a song for the heart of Iris

April 5, 2012 § 1 Comment

they’ve chalklined his feet on concrete, Iris leans on the sun
she won’t say much to consequence exept she has to run
to buy thirty pounds of protien for her homecoming son
who dug a hole beneath the rug up at their garrison
where he waits for Elija and his band of mandolins
to play a moonlit serenade while he bathes in gin
the battles must be over now it said so on page one
so he’ll pitch his fork over the fence and finish what he’s done

Charlemagne isn’t listening to the cracked bells toll
he’s heading for the sunami with a feather and fishing pole
he will cast his line into the tide and contemplate his role
as king of all simple things like body, mind and soul
and what he’s going to have to break for them to let him in
since he left his keys in San Joaqin hanging on a pin
the doorman has become a ghost he’s sitting in the hole
built by the son of Iris who is seeking out her dole

on sidewalks filled with mortar that’s rained down from facades
of parlimental leviathans raised from virgin sod
the keynote speaker is bailing out for him it’s all too odd
he leaves his script on the podium and calls his escape pod
Charlemagne is walking out of a door he just walked in
having traded a foriegn diplomat for ink and fountain pen
and it’s high tea at the vicarage where they’re arranging names
of those they posted without consent on their wall of shame

the wall is getting crowded, the viceroy thinks it’s best
to fund another section to accommodate new guests
the speaker rolls up his eyes and says to friends in jest
that he’ll withhold everything from those who leave the nest
besides, he says, pointing the reserves are growing thin
no sense in giving more since I’m not taking any less in
Charlemagne waves his feather and with a royal nod
signs his name to the charter and heads out for Cape Cod

where things are well underway in the viceroys yard
for line redacting enthusiasts of legislative lard
who express their faith in secrecy for them it won’t be hard
to boil down explainations for their lack of regard
and Iris is still dreaming, it’s the only sin
that’s gone unnoticed so she heads home again
with a box and tape and colored crepe to end another start
she says goodnight to her sweet boy and packs away her heart


§ One Response to a song for the heart of Iris

  • Thomas Davis says:

    I absolutely love this, Fred. It is really good work. There’s a story told, details, a bit of irony, rhymes that work really well, and a portrait that is as strong as anything Robert Browning wrote when he was doing portrait poetry. I enjoyed this immensely.

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