp on calliope

harpy harpsicord 

what a travesty


dying but never done

death by 1000 jeers

hurts in ageless pain

I've cried out of tears


that's my legacy 

left in the will 

pocketful of empty

such a sour pill 


it's some consolation

can't miss what I had not

and I just don't care

which oddly says a lot 


Yes we've no patience

for nonsense today

just stupid head games

I don't want to play


Then Ack-ack subsides

like lake into shore

all quiet on this front

I could open the door...


(we now present the volta)


what to my wondering 

eyes should appear 

a cloud of witnesses 

who holding held me dear


waiting in the wings

for their entrance bell

the new ones to love

past ones loved so well


Ave, elder sparks 

I see your dim-bright

shadow fairies hover

hidden in plain sight


Time to free my Tao 

and scrub clean the pain

in Babylon river

and Lake Michigan rain


















Narnian Reverie: Or Moishe Requires his Tea


Mrs. Bombastic

A tisket, a tasket 

trailing mist ribbons

from her Easter basket


midsummer moonshine

mittens lost and found

then lost again by

kittens fiddling around


glowworm orb observes

green cheese moon man land

sing hey diddle diddle

to feline fiddler band


silently frolicking

Bastet hearth deities

Bombay amber eyes

Mord and Moishe kitties


Lunar Musicians

their mute jazz band wails

reflect harvest moon in

patent black coat and tails


larking in grayscale

hinterland twilight

no time for sleep in

mystic magic night 


to color in vision

the painter brings her brush

I brought my pen to

poem ebullient hush


in honeycomb'd verses

weaving fabled spells

of sand covered kingdoms

inside wishing wells


once upon a rhyming

celestial story time

Tlingit elder waltz in

wild mountain thyme


Puss tippling catnip

Me, my jug of wine

a loaf and he beside 

were paradise mine


till rain sneaks in on

Mist-blue kitty toes

Ohio's bank ore'flow

where pussywillow grows


wither shall we find

sweet sheltering repose?

pretty words blurred by 

Windy Wendigos 


my ballet shoes soiled

they will surely scold 

wine turned to water

Moishe's feet are cold 


Just we two must fend

Mord wisely went to bed

dreaming of cat treats

dancing in his head


but soft what light shines

In yon window faithfully

his front yard post light

calling Moishe and me?


nope, just me revolving

round memory carousel

kitchen table slideshow

where heaven hurts like hell


in recall I forget

wine tumbled on the floor

crying, holding tighter 

just makes me lose more


Fact.  


the elders have moved

ever farther away

I only see and hear 

in grandkids at play. 


I don't even dream about them anymore. 


yet our beloved birds

hover o're me now 

tiny elder sparks

my presence they allow


This bears more pondering. 

I'll write on this more. 

I'll think on this more. 

I'll drink on this more. 


Meanwhile, cue Narnian Reverie. Because Moishe's toes are freezing and he requires his tea. 

 

A sardine toast feast

Tumnus laid for we

riding out the storm

the faun, the cat and me


sip from fairy tea cups

of dogwood petal pink

with fern frond saucers 

gin and printer's ink 


(there it is...)


Just a god and his girl

our silly ancient ways

strolling down Eden

and in and out of days


with love to Skinny Ape who introduced me to the faun. 


 

Rescue Swim Sonnet


fallow lie the fields

of grim Athenry 

yes, we have no milk 

the cow has run dry 


those perishing below

from her window sees

but does she even hear

their heart-twisting pleas?


Lady of Shalott 

wrings out tears like rain

cries for herself not 

children with no grain 


what use is crying 

with no song to say 

the doom is upon her

she's clean sailed away


lonely is our lady 

of towered misery

drowning in blossoms

in boat off the quay 


Such a golden waste 

bright sparkler divine

Makes me consider 

the spark that is mine


methinks as I dwell

in my quirky rhyme 

about brevity of 

the tango with time


to the death dicers 

who flirt with the grave

a word of caution 

before the final wave  


spare a thought for those

leaving leaves behind 

when contemplating 

a darker shade of mind


as for me, I'll wear

my 24-karat glow

done with silence now

time to tell and show 


no more colors hid

under basket confine

time to blow the top off 

this little light of mine


I quit dancing to

the puppet masters tune

flip the script face up

rewrite my own rune 


I've a debt to let 

my bright and dark shine

keening out me to 

my young still in line. 


cut loose choke holders

get my priorities straight

cut free loaders adrift

release their dead weight


this is both swan song

and coming-out ball

parting with death dance

as life to life calls

 

I'm harkening to

those truly in need 

by cutting out takers 

I give givers the lead


life ring thrown back

to drowning gone before

rescue swim sonnet 

pulling toward shore


my pay it forward

filling shoes they outgrew

what good they gave

the only kindness I knew


in parched earth vale

better to light a spark

than waste golden dreams

by cursing the dark


Pax Vobiscum. 

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