Madame Laota’s

P o e t r y - d u - J o u r !

Epitaph
What Can Be Said of Laota French?
A Bawd and a Fraud and a Harridan Wench!
But Let Us Now Turn to Her Gentler Features.
She Weren’t Never Caught Makin’ Love to No Creatures.

She Washed Her Hands Good Every Sixth of an Hour,
And Rinsed Out The Tub After Takin’ a Shower.
She’d Clean Up The Dishes and Make Up The Table,
And Rarely Spent Money on Pay-Per-View Cable.

Her Neat, Little Cottage Gave Off a Warm Glow,
For She Built it In Front O’ The Firework Show!
People Would Come From A Mile Or Three
And She’d Scare Them Away With Lunatic Glee!

She Never Danced Naked Through The County Store,
She Never Threw Cadavers in The Reservoir,
And Never Dumped Excrement into The Lake.
(That Was Faith Bowie. It’s A Common Mistake.)

Laota Had Fortunes, And Then Pissed Them Away
On A ‘Way-Back’ Machine That Was Lost The Next Day.
We Think It’s Connected With Her Dinosaur Foe,
Whom Boarded A Flight to Ontario.

Laota Had Class, Laota Had Flare,
Laota Had Boxfuls of Shiney, Blonde Hair….
…But The Best Thing About Her, Our Autumnal Rose-.
She’s Dead as a Doornail, Or So I Suppose….

Farewell Laota, Finally at Rest
Buried in Concrete, At The Public’s Request.

“And Don’t Try To Stop Me, You Useless Turds!
This Bomb’s Goin’ Off In-.”~ Famous Last Words.

Epitaph Redux
Here Lies Faith Bowie, a Jolly Old Soul,
They Found Her in a Three Stooges Cereal Bowl.
With a Mouth Full of Teeth and Teeth Full of Venom,
She Hated the Christians and Was Always Again’ ‘Em.

She Came From the Devil, or So I’ve Been Told,
By a Gypsie What Claims to be Centuries Old!
He Said She Developed From Poison and Coal,
That Satan Mixed Up in his Cereal Bowl.

She Grew Like a Weed, and Stank Like a Daisey,
Moved Like a Dancer, But Danced like a Crazy.
She Couldn’t Go a Week Without Dying Her Hair,
Or Open Her Mouth Without Making a Swear

Faith Liked the Fellas, And They Liked Her Back,
When She Freed Them From Laota’s “Gentleman Sack”.

But Freedom Was Fleeting For the Fellas The Night,
For Laota and Faith Teamed-Up For the Fight
They Fastened Their Bootstraps and Their Attitude Pins,
They Tracked Down the Men and Re-Sacked Them Again!

And For Many Years Since, They Were Comrads in Arms,
With Their Prostitute Looks, and Their Prostitute Charms.
And Their Prostitute Clothes, and Their Prostitute Money,
And Their Prostitute Stories That Were Terribly Funny-.

But Faith was a Good Girl, And Never a Whore,
And Never Dropped Cadavers in the Reservoir,
And Never Flipped Tortoises onto Their Backs.
(Laota Just Says So to Cover Her Tracks.)

They Hunted Their Dinosaur Rival Last Fall-.
T’was a Fight That Demolished Montreal,
Til All That Was Left Was His Dinosaur Spleen,
A Top Hat, a Cape, and a ‘Way-Back’ Machine.

But The “Way-Back” Machine Caused Nothing But Trouble,
So They Buried It Under Canadian Rubble.
Some Say That Faith Went Back to Retrieve It,
But That’s a Damn Lie, and You Shouldn’t Believe It!

Just Ask Her Dodo, or Her Saber-Toothed Cat,
Or Her Chim-I-Ney Sweep with His Brown Durby Hat.
Or whatever was left of the dinosaur,
That “nobody” dropped in the Reservoir.

