Stood rigidly to attention either side of the hearth, the two bronze fire-dogs had been struggling to maintain that British stiff upper lipidness, which up until earlier that evening had best befitted their station in life... indeed, for the last half hour at least had become brothers in arms to the dying embers filtering through the bars of the cast-iron grate, passing from the present here and now, having lost every thermal attribute necessary to sustain any further vestige of life... to the shortly forthcoming and being at oneness with the Universe... only to fall foul of the overflowing ash-pan below.  This premature cashing in of the coal fire's chips could only be attributed to the recent and prolonged thrashing from the Baronial poker... and a distinct lack of enthusiasm from the family retainer, whom it appeared, required spurring along in a like manner... and while unseen mechanisms were heard to be engaging, then resonating deep within the Hall... that unless summoned... and quickly, the housekeeper had little intention of making an appearance of her own choosing and re-stoke the Study fire while the BBC Home Service were airing 'Your 100 Best Tunes' on the wireless, leaving the heavily tarnished pendulum to continue measuring the hour.

     An indistinct mutter and snap of a closing door latch sounded in the immediate distance as the unhurried shuffle of domestic footsteps... not too dissimilar from those of Jacob Marley's spectral visitation to Scrooge... echoed ever closer along the ancient, oak panelled hallway without.  Their sudden cessation, allowing the housekeeper ingress to  the book lined Study, was by way of sporadic groans from unoiled hinges, door furniture that voiced the same overwhelming lack of attention as that of the fire-grate set in the wall opposite and presumably, from the same overwhelming lack of domestic servitude.
                                        
     "Had his Lordship rang...?" the Housekeeper wailed dolefully, giving her employer what might casually pass for a courteous bob... and in lieu no doubt, of Marley's rattling chains, padlocks and dusty ledgers... "and would there be anything further his Lordship required..." before she took her leave for the evening.  The notion of a sticky mint humbug warming the cockles of his ancient, aristocratic heart gave her pause for thought as she rummaged through her pinafore pockets, then thought better of it, after all, confectionary didn't grow on trees...  In bobbing a second time she noticed the malnourished, yet strangely twinkling coal-scuttle lounging over by the hearth, whose insubstantial contents had taken on an ethereal quality earlier that evening and had now transferred its undivided attention to the recently summoned Housekeeper, who was quite prepared to offer up a candle in supplication come next Evensong were she mistaken, but the coal-scuttle's twinkle bore every intimation of giving what appeared to be a very suggestive 'come-on' in return... and had been doing so since she first entered the room... 'and did she have any plans of her own that particular evening', the coal-scuttle twinkled suavely, 'perchance a leisurely stroll down by the old coal cellar steps...'  Now perhaps it was the lateness of the hour which had caused the Housekeeper's confusion that evening, or perhaps an over stretched imagination, brought on through domestic inactivity, but it wouldn't take a great deal to hazard that a lingering fondness for Gin and tonic played no small part towards her next curtsey, which she did, albeit unwittingly, in the unerring direction of the winking coal-scuttle.

     With the household keys as her badge-of-office, jangling defiantly from the chain around her waist, the housekeeper began inching back the same way she came, back towards the study door and freedom... and back into the welcoming arms of her 1/4 lb. bag of peppermint humbugs and the pint of best London Gin she'd had to relinquish prior to 'Songs of Praise...' and which was now to be found... should you happen to be an inquisitive fly on a particular piece of floral wallpaper... half-cut, locked arm in arm with the bottle of Indian tonic water and in the final, intoxicating throws of William Blake's, 'Jerusalem...' hic.

     "Ha-arrumph..." the elderly gentleman cleared his throat... "ah Gabby" he said, lowering his book and placing it face down upon the occasional table set beside him.  The flatulent groan of tired leather upholstery made itself heard above the steady monotony of the mantle-piece clock as he stood and chaffed his hands in the direction of the bereft fire, "Oh! I'm sorry your Lordship, then there was something...?" as she maintained her steady but relentless backwards retreat unabated, the double-barrelled bunch of keys taking up a strong rear-guard action and away from the well disposed coal scuttle... "and was his Lordship quite certain that he required the fire stoking at such a late hour..." she dared, "perhaps a nice warming glass of port and brandy instead" gesturing towards the salver, long since tarnished by the half hearted attentions of a proprietary metal polish... "and would he care for..." then thought better of offering to plump the chair cushions herself, having discovered Mort, the household mouser in the final stages of claiming them as his own, deftly rearranging the Victorian Plush with far more than any noble airs or graces.

