R

Cold özel rakı
served with spiced lamb souvlaki
is just so Turkey


Of course some would say that doesn’t rock (if you haven’t had enough Raki) so I’ve rolled up another ‘R’. This great ode to Canadian maritime folklore can be sung to the tune “Farewell to Nova Scotia”. Maybe some would prefer that. You are welcome to add your own verses below though–um–I guess the story really ends there doesn’t it? Sorry.


Randall of Nova Scotia, Lord of the Onion Rings
may your belly fully extended be
when you are in our view it is hard to see a thing
unless you’re cowed by the great Mr. Jim Lahey

James Lahey, a good officer of the law
strove to keep Dartmouth from wrongs and crime
but a trio’s silly prank one Halloween past saw
this paragon descend to Sunnyvale for all time

Richard and Julian were in the stir,
Bubbles in his tool shed was forlorn
but when Lucy rapped twice the cats did purr
and he opened up the door with a cat newborn.

Lucy tells Bubbles that his long lost twin
is waiting for him at her trailer/salon.
But when Bubbles meets his double Bobby-Finn
Sunnyvale collapses into a black hole. All gone

O

Orc Two
      sits up the leafy Rhûn bamboo
Watching
      apart from the bloody fighting.
But how
      did this happen to be, you ask now.
Born from
      an unimaginative Vat Mom
She was
      lighter skinned because
selfish
      genes had reverted to the elvish.
Two could
      soak up sun like she had heartwood,
a side
      her Vat siblings couldn’t abide.
And it
      didn’t end there, Two just wouldn’t fit.
She bent
      all rules, spurned not by tree or Ent.
Regret,
      did she, her lack of orc duty. Her great, dirty secret.
They beat
      her, they shoved and prodded, rarely gave her to eat
Missioned
      far ahead scouting, her superiors hoped she was attritioned.
That found
      Two away from both armies. She opted to be tree bound
so tall
      so high away in her state of AWOL
but war
      came to her no matter how she wished to close that door.
That night
      through the fight she stayed still and tight
up that
      tree though the shrieks of combat
lessened
      as the sun finally blossomed
and the
      dread orc horde encaving quickly.
Human,
      dwarves and elves rested then.
Hours Two
      waited until all was quiet, her cue.
Stepping
      lightly through forest shady edging
though tough
      threading woods she wasn’t quiet enough
Badin
      the sharp-eyed scout saw her movin’
Puzzled
      he held back on his nocked arrow.
Away
      from sun and open she’d truly stay
yet stuck,
      unOrcish, to the tree trunks and mossy muck.
“Come slow
      from the bush or you’ll have no life to show.”
Two froze.
      She looked and nothing would expose
but leaf
      and tree. Greens. Browns. Shaking in grief.
Halting
      she slipped out, all her senses assaulting
into
      the light, waiting for death so rigor, so blue.
Badin
      stepped out with his bow tightening.
“Who are
      you? Or should I ask what you are?’
“Orc Two”
      she mumbled low. Fearfully too.
“Say it
      again, semi-Orc, I could only hear a bit.”
“Orc Two!”
      “But you touch tree, leaf. Fear not sun nor sky blue.”
Two shrugs,
      “I’m not a good Orc.” On her hair, bitter, she tugs.
“Bad Orc?”
      Badin grins and eases his bow arm’s torque.
“My foe’s
      foe is not my enemy.” And, with a laugh, he goes.
Leaving
      Orc Two, of a sudden, with a life more freeing.

L

It is in the laughing
that families find their soul
surely
the tears bind
the emergencies group
the trauma unites
but
the gut shaking guffaws
endless tearful giggles welling up unwarranted
chuckles more grin than sound
snorts, not so dry,
join us more.

And like other life matters
you learn this best
by absence.

As laughter drains away from the home
the light dims
proximity lessens
anger leaps up.
Disaster all around.

So always err on the side
of laughter
and continue
reading Silly Poems with Terry