Yes, Faith T’was a Lady, as Good as They Comes
She Had Manners and Talent, and a Box Full of Thumbs….
But The Best Thing About Her, When The Story Ends?
She’s Buried tn Concrete with Her Horrible Friends.

Her Last Words were Meaningful, Wise and Serene:
“Don’t Let Any Bastards Near My ‘Way-Back’ Machine.”

Love Poem

Because I was in lust with you, I poured you out a cup,
And wrote this poem just for you, in hopes you’d give it up.
Don’t sing to me of bumble bees, or Quangley, Wangley Stew,
Of shoes, or ships, or doggie pees, or tropical shampoo-.
For I wish to be merry, like a monkey from a zoo,
And if I don’t get cherry, I shall wish the worst on you.

To-day I drink until I drop, and vomit on the floors.
They’ll make me clean it with a mop; I don’t deserve my chores.
I will not stay to fry a cake, or sit and fold the laundry.
Or pay them for the things I take, because I get so hungry.

I do not like to wash a fork, or sweep the stupid ground!
What I like is them female sorts, all supple, soft and round.
So come, I’m very wealthy and I’ll buy you stuff that pleases.
Besides, I’m very healthy, and you shouldn’t get diseases.

I’ll give you half my pudding rice and pour you all my coffee,
And if they packed my dinner nice, you can expect some toffee.
You don’t need to decide just now, but please, don’t make me wait,
For soon I’ll have to be in bed, and I can’t stay up late.

The Book Warns You (From The Memoirs of Cavin MacKean)

“Would you please to take a pause? For a very noble cause?
When from afar, with grains of salt or we draw a hearty snicker,
but closer, with a fine-toothed comb, we’ll bluster, swear, and bicker.
I haven’t any truth to me, so, pray you, don’t protest.
It’s not as though she wert the first make a novel jest.
Her every mark and scratch and name insisted on it’s birth,
for interest and for quelling time, a tale of sorrow - magique - mirth:
What once was runt and gloried beast, a quarter of a wight;
he’s followed by a cloud of grief, as long as we know his plight.
And followed, also, by a man, and by a lady fair.
And the sum of them will total to a shadow and the pair.
To know the hermit’s mind would set the couple in a shiver.
They tie him down and just as well have sunk him in the river.
Names and marks and scratches born hath never broke a bone,
nor knocked the filling from a tooth, or bugged you on the phone.
Their was no weapon to your ear when ye made to read my hide,
or bend my page or crack my spine; you’ve only yourself to chide.
And if I’m lude, I’m lude. And if I’m poor, I’m poor.
And if her words offend you, she suggets your god to end you.
Screweth Shakespear, screweth Yeats;
screweth Bronte, screweth Keats.”

Duality

I was sitting alone on a sad, li’l stone,
Plotting my tragic end,
When I turned from the light and saw at my right,
My one and only friend.

We’d lost the same prizes and worn like desguises,
And taken each other’s bate,
We both hurled a brick and bailed out quick,
Out-running the other’s fate.

I gave you a scoff- you shrugged and took off,
So I followed you home like a dog.
And I tried not to pout when you locked me out,
And left me to rot in the fog.

You tried to keep snoring and go on ignoring,
When I started curse at the din.
But when it was raining, you started complaining,
And, begrudgingly, let me back in.

And from that day to this, it’s been nothing but bliss,
Which is more than a little untrue,
But when all’s said and done, it was freakin’ fun,
And I’d wager you liked it, too.

The Alternative

I sing of myself, a lamb among lords,
A prince of an elf and a whelp of a ward.
I may be a dervish, a shame or a jinx,
But important, not matter what anyone thinks….

A worldly-wise liar/An honest, young boy.
He’s pure, condensed evil/A bundle of joy.
I’ll show you the face that I want you to see.
Don’t you wish that you were as lucky as me?

As a rotter, a plodder, a bastard or rat,
A snot of a sot, or a spoilt, scurvy brat-
Who can make dirty jokes up, what ever the sitch,
And swear his damn off like a son of a bitch?