     "Poor Mrs Alabaster, you will recall Sir, I'm sure..." a pained expression crossed the Housekeepers face as she collided with a corner of the Georgian writing bureau and bringing her to an abrupt halt... "her late Ladyships lady" she continued, indiscreetly rubbing her derriere, "whose services your Lordship dispensed with at the onset of last Winter, shortly after the funeral, God rest her late Ladyship... when you made her redundant... and how she's been unable to find a new situation ever since on account of her lumbago flaring up again, seeing as how it's been the coldest January in living memory", which in all likelihood meant since records began... "and SHE didn't have any coal either... or a roof over her head for all anyone cared... begging yer' pardon, yer' Lordship", letting her tongue slip as she attempted yet one more curtsey... "and it's wicked-cruel outside this time of year Sir, you wouldn't turn a dog out in it..." and how ordering the coal used to be Mrs Alabaster's responsibility...

     "Oh no, Sir", as she unsuccessfully stifled a hiccup...she would be only too delighted to rouse the Cook, especially after that dodgy piece of scrag-end they'd all had to suffer during Epiphany, but it was only last week that the Doctor had confined Cookie to bed with the croup... "as I'm sure your Lordship will recall..." as she attempted a double curtsey for effect, the despondent coal-scuttle now all but forgotten, "that below-stairs had been dining on pottage since a week Friday gone... and it tends to get a little moribund after almost a fortnight your Honour... and that Mrs Cotswold's rheumatism was still showing no signs of improvement either by the looks of things... and was having to visit the Chiropodist every fortnight for her bunions scraping... and how she's been advised to keep taking the embrocation as required".

     As a young woman, any disposition her grandmother may have had towards sobriety or moral virtue had quickly been prevailed upon by the former Master's son taking intimacy to the next level with the saucy Parlour Maid's good nature.   Shortly thereafter, having been obliged to marry the first available Gardener that came along, she was often heard to say "a bun in the oven's worth two in the bush" for it was with stories 'of such goings-on'  that made it abundantly clear to the Housekeeper, that it was far more than old age creeping up... and that if she didn't keep her wits wrapped tightly about her, as she threw a sideways glance at the winking philanderer... then who would.

     As for the Gardener, "well... he couldn't possibly manage the cellar steps at this late hour, yer' Lordship, wot' with the weather being the way it is right now Sir, seasonal... and him with his broken caliper... and bronchitis playing him up at every turn, even though his own ailing missus swore by a freshly grown rhubarb poultice first thing each morning", but oddly enough, "how it always seemed to work better if the young barmaid down in the village rubbed it on, especially around opening time..." even his brother, Mr Potts Senior, ever since their Dad passed away... "God rest his eternal soul", as she whirled, twice in as many seconds, a mystical finger in the air... had said how surprised he'd been to discover that it could be used as a ground mulch for seed-cucumbers... it was truly amazing how The Good Lord provided for the righteous... and even as she spoke, was working in mysterious ways, His Wonders to Behold... "Praised-Be-The-Lord".

     And how the entire household, with the possible exception of Mrs Alabaster, her late Ladyships lady, who doggedly refused to be evicted from her 'Grace n' Favour cottage...' the one with pretty red roses growing around the door, that despite a string of eviction notices from the apoplectic Estate manager... had noticed what a fine upstanding Gentleman his Lordship had steadfastly remained since her late Ladyships sudden demise... "God-rest-her-immortal-soul..." and may she allow herself to say, "how refreshing it was to have such a progressively minded and discerning employer such as his Lordship at the helm, one filled with patient understanding and commitment towards the entire household..." much like herself...

