what the hyena cannot kill
it will steal
tallied on the gritted walls of our toil
their bounty cultivated from the nothing we now possess
and the bodies which must fall once their winter bites
no time left to wail and gnash
we must become as lions that rise
and grip the throat of this thieving class
there was a spark in mindless stupid
would it not be the ladies remarking
at scooped cut asphalt
jagged, freeing suffocated Terre?
the most fertile , the most thirsty.
Lush outside. inside the skin?
rancid repulsive desiccation,
a piquant impulse for escaping love.
Mouth's morning wift: gloomy, heavy, smoke.
Framework: gaunt & yellow, a Purple cadaver among stern Circles, reflecting the Nausea of popularprice
I hate school
because teacher Giraffe is always
picking on me
in his high and lofty manner
He's always pointing at me
with his prehensile tongue
and snorting: "Maybe you'd
like to stop laughing
and share your joke
with the rest of animal class?"
But I don't know no joke;
I just laugh
so King Lion
summoned us for a meeting
and King sat on his throne
and before he started
the King looked in my direction
and he roared:
"Hyena - don't you dare laugh;
here in Council what we deliberate over
is no laughing matter"
And I pissed in my pants
(in a manner of speaking)
and sat throughout the meeting
trembling in fear, as it seemed
to the King -
but also because I had to keep
my suppressed laughter
rocking in my tummy
throughout the meeting
Do you ever realize?
The significance of a coin
Given, to the beggar
For the value of this coin,
Worth no more than
Spare change to thee,
One step closer to
Living another day.
Do you ever ponder?
The release of instincts,
Like hyenas, in search of food,
Scouring the plains.
When beings seek nourishment.
Every second, minute,
Longing for survival,
Basking in the smell of food.
Without a meal and shelter,
The homeless have nowhere to go,
Do you ever wonder?
The act of charity,
Bringing a smile upon the under-privileged.
For their appreciation,
Their meager 'Thank You',
Greater for themselves,
Than they do to you,
Regardless of your standing.
Bless be the silver
That feeds their families once again.
Never do you believe
The true value of your coin,
When it is brought upon others
Whom need it more:
When it is used to bring others
To a plane higher than ever before,
When it is used to provide,
For the homeless.
The coin in your pocket may be
Their shelter for a day.
The lion had just lost his dear wife,
Madam lioness a couple of years ago,
She was in the prime of her life,
When she succumbed to deathly udder cancer,
Mr. Lion grieved with all energy of the bereaved beast
To make it worse, he was also terminally ill
Of the vicious lung cancer, boring his windpipes,
That when he respired sweet music came out,
Like classical xylophones of eyeless Mehrun Yurin,
His sons were away commanding respective territories
Each son a territory in the order of traditional monarchy,
No one was to cook for the sick lion, don’t mention washing,
Hence the sons hired the squirrel alias madam Caroline,
She cooked as she did all other chores in the palace,
She was good in a concocting a matchless soup
From white mushrooms and cured goat’s meet,
As Caroline cooked she also sampled by tasting for her perfection
This little by little tasting made her to increase the strength,
Her skin became smooth, her buttocks swell
Her tail became shorter and steady, but very clean,
Her skin very oily and comely, exuding no evil smell,
Her walking style purged to majestic fashion
Even the type of songs she sang
Were not peasant spirituals,
Mr. Hyena wondered and wondered;
Is the squirrel pregnant?
Only to discover she was not,
But she has a new job;
Of cooking for the sick king lion,
Hyena also heard from the public domain
That she often cooks, goat meat and mushrooms,
But the ram tail twice in week; Tuesday and Sunday,
Jealousy and bigotry, malice and prejudice ganged up at once
And gripped the hyena simultaneously,
And swore to himself that come anything;
Spells of sunshine or blizzards of snow,
He must and must; root out the squirrel
From the palace kitchen,
That bright morning he went to the palace,
Singing a Christian song in praise of Lazarus,
Who resurrected from the dead,
He entered the palace still singing,
He commanded every to stand, put off the laurels,
For he wants to pray for the sick,
He made long and noisy circumlocutions of a prayer,
With regular stamping of feet and amen,
Commanding the devil of cancer to leave,
The lungs of the king, the mighty lion.
He said final amen and all sat down
Two sons of the king, the young lions,
Were all in somber moods, their father was sick,
From the kitchen, the squirrel surfaced,
With goats meat on a metallic platter,
He served the sick lion first,
Then each of them present,
On the first taste of food,
Hyena lost control of nerves
His tail jumped out of the white trouser
That he was wearing that day,
He ate voraciously with a crazy appetite,
No such delicious food had ever crossed his way.
He cleared his food first as expected,
Then he kept mum like a stooge,
Only wagging his long tail
His long tongue hanging out
Flagging in avarice like leaves of banana,
When all others stopped eating,
Hyena began in form of a question,
To which the lion’s family listened
Indeed with kingly caution;
Am asking you the king,
Why is Madam Caroline the squirrel,
Eating your food everyday,
And you are dying of a treatable disease,
To which she has the medicine,
Why is she betraying you?
