Sing a Song of Sixpence

Sing a song of sixpence, pockets full of rye,
Johnny with your sixpence, bellyfull of wine,
Pulling down the drink since there’s something on your mind,
Quit searching for that sixth sense, the other five are fine,
But you’re not one to think when you’re looking for a sign.

Jenny with some rue seeds, better take some rye:
Pockets full of wishes never gonna shine,
If you get your sixpence, give it to the grind;
Money where your mouth is, bread is close behind,
But Johnny’s got your sixpence, and Johnny’s doing time.

Johnny’s on the down-low, Jenny’s on the climb,
He’s looking for his chance, but the stars won’t quite align,
She’s taking what she can, but the can won’t ever chime,
So sing a song of sixpence, sing a song of rye:
Songs with happy endings always cost a dime.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Something Wonderful

He asked me whether I was drunk, I think–
I think, because his query was declared–
And though I hadn’t had a thing to drink,
I cried “why yes I am,” and cared to share:

“The stars were never so illustrious
Before this moonless night to light the ground;
My limbs were never so industrious
That I feel I could run the world around;

The air was never fresher, nor so clean,
And never gulped by lungs so hungrily–
Each breath, each step, each sight, I dream!
Officer, I’m drunk on life; in ecstasy!”

“Don’t be a smartass with me, kid,” he said,
Wrote out a fine, and cuffed me on the head.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on April 3, 2012 at 1:29 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Off the Page

“Why don’t you write me something beautiful,”
She breathed, her question hot across my neck,
Her fingers tracing something suitable
Along my chest, like signing for a check.

The hair that framed her face played over mine
As she explained “like, something from a movie:
Moonlight reflected on a glass of wine
As starlight lovers dine in secrecy,

“Or maybe flowers from a bought bouquet
Still fresh, despite the dusty sill beneath;
Write something beautiful and far away
For me,” she said, and sighed herself to sleep.

I only saw the streetlight through the blinds,
On her, and writing wasn’t on my mind.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on March 31, 2012 at 10:07 am  Leave a Comment  
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The Way of Kings

I hate you, Brandon Sanderson. With all of my soul, I hate you. How can you write such amazing novels and only publish them one at a time?! Call it an irrational request, but would it kill you to maybe not leave your readers hanging in suspense, waiting for the next book to be published with twitching hands and hungering eyes? You’ve singlehandedly planted an unscratchable itch in the minds of millions. How do you sleep at night?

On a related note, I just finished The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson after an extended plane ride. In my ever-so-reputable opinion as a book critic, I thought the book was good. No, that does not do it justice. The book was nothing short of brilliant. I’m not usually a fan of high fantasy novels which throw in overly cryptic terminology within the first few pages, but I must say that this particular novel does a good job of easing the reader into another world without feeling overwhelming. The characters are well-developed in a world which is even more meticulously planned, making for a very satisfying read. Even the king’s Wit, who takes on the role of the cliche’d wise court jester who makes fun of everyone but still knows more than he lets on, is still a good character in his own right, and even has a subtle defense of his inclusion worked into the ending chapter. Very clever, Sanderson.

So all in all, I’d say Sanderson is quickly becoming one of my favotite authors, having already read his other series, Mistborn and his standalone novels. Not my absolute favorite, mind: I still hold a special place in my heart for Homer, dead as he may be. Either way, I should probably stop my praise of Sanderson there, before I start sounding like I’ve become a rabid follower (which would not be so bad, considering the alternatives). As impossible as it may be to make a good ending to the first book of a series without any suspense, however, I still can’t help but curse him for making me wait.

No new poems for today; as I said, I spent my travel time reading (when not peoplewatching). So, here is another one fished from my previous works (A caveat: this assumes that you’ve heard the Zen Buddhist story about The Tigers and the Strawberry (I heard it without the inclusion of the miceā€”he was hanging by a bush over a cliff and it was slowly uprooting))

The End

We’ve heard the story’s start, but not its end,
Where it begins with one unlucky man
Who stumbles on a tiger, runs, and then
He tumbles off a cliff, miles up from land.

But right before he makes his fatal fall
He grabs a berry bush with all his might.
Below, Death waits, above, the tiger calls,
But eating from the bush, he finds delight.

Yet there’s no ending to this fatal tale:
Does boldly he escape, or does he die,
Despite his every effort, does he fail?
Oh, does this starcrossed hero even try?

Perhaps the real adventure only ends
Whenever even better ones begin.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on December 19, 2010 at 12:21 pm  Leave a Comment  
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