     Fearing an uncontrollable attack of the ague, which invariably took the form of a selfless and unstinting dereliction to duty and always flared up at the slightest suggestion of having to roll her sleeves up and do something... which incidentally, was the first mutual attraction by common consent to which her parents, some forty years earlier had discovered they both held in tandem... and "would his Lordship take exception..." feigning a sudden relapse as she gestured towards the nearest chair, were she to take the weight off her feet... she plonked herself solidly upon the Chippendale before his Lordship could decline... "perhaps a recuperative drop of brandy" she volunteered, "just for medicinal purposes", she swept her feet onto the footstool, then crossed them with a flourish that would have caused Cyrano de Bergerac to hang up his sword... "the good stuff, if his Lordship would be so kind, in the lead-crystal decanter... over in the corner by the potted plant", she caught sight of the adjacent cigarette box, also tarnished... "just to keep body and soul together, may it please 'Him upon High'..." and just long enough to brave the coal cellar steps and refill the amorous scuttle... "if only it were a little less chilly", she gave an affected cough... on account of her diphtheria acting up again, she felt sure that his Lordship understood...  Moving over to one of the book lined alcoves, the elderly Gentleman lifted several tomes from the shelves... 'My Life in Anthracite', an illustrated compendium' "to begin with, I think... followed by... hmm!" 'The History of Fossil-Fuels, a comprehensive study in twelve breath taking volumes' "and we'll take it from there" as he threw the first on the barely smouldering embers...

                                                      ­     ...   ...   ...**

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                         1859

Adrift on her very first voyage
With the sea coursing in through her bow
Lay the cruise ship, the S.S. Lumbago
There was scarcely a chance for her now
But Ahoy! On the western horizon
In a flurry of yellow and green
That ender of blight and a damsel’s delight
And he’s always on cue for his scene

It’s Sir Patrick Stewart!
And his Luxury Budgerigar!
It’s got seating for seventy people
And the service is well above par
There’s an adequate medical unit
And a modest but elegant bar
What more could a man ever dream of
In a Luxury Budgerigar?
Well…

The forests of England were burning
So the foxes escaped to the city
The badgers had taken to looting
And the squirrels had formed a committee
But who should arise from a manhole
With a confident gleam in his eye?
That destroyer of woes with a spring in his toes
And he’s quick with a witty reply…

Sir Patrick Stewart!
And his Luxury Budgerigar!
With adjustable hose pipe attachment
It’s got wheels like a feathery car
The forests were dowsed and the fauna re-housed
With a three day retreat at a spa
It’s a thing to admire and surely acquire
The Luxury Budgerigar!
But…

Susan was stricken with sorrow
Twas her darkest, most fearful hour
A spider had wrestled her out of her bath
And set up his home in the shower
But who should jump out of the wardrobe
With an innocent look on his face?
That singer of shanties, remover of *******
And first in an obstacle race

Sir Patrick Stewart!
And his Luxury Budgerigar
With a sucker for spiders and beetles
That deposits them into a jar
There’s a tiny wee restaurant to feed them
It was given a Michelin star
A remarkable thing with retractable wings
Is a Luxury Budgerigar

So if you should be in a pet shop
And you see just the critter for you
Please heed this advice: make a note of the price
Then proceed to the back of the queue
When you ask for your preference of creature
Should it whistle, slither or waddle
Do as Sir Patrick Stewart did
And opt for the Luxury model

I’d jump at the chance to ride shotgun
on Henry’s medicine wagon
rolling from city to village
hawking 'Stickin’ Salve' and 'Oil of Gladness'.

We’d ride into Elmira’s County Fair
and set up over by the lake.
I’d fix old Diamond a pail of oats
and draw her a bucket of water.
while great, great grandpa
squeezed on his Union coat
and arranged his potions on the shelves.

Henry’s voice would boom
across the water like a megaphone
and people would gather close -
lured in by the old codger's
hypnotic banter of miracle cures -
and perilous Civil War battles.
  
He’d swear on his mother’s lumbago
that 'Stickin’ Salve' works just as fine
as the lead and powder
he’d fired at Cedar Mountain.

The folks would shake with mirth
whenever he bellowed,
“I’m Henry Howard from Bunker Hill -
Never worked and never will."
Women would tug their husband's sleeves
and they’d bring me pennies and dimes.