To such a simple death?
All the lions plus the sick one
Jumped to the squirrel with all horror,
For the squirrel to bring the cure
Or the be killed first be the lion dies,
She pleaded for a minute to bring the drug,
Hyena in full gear of happiness
As his friend chews misfortune,
She blamed her small body size to be the barrier
To bringing the medicine for king lion,
But nonetheless medicine was available,
Lions roared tell us! Where is the medicine?
In a soft voice the squirrel said;
The only cure for this disease of the king,
Is a fresh liver of a male hyena!
The hyena was frozen with surprise,
Like any other foolish bigot,
He begged to leave as his time was over,
No answer came to his request,
Other than abysmal darkness
Of violent death gulfing his body,
King lion drunk Hyena’s blood
In addition to the liver
On the squirrel’s instructions,
The lion became well
And began walking strong,
Out of this joy
King lion promoted the squirrel
To be a minister of health
In the kings palace.
Out he shot like a screaming hyena, the Pig’s wig to the side
His trotters were performing a jig, he wasn’t quite sure.
Usually he leaves the house so full of respect and pride
And was particular about anything he touched or indeed wore.
“The Duck’s gone” he yelled to nobody that was about
“My friend has up and left me” sobbing out for all he was worth
“Does nobody care, can anyone hear me if I shout”.
“Talk to me, it doesn’t cost the Earth”
By now the Pig had got his bloomers in a twist
Started searching all the cupboards he could find.
Seeking out the little places he had inadvertently missed.
Looking in all the secret hideouts a Duck would hide.
The Pig sat in a corner and waited for the duck to come back.
He waited a couple of days and he was wondering whether he was dead.
He something outside, he thought it was a quack.
In slid a skinny leg and a webbed foot as brown as wholemeal bread.
In slid a suitcase with stickers “I was here” on from a seaside resort.
In came an enormous stuffed donkey toy with “Made in Spain” on it.
The little devil has been abroad without me, he thought
He has got the nerve I have to admit.
He was getting crosser and crosser by the minute
He was a nice shade of violet and blue.
The blood in his veins putting pressure on his three piece suit
In fact he was getting himself wound up and in a stew.
“Where exactly do you think you have been” enquired the blue blob
“Oh I have been to Majorca for the week, told you when I booked”.
By now he’d heard enough and his head had started to throb.
The Duck had squeezed in his saucepan cupboard and never looked.
The Pig was still chattering on firing the same old question
The Duck was stuffing himself silly with Spanish sweets
Devouring one after the other in no order or hesitation
Never before had he had such nice treats.
The pig finally tapped on the door of the cupboard and spoke
The Duck could not answer owing to too much food being in his beak.
The Pig was under the impression he was copying a bloke
When the Duck let out a gigantic squeak.
A line of ants were frog marching a leaf around his leg
He froze like a solid lump of ice on a hot day.
His legs were shaking like they were scrambled egg
And his mind had gone into panic and was far away.
The Pig the protective one, at once became a superhero role
The door between them came down with a crash
To the annoyance of the Duck who had his head in a pudding bowl
Promptly hid the bowl and sweets in a flash.
“How dare you interrupt me” shouted he with a frown.
His legs were twitching from the ants which were bothering him
The Duck got up off the floor and proceeded to jump up and down,
The Pig thought his actions were foolish and pretty grim.
One week later the Duck reluctantly emerged from the cupboard
And began to prepare something for friend to eat.
He ransacked the shelves like old Mother Hubbard
Rescuing some tins of something or other which were now obsolete.
Which was fine by the Pig, he ate anything he could get his trotters on
He was just pleased to be reunited with his dear old friend.
He dined until whatever the meal was called was gone
He did not enjoy the slop and once more had to pretend.
If you see the wonder of a fairytale
the midnight trysts of the snail
the laughter of the whale
the hammer being hit by the nail
The elephant afraid of the mouse
the cuckoo burgling a house
the old woman who lived in a shoe
the ghost who couldn’t say boo
The giraffe who hated the smell of his feet
the hyena who’s laughter was like a drum beat
the ant-eater who didn’t eat ants
the day Donald Duck forgot his pants
These thoughts made me giggle
I hope it gave a funny bone a tickle
I went to this meeting
(when I was a kid)
and the ritual
consisted mainly of laughing
and they laughed and they laughed -
you know, and I just didn't get it
I demanded an explanation -
but no fellow-hyena could explain it
nobody knows why;
and now I am an adult hyena
and I just laugh - it's something to do
with survival, I think
Meet me here
at a quarter passed four
in the morning.
I'll be the boy
in the duck sauce t-shirt
you can wear your favorite
I'll have my my secret
Your hips will be destroyed.
I'll pull my bright red wagon
and a handful of other toys.
I'll dance the flute
and play a jig
You can drink as many
Long island ice teas as you want
I'll be your rodeo clown
Your laughing hyena
Your pinstriped suit
Your Knight that you dream of.