Poetry for
People, Dragons
|
  |
The
Prometheid
(1972)
Part
III
Eli's Search for Funny Bald Men
A
lone wanderer with Lotus in hand
Left his land
behind in the dust and sand,
To spread warnings
against evil doings
And the harbingers
of dreamy deceit,
Lotus-eaters and
eaters of dog meat,
Who, we should say,
are the Hawks' and Thieves' kings.
Now
Eli's land was a majestic realm,
That nurtured many
states from one grand helm,
Whose virgin
quarters became infested
With Lotus-eaters
who spread deceit.
Eli was committed
to defeat
This vile plague
his people had ingested.
Learning
in the chase from his village,
Where Lotus-eaters,
through deceit's pillage,
Took over a good
people's community,
Eli dared not
preach as he had before
And decided to seek
only the poor
Who weren't yet
deaf due to prosperity.
So
he drove on through the Great Grassy plains,
Which were his
home, to Pacific domains,
Beyond the
mountains at a dozy azure sea.
Now and then he'd
stop in a rural town
But would be thrown
out, nevertheless, being jibed a clown,
After ministering
the forebodings of misery.
Then
one day it came to pass--it was morn--
When he awoke to
hear a high trumped horn
Coming from the
lead of a long caravan.
He had parked in a
camping area
And awoke to find a
tiny greenish paw
Beating on his
truck's window with a rusted pan.
"Wake
up!" he cried, "You're blocking our way!"
He banged harder
while more campers horns' blared.
Eli rolled down the
window and inquired
As to the problem;
the other effusively perspired.
"Out'a the way," he
grumbled, rubbing his reddish beard.
Eli
saw thousands of campers nearby
Parked off the road
in a flattened field of rye.
"Yes sir," Eli
said, and he drove away
From the entrance
to the lush but now littered mountain park.
Then campers drove
in and resumed to park,
Turning the park
from a deep green to gray.
Yes,
the park turned gray under gray walled motor
homes,
Stretching to the
horizon. Then tiny gnomes
Crawled out of
those walls and spread toys in glee
In this refuge of
our paradise lost.
Then at once the
place was a holocaust,
Of the burning
pyres they carried from the city.
Eli
approached the head camper, but tripped
Before he got there
due to cans just flipped
From drinking
drivers who hindered his course.
With curiosity over
this messy hoard, he asked, "Where go you?"
Being watched with
suspicion by the retinue.
The
leader sniffed the air, "Ah, paradise;
Smell the fresh
spring charcoaled air, ah it is so nice!
And look at the
green trees, blue green ferns,
That cold bubbly
brook, its banks and spring seeded with flowery
scent;
Ah, yes, smell
those fumes heaven sent;
For this, our
childish hearts each year yearn!"
Eli
gasped in the air in one big breath,
While the head
camper stood like unto Macbeth,
Wringing his small
hands to cleanse the day's dirt.
The camper smiled,
"You like it too, yes?"
He shrugged through
stained teeth, hoping to impress
Young Eli with an
offering of his rust cooked flambé, their desert.
Needless
to say, Eli choked, bated though,
So not to reveal
the displeasure and woe
He felt after being
invaded by the scent of the rusty, rotten food;
The smells of the
garbage scattered around,
And dirty diapers
dipped in the dreamy spring now browned
From the splashing
hands of the washer woman and her dirty brood.
And
then the camper politely said, "I must be off,"
And went into his
metal home so to doff
His camping clothes
for the hunter's attire.
Thereupon he
returned in clothes blood red,
Holding a
high-powered rifle and lead
Ready and armed,
destroyer and terrifier.
He
breathed quite heavily, anxious for the hunt,
And his red plaid
shirt, sweat stained over its front,
Gave off wisps of
odor repulsive to the doe;
So this great red
greenish hunter would doubtless find
A deserted hunting
ground whereever his blind
Should be set in
wait for the more prudent roe.
Be
that as it may, the hunter set out,
Followed by other
red plaid, red bearded greenish gnomes to scout
The forested paths
and hidden glens,
Leaving Eli there
midst hard working dames
Cleaning their
campsites and their hunter's names,
Escaping not their
urban regimens.