After dusk we’d tally the coins
and latch down the wagon for the night
then sleep side by side on the grass
beneath the New England stars.

At sunrise I'd wipe his brow -
to ease him gently back
from the thunder of enemy shells
still firing in his restless sleep.

We'd cook up some bacon and biscuits,
hitch Diamond up to the wagon
then head south through the rolling hills
along the Tioga valley.
We’d breathe in the fresh country air
and tip our caps to the farmers.

If Henry would come to tap my shoulder
some promising morning in spring
and whisper "the wagon's hitched outside,"
I’d go in a Tioga minute.

*December,  2006

Lumbago ought be a flower,
but it ain't.
Goldfish could have shoulders,
but they don't.
Death should have meaning
and my windows need cleaning
by the missus - but I know-
she just -- won't.

Okay let's get the etiquette straight
I walk towards you, i nod
You nod back
Works all around the world
What doesn’t work, is, you stopping
Stopping is bad
It’s a protocol thing
One must never stop and engage one
You just don’t do it
I really don’t want to know about your corns
Don’t give a crap about your lumbago
The price of fish doesn’t interest me
Old Mrs Jones died this time
Sure she’ll be missed
Your wife’s having an affair
How are your corns
They really can be painful i’m told
That lumbago
I could recommend a good chiropractor
The price of fish these days, shocking
Old Mrs Jones
God, i’ll miss her
Is that my bust, bus
Need to rush.

Antonio Machado, Fernando Pessoa, Juan Gelman crearon de un plumazo sus heterónimos, unos señores que tuvieron la virtud de complementarlos, ampliarlos, hacer que de algún modo fueran más ellos mismos. También yo (vanitas vanitatum) quise tener el mío, pero la única vez que lo intenté resultó que mi joven heterónimo empezó a escribir desembozadamente sobre mis cataratas, mis espasmos asmáticos, mi ****** zoster, mi lumbago, mi hernia diafragmática y otras fallas de fábrica. Por si todo eso fuera poco se metía en mis insomnios para mortificar a mi pobre, valetudinaria conciencia. Fue precisamente ésta la que me pidió: por favor, colega, quítame de encima a este estorbo, ya bastante tenemos con la crítica.

Sin embargo, como los trámites para librarse de un heterónimo son más bien engorrosos, opté por una solución intermedia, que fue nombrarlo mi representante plenipotenciario en la isla de Pascua. Por cierto que desde allí acaba de enviarme un largo poema sobre la hipotética vida ****** de los moairs. Reconozco que no está nada mal. Se nota mi influencia.

Lumbago awakened me in tears
of pain and fear of intensifying
acuteness, worsening condition
compelling mind to impose

therapeutical distraction,
persuading fantasy to create
spontaneous cuttings of pictures,
papers, magazines, old national

geographic dreams scopelessly selected
waiting on ideas to sparkle a theme
from coffee, cigarettes and analgesics.
Human evolution standing behind bars,

as I ponder on the meaning not
of the artwork but its making,
for I have no walls to hang
the sticky assemblage and haven’t

had them for a while. Used to clothes
in suitcases, books on other people’s
shelves, memories in shoeboxes,
the essence of my being in a body.

Oh walls! So longed for by humanity
urging to *****, building distance one
brick at the time, compartmentalising
individuals looking for pseudo shelter

under roofs, spurious safety behind
ramparts, four to enclose shame
for their actions, inconsiderate
behaviour of the willingly blind.

Yet what if there weren’t any walls?

People unable to neglect the sorrow
of their neighbours for they’re standing,
just by them, no drawing the curtains
no locking the doors, no closing

the gates. People inhabiting open
landscapes, bonded by necessity to engage
in living together, for unity is strength.
No wonder why our kind is so fragile today.

Lumbago ought be a flower,
but it ain't.

Goldfish could have shoulders,
but they don't.

Death should have meaning
and my windows need cleaning
by the missus -

but I know- she just -- won't.

