Fools Parade

It's so cruel

all we learn in school

is mocking behavior

reciting some rule

not that life's here to savor

for each free playful fool

 

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Enter dear Fool upon the Precipice, prattling ditties of daily airwaves.

She is whirling blithely, eyes upon a distant rainbow, breathing in clouds.

Breathing out daisies and daffodils and a brilliance of pansies.

She is dancing to her own symphony, entranced in her deepest essence.

Without thought, without prayer, without a government authorized identity,

there are no guarantees, no happy ending.

 

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Brief infusion

of giddy illusion

glows

just enough to guilefully entice.

Sparkling Neural net

smiles,

a secret

clue revealing

purpose, meaning;

engages

wild eternal child,

ages' flamboyant fool,

Glorious

Muse

 

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Here’s to the weary.

Here’s to the fun.

Here’s to the berry that makes us all young.

Here’s to the rulers.

Here’s to the fools.

Here’s to the toilers and tellers of truths.

Here’s to the end of another decline.

Here’s to the best of our time.

 

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April’s Fool

 

 

A Fool I've been,

jogging behind visions,

cringing from derision,

seeking solace from a merry Moon

too soon gone old.

Peeping back on follies,

sticking pins in pain -- jolly?

no, morose, cold ...

Harridan crone.

Have my wanderings sown

no happy harvest, no cozy home?

Snuggling into punishing remorse

"You knew you should have run a better course!"

"You know you deserve to be alone."

Is that true?  Am I the Fool careening

down the precipice,

broken, no meaning;

is this my hapless fate?

Daze of failure insists I mistake

castigation for a goal?

A Fool can be a cherished, merry soul,

lightly traipsing heroic mountain trails,

reveling in freezing rain and snow,

tasting bite of ice and flame without bitterness.

This I know.

 

 

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Somnolent glide, sinuous, silvery stair.

Burnt eyes still, closed to the world.

What glimpse might I witness

if only I dare?

Is there purpose to wandering Earth?

Should I care?

But what if I'm missing the thrill?

What would carry me there?

*

Over the boundaries; into the wild.

Not a safe task to commit to a child.

A quest full of questions.

A fool's 'oliday.

And, have I mentioned,

no promise of pay.

Just a born again supplicant

reshaping the code,

creating the tale I'll tell

when I'm old.

 

 

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Mood’s choral turns to Spring.

That special lethargy that poets faux affect,

reflective as a silver pool.

We like the love that lets us play the fool,

exudes good humor, respite from

sober shame of longing heart.

That flame, that spark that arts

wish power to capture,

that rapture.

 

 

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Let the goodtimes roll

down fresh verdant hillside,

winter's sorrows

spilling out like seed.

Cleansed free.

Elegant foolery open to bountiful showers.

Flagrant flowers, emergent liberation.

Layered legend long ripens, tangled,

mired below in

torpid traipse through dust and gloom.

Swept into light as destiny,

revealed by labor of cultivation,

excavated, bestowed honoured place

in ritual chorus.

Celebrate

‘round hallow table, exultant vibration.

Energies blend, fuse.

Recombinant winds call timeless tunes.

Rhythmic movements re- and un- engage,

ever changing,

never wholly new.

 

 

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Wrested from Mama's warmth, from

the cave, to play brave.

And it's ladies' choice as you squirm

in fool's corner.

Such a chore -- kissing at this

and that for a chance to score

the shame, the blame from stuck-out

tongues, the bloody laughter.

 

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Penny Fools

Pound Fools

run ruinous errands,

rush past threshold of Hell

in cheap reticules.

 

 

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Cast into a class that laughs at rules,

what holds grimy chaos at bay?

(Fools at least are pure, are gay and

without malice.)

 

 

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Smoke simmering black deliciously divides while cackling

into echoes far seeking.

But there's that puppy-dog barking need for love, for

status, for a wise old fool to follow into certain death

and beyond.

Who believes these mutterings?

Who would want to?

 

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I tell Your secrets

in riddles, rhythms

If those fools would but

smile and dance

the sands would fly into music

Play on

 

 

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People I became over ages.

Foolish sages.

Slave to wages.

Humble servant to whomever

gave a glance.

Always ready for a game with chance,

burning bridges to

swim in fate's brave waves.

 

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What fool would risk stability,

shame, neighbor’s hostility,

to resist?  Stripped of private self-determination,

could such fools exist?

 

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What can I say?

*

There’s valid point in

all this farce?

That the fool on the precipice

dances beautifully?

No matter

what the cost

there's a prize worth the price

of steadfast duty?

There is bountiful advice

in the stars?

There's a lucky star;

and it's ours?

There is magick,

to believe in?

Requited hope, ecstatic grace?

There is more than we imagine?

There is gold in inner space?

There is danger; there are dragons?

There are knights and righteous cause?

There are chaos taming tactics  --

There are underlying laws

that we obey?

 

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