Well, you don have like me! You don’t have to call,
And you don’t have to buy me a Pepsi at all.
I ask of you nothing, but tell all you see:
I’ll be here for any who’ll look here for me.

For a world without envy, conflict, or strife,
Anger, contention, or the loss of a life,
Is a world without freedom, passion, and range.
A place void of beauty, fire, and change.

Lord Holiday

Once there was a dark prince who came upon a well.
A well the led to the Land of the Dead,
Where they sent his precious Hel.

A serpent danced across the sea, frightening all the land.
A snake that was bound to the ocean so sound;

A giant called Jormagand.

The blood-smeared wolf named Fenris was born in the heavenly wood.
It took much charm and a bitten-off arm,
But the hound was tethered quite good.

In straits of stagnation, when seals reach sejunction and quakes spill over the Rhine.
The dead will rise against Gods they despise,
And bring forth the death of Divine.

Persephone and Hecete

A servant in our lady’s hall.

The Queen I loved, with all my might,

How gratefully was I in her thrall,

And so ruled at her right.

They bent like frogs to kiss her feet,

And so I joined the fray.

How lovingly I bowed my head,

And wished my self away.

But loving her was not enough,

Nor was the loyalty I gave,

My hands where calloused, rough.

I spoke the language of the slave.

How tempting was the flight,

The chance don the peasant’s cloak.

How lofty was the height,

When pedestal before me broke.

With I alone to witness it,

The Queen was never thrown.

So the judges took their seats.

And I was once again alone.

Banished with a gesture small.

For what am I fit now?

Exiled from her lavish hall,

For what do I live, and how?

In light she walks, with living love,

And all that I’m now denied.

To shadows am I banished,

Over death shall I preside.

It eats and tears and steals my face,

My blood drained for her sake.

By Zeus, I’ll see her take my place,

And havoc in my wake.

But I’m still in subjection,

To whomever speaks my name.

I set out for perdition.

They refused to play my game.

So I’ll learn again to make amends,

And pray on bended knee.

For what am I fit, when the story ends?

A loyal century.

Elegy for a Paramour

How deep is the bond,
How high is the fare,
How great is the loss,
What point was there?

To rule and relent;
To toil and tear;
To beat and be beaten;
To suffer and swear.

Tormented through silence.
When resilience ended.
Grieved by a tribe
That condescended.

A fool no longer,
A lover no more,
Connected no longer.
Beloved no more.




DARK EXPRESSO

A man, festering in youth and sharp as a wetstone,
Reposes with his coffee and a vacant stare.
Bothering no one and wishing to be left alone.
Despite these features, I choose to watch him from my chair.

Silently brooding, steam rises to his waiting face.
He is deep as the thunder, pushing light into flashing.
Dark and still, at a sound and fervent pace-.
He carries on, sole survivor of a violent passing.

ENEMIES

In the badlands, we were born. Immortal fires, hence we formed.
Furnished not, but left alone-. Now to come and take our throne.

Guard your gods and sing your prayers. Split the hearts and mend the hairs.
On our own, to dare the night. Parrying barricades thrown in site.

Given to braveness, stolid presence. Others have their frilly semblance.
They’ll live in a pipe dream hope-. Swinging from a happy rope.

Iron fists, forgotten sires-. Urge to lark, and games may tire.
Getting by like those we know. Proving wrong the status quo.

Anger for the one that toiled-. Anger for the spirit soiled-.
Time can mark us, blood can stain. Go where no one knows our pain.

Transient fulfillment’s favored. Flesh is felt and wine is savored,
Like a vapor, love slides by. Faster than the human eye.

A when for ardor and a sign for part. Innards of taxis learned by heart.
Hate us once, then hate us ever. Theirs is the loss that’s felt with fervor.

Nary a wrinkle, nor hair is grayed. Twas warrior gods to which we prayed.
Death shall be result of bout. Death, from a falling-out.

Copyright ©2005-06 Laota French