Anyhow, NO CHICK can stay angry with me because I'm more accommodatingly-docile than an unarmed *** maiden addicted to synthetical Lithium complex.  
   It was a friendly day today because Saipan wasn't under a typhoon watch. Wake up American Australians to enjoy a hearty breakfast that features pork products! A vegetarian, who wants to make it to 100, must supplement with desiccated liver pills as ***** meat is nutrient dense. Why is the Earth an immovable plane? Why is the moon semi-transparent? I'm endeavoring to spread good cheer cheerfully (light v. heavy, sciatica v. lumbago).

Unpainted Canvas

The insurance man was young and so closely shaved
it looked so naked, and I had to look away,
His face was  white like a blank canvas that had
still to be painted on by time.
When signing papers he had to use reading glasses
which made him look older.
He was incredibly kind I had an attack of lumbago
and he helped me up from my chair standing up
I'm pain-free, but I can't stay up all day.
Back to my old self I opened the door bid him well
and we parted as friends.

Expounded late today April 27th, 2023
since being written
countless years ago
maybe a baker's dozen
as thee doodling **** doth crow
scouting about for carrion
scavenging for dead animals
and rooting about garbage to sell
at annual corvus entrepôt,
where at birds eye view

buzzfeeding crowdsource
talon (telling) the famed truth
regarding chicken scratch
scrawled illegibly by eccentric hand
now sought after collector's item
signature birdbrained, bird dogged,
bird dinned long haired,
pencil necked geek recluse
can be found in his grotto
along with original manuscripts

characterizing Mark Twain
in general and ***** Joe
in particular linkedin
with Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn,
who suffered fools gladly,
but nevertheless being a security detail
he dealt with hoodlums -
frequently tossing them out
on their golden earring
and experienced severe lumbago.

When dire circumstances extant do I ask
for anonymous benefactor
to write me a blank check
so edenic, idyllic, and pacific sunny
spring day yours truly can bask
tapping a keg of spring water
stored in an airtight cask
when thirsty, I pour into
an ice cold
(not a tad above absolute zero)
temperature controlled flask
while donned (underclothes

resembling Ally's gaiters),
and outer garments
emblematic of space suits
my favorite martian outfit
and astronaut helmet and mask
to minimize contamination
paraphernalia acquired courtesy gofundme
for assistance sans when cash strapped
since temptation to rob a bank dismissed  
guru wannabe of gumption
buckles when he tackles
formidable onerous task.

Otherwise an inner compulsion
advocates dishing out non repeating
infinite decimal calculating pi
on nearing infinite jesting kron limit
can unlock esprit de corp
spirit to tackle and barrel headlong
novel circumstance silently cheering
myself to get unstuck
if in quandary like eeyore
and experience shuttered
gloating euphoria galore
for

reasons spelled out
because das saucy papa
**** sitters himself an insecure
noodle head as told me courtesy Kishore
and Kouila Raval –
unsure if surname correct,
(who approximately
forty five years ago lived at
Colony Arms Apartments
within Audubon Pennsylvania,
where yours truly felt infatuation
toward their daughter named Menal)

woven into this reasonable rhyme
as thoughts analogous
getting squeezed thru many a kernel pour
out corny and flaky as Tony the tiger
in tandem with Katy Perry
emanating a figurative roar
to even out the score,
when as a boy alias scapegoat
of bullies subsequently
pleaded for peace versus declaring war,
prepubescent and young adult of yore.

He admits being affected with Peter Pan's
jiffy (labyrinthe) syndrome
the prospect of becoming older,
I decried physical maturation
(wanted to remain being a little boy)
upon skinny legs objected to stand
when juiced a striping slip of a lad,
whether at home
or in class room
playing solitary candy land
submissive toward parental

intervention against teachers’ pet(s)
mandated got foisted upon my person
equated to more than helping hand
my lonely hearts club one young man band,
whereby me late mother
(preceded date of this poem)
before lovely bones
of then octogenarian father
punctuated mortality
with exclamation mark
when tightly coiled resembles ampersand!

