Adrift

~

Cloud Shadow 25

~

I’ve been lost in

these canyons

now

for a century or two

~

Just floating a-

round with

not

much to do

~

I’ve read all

my books

about one hundred

times each

~

My spelling has improved

but I’m

a numbskull now

when it comes to speech

~

My haunted old boat

has become

brittle

as over-cooked toast

~

About forty feet a-

bove the ground

it can

barely still coast

~

It has bumped into

the walls of

these canyons a-

bout ten million times

~

Once more and it will

become nothing but

scattered

butterfly rhymes

~

I have not grown wise

over the ages

just

plain numb

~

If you were to ask me

my name

I would

just sit and look dumb

~

These scrappy

desperado

canyons of nothing

but rocks and sand

~

Have turned me into

the desert-bleached

bones of a

silent time-weary man

~

A living

fossil

am

I

~

Adrift

be-

neath

Deep Desert sky…

~

Deep Desert Blues V

http://deepdesertbluesv.yolasite.com

by Rawclyde

!

 

Advertisements

Singing Lizards

~~~

from the short novel

THE ROAD PRINCESS & ETERNITY

by

Rawclyde!

~~~

    Come dawn, after another night without sleep, the road princess was on the road again ~ afoot, stiff, thirsty, hungry.

     Plump red pears sitting like crowns on cacti growing along side the dirt road, beckoned her blade.  She cut off one of the little fruits ~ bit into it.  It was sweet and juicy.  She ate several.

     At the bottom of the canyon she came across a creek.  She dunked her head into the cold bubbling water ~ and drank.  Although she was already somewhat chilled from her long night in the open air, she discarded her clothes and nimbly stepped in ~ submerged herself in a nature sculptured tub of rock and sand.  The water was agonizingly cold, and a moment later, blissfully refreshing.

     Ruthie bathed.

     She noticed a crawdad, its beady little eyes sticking up out of the water, spying on her.  With a deft hand she picked up a rock and, quick as a bullet, smashed in the crawdad’s head.  She broke apart with her teeth the little lobster-clawed carcass and ate the mouthful of raw meat within.

     Ruthie stepped out of the tub.  She sparkled like a flower with morning dew ~ and covered with goose bumps.  The creamy-white shadow of a tiny bikini accented her summer tan.  She shivered.  If a vehicle had passed at this time, the occupants, if lucky enough to be glancing in the right direction, would have glimpsed a completely revealed piece of ~ of living grace.  But no vehicle passed.  Ruthie donned her clothes and footwear, combed her fingers through the long wet strands of her hair.  Revived and reckless and ready to die, the young lioness of the road hit the road with a familiar bounce in her step ~ and with droplets of water evaporating on her naked belly.

     Three hours later her feet were dragging.  Her heart was pounding.  She was dripping, instead of with creek water, with sweat.  Lizards scampered into the brush along the beer-can strewn roadside as she passed.  Dust arose in little puffs of woe behind her heels.

     The road was now ascending without respite ~ mile after mile.  The gravitational pull was not nice.  The lack of shade was not nice either.  The sun was so hot that poor sojourner Ruthie felt as if she were ploddding along beneath 50 electric blankets ~ turned on ~ high!

     How come there were no cars on this road?  And where was this road taking her?  She shuffled around a bend in it.  Hoping to see it level out, she saw instead the ribbon of dirt curling its way up the canyon wall for at least another steep mile.  Ruthie’s heart sank.  Yet her feet kept plodding forward.  She was going to walk until she died.

     Then she heard a chorus of humming.  She stopped in her tracks.  Her heart, beating hard, was actually keeping beat with the humming.  Or was the humming keeping beat with her heart?  At any rate, what seemed like a hundred baritone voices were humming what sounded like an old Civil War tune.  Where was the humming coming from?  Ruthie looked around.  She saw nobody.  So she kept walking.  But the humming wouldn’t quit.  So she stopped again.  And listened.  It was definitely an old Civil War tune.