Eli
took conversation with one lass
Who was then
cleaning some finely wrought glass.
"My good lady," he
asked, "Are you happy
In this hunting
paradise and way of life?"
"Yes," she giggled,
"For we've escaped the town's woe and strife
And can now raise
our children peacefully."
Deigning
to tell her the city was carried there,
Eli discretely
said, "But ma'm, beware,
For I feel you've
escaped not your city,
For I sense that
all of its trappings may have been brought here.."
"Alas," she
answered, "This was my greatest fear,
As the hunter rules
in this tribe; such a pity."
Eli
took pity on the lady about to cry
As she bowed her
head, an eye shadowed tear streamed from one eye
Then her shaking
voice replied, "No, I cannot change
The fate of man; I
pray that my cries, perhaps my tears,
Will affect him by
and by; it, I know, will take many years,
Should fate and
fortune so it arrange.
She
then told Eli all she had fought; Eli answered,
speaking of light,
And the fires he'd
seen which led him through the night,
To follow his
lonely way, righteous teachings having set the
path,
Knowing the burden
of man's extremes
Which infringed
upon our hopes and dreams.
"Help me," he
begged, "For I am the allopath!"
"No,"
she replied, "I cannot take your side,
For these bonds you
see around my heart commit me to matricide,
A terrible fate to
endure,
And I am far too
weak of heart, I fear,
To deny my man's
ways or interfere.
Go now, spread your
words so fine and pure!"
With
a quivering lip she turned her back
Upon young Eli and
took to her rack
Of daily toil,
caressing smiles for infants, breasts of grace.
In a final appeal,
Eli cried out,
"Oh, my lady,
please do not shut me out!"
She went her way,
into the trees, midst her summer place.
Saluting
him, she answered, " please go, for I cannot bear
much more
Reminders of the
things which I deplore.
Go and tell of your
visions of good."
"But where?" cried
Eli, "For no one hears me!"
She then said,
"Seek our cousins in their high valley;
Seek the funny bald
men to be understood!"
She
pointed in the direction of the peaks
Gracing the
horizon, and with smeared cheeks
She turned once
again to her relentless chores.
Eli solemnly
boarded his broken down truck
And drove away for
more souls to pluck
From a growing
number of closing somber doors.
He
drove for days through winding peaked roads,
Now and then
inquiring of the abodes
Of the funny bald
men who should give him an ear.
Then one day, high
above the billowing cotton clouds,
He found the high
valley under the shrouds
Of a sunlit mist, a
hiding place where light might appear.
Thirty
cottages stood before him, made of rough hewn
stone,
Tucked in trees and
shrubs as if they were sown
By a tried old
planter of rare vintage vines.
Eli parked his
truck and strode to some men
Nearby who were
engaged in a council then
In some marbled
ruins of antique Greek designs.
A
funny looking bald man (Three feet high
At most) caught
Eli's curious young eye
And rose from his
council to meet his guest.
"Hello," smiled
Eli, as he showed the peace sign.
The man smiled and
took him into their shrine,
Introducing the
young lad to the bald headed rest.
"I
was told that your people would understand
My story and cause,
perhaps give me a hand,"
Said Eli to his
smiling new found friend.
"Yes," we would
love to hear words of your cause;
Please continue,
tell us all without a pause!
Said the leader,
"Stories of adventure we'll pay with a particular
yen."
Eli
proceeded to tell them his woeful tale,
And they listened
to every detail.
Though they were
quite funny looking indeed,
With ruddy fat
cheeks and bulging green bellies,
Balding heads and
skin as green as green peas,
Their comical face
Eli paid no heed.
And
all that day they begged him to carry on,
While now and then
shedding tears from eyes bagged and sleepy drawn
From lack of sleep
and long sessions, their customary communal talk.
The sun began
setting while Eli spoke
With hoarse laded
breath, on the infection of his folk,
Until, alas, he
could voice only a feint squawk.
"Oh,
please go on, please continue some more;
To hear your story
we truly adore!"
Cried a chorus of
the funny bald men.
"I cannot,"
squeaked Eli, "I've barely got a whisper left,
Please," he
whispered, "of a hearing I am bereft."
