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Thread: Eighth Poem Of The Zookopolis

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    Senior Member Zook_e_Pi's Avatar
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    Eighth Poem Of The Zookopolis

    Of Eddies And Whirlpools, Spins And Gyres

    Either the Universe is way too big
    or my head way too small
    to box it all;
    in any case, I am unfit
    to hold uncertainty, even a bit;
    so before the dawn's early chanticleer
    binds its lungs to my ears,
    I resolve to wipe the answer clear
    and expose the niggling, nagging, percussing quiz
    for what it is
    and why it won't be for long.
    With that, I don the deerstalker cap
    put stuff in the pipe and drop in the lap
    of the rocking chair, my thinking pit.

    The morning quickly approaching by,
    the puffs arisen to the stuccoed sky;
    and alongside - contained by screen - a grate inside
    carrying aspen logs once fit to be lit to a bright orange handsome,
    reel in flames to leprechaun kicks and marathon dancing.

    To contemplate
    like the great philosophers of past
    on matters of scale from minnow to whale,
    from the splintered pick to the tall wooden mast
    - of eddies, whirlpools, spins and gyres,
    grandmaster ponderings beside a midnight fire -
    from a Universe too big
    to a head too small to box it all ... alas ...
    requires a good night's rest.
    So off to the cot to fall like lumber
    - to suckle on the tits of the nymphs of slumber -
    I gittup and git.

    Abandoned and off the wind throttle,
    a lone tobacco pipe idles
    quietly between beer bottles,
    some empty, some filled,
    one undecided and holding still.



    Uncle Zook
    CopyDoodledoo@Jan.21.2014

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    Adam Bomm (01-21-2014)

  3. #2
    Senior Member Adam Bomm's Avatar
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    Re: Eighth Poem Of The Zookopolis

    I like it...

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