     If you recall, kind and sympathetic reader, Ruthie had had only a couple winks of sleep for many days and many nights ~ six days and six nights to be exact.  Physically, being young and strong, she was still, more or less, sound.  But mentally, she was long gone and beyond that level of normal day-to-day functioning of which we, who find nightly rejuvenation via sleep, are so familiar.  Mentally, you might say, she had sky-rocketed off the launching pad of an uninvited, undeniable, unmerciful exhaustion, into other, less familiar realms.  Now, in other words, she was nuts.  But she didn’t know this.  The humming was as real as could be to her, and the lizards that had been scampering into the brush and hiding as she walked by, were now lined up, she thought, on either side of the road, doing push-ups, and humming!

     Ruthie was dumbfounded.

     Yet she smiled fondly at the prehistoric little bygones who she thought were there but weren’t, and who were honoring her with what she thought was such a fine performance ~ and she continued to drag her feet up the long long road.

     With an endless row of unreal lizards to the left of her, and an endless row of unreal lizards to the right of her, all humming in brilliant chorus, Ruthie cried and smiled like rain and sunshine at the same time ~ with exhaustion, pain, joy ~ as she trudged along.  And the enchanting beauty of her inner spirit brightened the ripe femininity in her face to such an acute degree, that she was beautiful as a woman could be, but nobody was there to see.  And pretty soon, the lizards were singing:

“When Ruthie

comes marching into Heaven

Hurrah!  Hurrah!

God and his angels

will welcome her then

Hurrah!  Hurrah!”

She felt rather foolish, even blushed, and the song was terribly corny, but she couldn’t help but rain and shine with a kind of exultation.  With these little baritoning ghosts of her mind to either side of her, she felt very humble and very proud.  In fact, she experienced every edifying emotion there is to feel under the sun, as they sang:

“Saint Peter

will cheer, her dead brother

will shout ~

Good gentlemen

     they will all turn out ~ “

And she even burst out with laughter, titillatingly amused, when her multitudinous entourage trumpeted:

“And we’ll all

feel gay when Ruthie comes

marching home!”

The road princess straightened her shoulders and picked up her pace, as hundreds of reptilian figments of her sleep-starved, sun-stricken imagination, doing push-ups to either side of her, hummed some more and repeated again and again their song of glory to her.  She was elated.  She was sanctified.  She was full-blown nuts ~ and wiped the sweat and the dust off her brow with her slender arm and trudged on.

     She reached another bend in the ascending road ~ saw the ribbon of dirt continue its ascent up and around a distant, broad-faced bluff.

     “Jesus,” she moaned ~ and trudged onward.

     The lizards, as Ruthie passed, clamped their jaws and began to scamper into the brush alongside the road again, just like normal lizards do.  Ruthie stopped, blinked, scratched her head.  The silence was mortifying.  All she could hear was her heart beat.  She turned around, backtracked around the bend she had just traversed, peered down the road.  Nothing ~ nothing but a mini-Grand Canyon and an empty road climbing up out of it.

     “Am I going nuts?  Or what?”  mumbled Ruthie.  She turned around and continued onward ~ up up up the long dirt road.

~~~

The Road Princess And Eternity

~~~

She’s Taking Over

http://sayara-s.deviantart.com/art/Commission15-323699897

~

Battle Aftermath In Afghaneeland

~

Col. Sheena’s ex-Taliban husband

dressed like a waiter

comes up balancing on one hand

a platter of fried chicken & potato salad

~

Ever since the wedding with his lovely infidel

Habibullah’s mind has been doing triple flips

One day one way, the next day another

And today he is a really polite waiter

~

He sets the platter down

Infront of the three mouseketeers

Returns to the house to do the dishes

Col. Sheena & her soldier compadres pray & eat

~

Behind the pile of boulders

The last Taliban alive

Takes aim at Sheena right between the eyes

With his trusty AK-47 weapon

~

The devastatingly eye-enslaving empress of Pluckame

In her worn torn yellow polka-dot burka

Makes eye contact with the last Taliban alive & winks

The poor boy trembles, pulls the trigger & misses

~

The Afghan National Army GIs look at each other & shrug

“This is really good chicken,” one says

The other helps himself to more potato salad

And says, “This stuff is really good too”

~

Habibullah watches thru the window

As the hard brick of jealousy in his chest

Drops into his belly & melts into a gooey lump of love

For the legendary Col. Sheena Johnson

~

Afghaneeland

~