And on that appeal
words gushed forth from all of them.
Eli
was taken aback to hear such chatter
And their high
pitched tones (from clicks to clatter);
He heard as many as
ten discussions at once
Coming from ten
pairs of fat green rouged lips.
And with bulging
eyes drawn red and rapid quips
The talk went on
another morn, then past lunch.
The
chatter went on for three nights and three days
(Eli passed out
after the first thousand essays).
Finally the fat
little men, now dressed in whitened wigs,
And long gowns of
colors red, white and blue,
Shook him saying,
"We have a judgment for you!"
Eli quickened and
rose from from his bed of roughly ranged twigs.
"Oh,
kind sirs," said he, "Then you will help me?"
One of them spoke
for a bit, rhetorically,
And said, "Good
lad, we are a democracy, you know,
The legendary home
of great debates and oratory;
No others exceed us
or our equal can they be;
Anyway, it is
unanimous, you've got our Great Toe!"
"Toe?"
questioned Eli, "What is this thing, the Great
Toe?"
He was shown a
large voter's tableau.
"We vote by a show
of toes, said one man;
We do this so to
use our hands
For better things,
gestures, rhetorical commands,
Or, when debate
grows hot, for waving a fan!"
"Then,"
again pressed young Eli, "You will help,
You understand?" An
old man said, "My young whelp,
We can't help but
we truly understand;
Tsk, tsk, poor,
poor lad, such a burden you've got;
Indeed, those
Lotus-eaters should be caught
And thrown clear
out of your lovely, persecuted land.
Eli
was shocked. "You understand? Then why–
Why cannot you help
me as my ally?"
The funny bald men
paced with wide greeny grins about.
"Tsk, tsk, indeed,
indeed, tsk, tsk, poor, poor lad,
It is not our way
to help; are you mad?
We can only decide,
debate and love a rhetorical bout!
It
is your problem, not ours; we understand!
Is this not enough,
must we give you a hand?
It is not our way,
Apathians are we!
Why, why, lad, we
would then be hypocrites; why, we aren't phony;
We'd be going
against our nature, you see,
For we are
apathetic and could never help thee.
Eli
sadly turned away with his thanks
And went to his
truck parked near the banks
Of a sluggish,
fetid stream channeled round and round
The village square.
He wondered being a bit goaded,
Whether
Demosthenes' Oration on the Crown
Is something upon
which the funny bald men ever doted.
Eli
stepped into the truck, turned the key,
Looked back at the
smiling faces waving so cheerfully.
As he drove away an
old man said, "Wait!
If you need real
help, seek the Stereotypes;
They live along the
river Styx and nearby the twelve mourning pipes.
Hurry lad, for the
pipes will close and you will be too late!"
Eli
thanked them all and drove into the blue
While behind he
heard chattering, "Go with God and Adieu."
Another journey,
another time,
Will lead him again
in quest for the good,
To find men bound
in true brotherhood.
They, of course,
should be the living in the coming rhyme.
Please
beam me back up to Maravot's_Index.html
Please
send me over to Maravot's_Poetry_for_People.html
Please
send me over to Maravot's_Poetry_for_People2.html
Please
send me back to Maravot's_Poetry_for_People3.html
Please
send me back to Maravot's_Poetry-for_People3.2.html
Please
send me on to Maravot's_ Poetry_for_People3.4.html,
The Prometheid, "Eli's Adventure on the River
Styx."
Please
send me on to Maravot's_Poetry_for_People3.5html,
The Prometheid, "The Redemption of Anna."
Please
send me on to Maravot's_Poetry_for_People
3.6html, The Prometheid, "Spiteful Timon."
Please
send me on to Maravot's_Poetry_for_People_3.7html,
The Prometheid, "The War."
Please
send me on to Maravot's_Poetry_for_People_3.8html,
The Prometheid, "Impressions of Cambria."
Launched
10.19.97, updated 11.1.97; 5.27.2000; 3.17.05;
2.18.06; 5.29.14
Copyright
© 1997-2014 Maravot. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1997-2014 Mel Copeland. All rights
reserved.