Said enabling parents offtimes
completed my entire major assignments,
homework, and major class project,
say researching history of York
reinforced dependence on others
with angst riddled psychic torque
underscoring in boldface defects
mine genetically typed quirk
this then young man lacked confidence
as requisite  perk
with inxs o faith no more seeds
of worthlessness did lurk
inferiority hardly groomed me
a foo fighting beastie boy
resembling creature from Black Lagoon
covered head to toe with mire and murk
antagonistic role and potential enemy
characterized by Captain Kirk;

Hence without a spock of confidence,
neither sensibility nor cents
cause gifted with noggin quite dense
consigned to bruit off fence
against meself, an outlier
never found among bad company of gents
which at presence doth incense
that middle aged male,
whence any aid pains like a lance
essentially donning out role of offence
particularly with lack of finances
where mine family rents.

I'm old
not cranky-
don't unfairly
judge me.

I'm old
too you'll be
arthritis and lumbago
naturally.

I'm old
walk clumsily
but still
maintain my mental capacity.

I'm old
Mount Everest I can't ascent
can still walk in the hill
easily descend.

I'm old
medications have too many
my medical bills are mounting
but my doctors are happy.

I'm old
still can dance and sing
though I realise
gone are my days of spring.

I'm old
part of me is still green
despite my warts and balding
to continue well-living count me in!

It was a friendly day today because Saipan wasn't under a typhoon watch. Wake up American Australians to enjoy a hearty breakfast that features pork products! A vegetarian, who wants to make it to 100, must supplement with desiccated liver pills as ***** meat is nutrient dense. Why is the Earth an immovable plane? Why is the moon semi-transparent? I'm endeavoring to spread good cheer cheerfully (light v. heavy, sciatica v. lumbago).

Born sixty one years ago,
the follow poem from your bro
transmitted courtesy flagship
named Jacques-Yves Cousteau
constituting countless ones and zeroes
instantaneously traversing cyberspace
as packeted, framed dataflow
binary digits bit of information
to acknowledge when
thee transitioned being an embryo

(approximately the second
to eighth week after fertilization)
approximately nine months prior,
whose birth marked debut
of bouncing daddy's little girl,
whose inquisitiveness nourished
birthed perception buzzfeeding
capital one earthlinked baby
fostering, kickstarting, and
orchestrating cognitive aptitude,

who throughout storied existence,
which kudos ye
proudly promulgate to and fro
hither and yon across
social media platforms
understandably, opportunistically, and
humbly letting family and friends
across the webbed wide world
know amazing accomplishments,
when ye did initially grow

from being precocious genetic pedigree
into a whip smart self confident
globe trotter, whose curriculum vitae
dwarfs (by powers of seven)
feeble accomplishments of mine,
went thee invested with a heigh-**
positive state of mind
every endeavor undertaken
(in one physically gruelling instance)
biking, hiking, riding

to your private Idaho
(fast as a B-52)
versus humdrum life of one common Joe,
whose heightened perception
aside from singing the praises
of admiration toward youngest sister
after countless years, he failed to know
about her trials and tribulations
exercising your potential to the maximum
invariably feeling dog tired

with a dose of lumbago
thrown in for good measure
nevertheless adept as bilingual person
quite helpful travelling
to Spanish speaking countries
during your roaring twenties off to Mexico,
and just recently taking a jaunt
to Portugal donned accruing
vibrant sense and sensibility
treasuring richly pocketing nouveau

memories attracting natural outgrow
of ardent followers, whether online
or in flesh, who clamor for selfie photo
with thee and steadfast husband
unlike henpecked wife of mine
enjoyable as pesky miss Quito
who pesters me to get off computer
so she can binge watch Netflix
hence adieu as I hop on my cubii
off to complete
another stationary roadshow.

It was a friendly day today because Saipan wasn't under a typhoon watch. Wake up American Australians to enjoy a hearty breakfast that features pork products! A vegetarian, who wants to make it to 100, must supplement with desiccated liver pills as ***** meat is nutrient dense. Why is the Earth an immovable plane? Why is the moon semi-transparent? I'm endeavoring to spread good cheer cheerfully (light v. heavy, sciatica v. lumbago).

Wake up American Australians to enjoy a hearty breakfast that features pork products! A vegetarian, who wants to make it to 100, must supplement with desiccated liver pills as ***** meat is nutrient dense. Why is the Earth an immovable plane? Why is the moon semi-transparent? I'm endeavoring to spread good cheer cheerfully (light v. heavy, sciatica v. lumbago).