Friday, July 3, 2015

The Mirandacoot


The Mirandacoot






I do not like
this silvery-cold tree,
its tatterdy leaves,
its strangledy shoots,
said the long-tailed mirandacoot.

Its raggedy babies
come in armies and hordes
like All Hallows' ghosts on a graveyard sward;
it has no fruit,
mumbled the bat-eared mirandacoot

So she bared her teeth
to gnaw it down. but a bluefaced
jay abruptly turned clown near
a very important squirrel town, with
a nodding wren on each bent root--
'Oh, let it stay,' said the mirandacoot.

The mirandacoot
is a mythical beast
with four sharp teeth,
with cobweb fur
and spider feet.

She haunts my cellar
shaking her fist,
drawing  her charms
all over  the wall
(up which, need I add,
she knows how to crawl.)

She knows the nine herbs
Odin grew from the dragon.
She knows what Thor's goats
pulled around in their wagon,
but she won't ever tell
what she heard from Hel.

I don't go below
where she lives in her corner,
but I can feel her at night
guarding the border.




~July 2015





"Her name's Miranda. She's a Rudolph Valentino fan/ and she doesn't claim to understand/...she bakes brownies for the boys/in the band.." ~Phil Ochs

Just some fun.  






Image: Sign For A School Of Monsters, 1968, by Max Ernst.
Fair use via wikiart.org




13 comments:

  1. Oh, I LOVE this! So unexpected that you should write something so lighthearted and almost Lear-like. Every word is a gem. And look at beautiful young you! Reading this made my day.

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    1. Possibly my only use ever of the word 'sward.' Thanks, dearie.

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  2. Fantastic! I may have one of those too. I have noticed "cobweb fur" in a few places. Delightful read.

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  3. This was absolutely fantastical!

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  4. Ah. She is a very tolerant and clever mirandicoot. I will come back for a longer comment but she spins a tempest of a charm here and glad she is on the right side of things. Beautiful pic-- both of them but the one of you especially. Thanks. Great music. Great drum beat-- gentled by xonpassion. Read a c and m there. K.

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    1. No need to comment twice, k--this is just some silliness that came into my head, nothing I intended to mean much of anything. I did read C & M, but I kind of like the sound of xonpassion--it might be what robots feel. ;_)

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  5. Ha. This is very Edward Lear or leer like and she is a great guardian or alter ego but I was thinking of the name-- the young Miranda of the tempest who is compassionate turned old coot-- not a bad identity-- especially since she is so at ease with caliban or in this case those goats-- k.

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    1. Yes, that Miranda. :_) Thanks for looking in again, k. Happy Fourth.

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  6. How can you go wrong with her guarding the border. We all need border guards. Perhaps personally - and I guess if you are a republican quite literally. Or the Donald. Sorry, I digress. There is a fun rhythm and internal rhyme to this as well. Oh, I would enjoying hearing a bit about Hel though.

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  7. Good to have such a beast in the roots, sustaining a certain humour in the hedge. Sometimes I think my Oran guards the door to the Land Beneath the Wave. (The doors to Minoan tombs were constructed not the let the dead in, but to keep them out.) He knows what I don't and knows I don't want to go there ... we're good to have a guardian between blue dream and black death. A tough job but someone in psyche has gotta do it ...

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    1. I saw one of those 'memes' on facebook the other day--you know, picture and quote, (usually misquote) that said 'You are never old in your dreams' and I find it very true, actually. One is always one's younger self(if one is oneself at all) I would say 20-30. So somewhere, at least, we beat the clock. RE: keeping out the dead--yes, reminds me of the folk practice of leaving the doors and windows open while a corpse lies within to let the spirit leave--please. We aren't here for long, and shouldn't try to be. Thanks, B.

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  8. LOOOOOOOOOVE the photo! Beautiful! And enjoyed the poetic tale so very much.

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  9. Reminds me of Seuss filtered through Gaiman.

    Lovely photo, truly; and a hoot with the coot... ~

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg