Gallum, gallum, said the plum,
paratum and ttarradum.
Boy picked plum right off the tree.
Piddle dee!, he said with glee.
The plum then prophesized about
the world turning inside out.
The boy just larrfed and offered shouts
of piddlebiddlewiddlesnout!
The plum then pleaded him to heed,
to undertake heroic deeds
Now go home and plant the seeds
of action under fellows.
Mad, said he with ecstasy.
Blasphemy and heresy!
Peddleweddlekettleme!
He trilled with perfect harmony.
Caradrum, Phiphiddlephum?
Said the plum, aghastly glum,
Can’t you hear me, can’t you see,
volcanoes volumate the sea,
and molten cate will empty free
to terrorize Carmurity
and vaporize Liebaeraty.
Oh fuddleguddlemuddletum!
Suddenly the plum struck dumb.
Far from shuddering with fright,
the boy just grinned with teeth as white
as a wedding day delight,
and with meditative might
he raised his teeth to such a height
and took a trushing bite.
I
In the quaint lands of the Shire—
with rolling hills of emerald green—
little folk live, and never tire
of brewing ales and setting fire
to pipeweed—making smoke rings—
in the purple twilight, singing
songs that they themselves had sired.
On the borders of this place
rangers of the north would face
the foes that would have menaced it
from winter to midsummer’s eve:
they believed
these folks should never receive
so much as one mild splinter.
Meanwhile, the peace loving hobbits
sit at grand feast laden tables—
set their travel bags in closets—
and live in blithe utopias
that came straight out of fables
under houses lacking gables
until the gray wizard
blew them out with blizzards
of dwarves and evil magic rings;
instilled the fear of sitting/thinking
everyday, until death takes them.
Why protect such indolence?
An insolence to soldiers on
the white walls watching in defense
of fawns until the tree is gone…
or blooms in full again.
II
Those who value the potted plant,
the vine, the tree, the flower, and weed;
those who sprout the foreign seeds
are of much greater worth
than a mithril shirt
or golden crowns and great renown,
or starry stones. The smell of dirt
and touch of grass, and feel of wind
could make one rescind
the sickness in
the heart of the lonely mountain.
III
When the fellowship returns to the Shire.
They come to see a home on fire.
Merry brandy bucks the senses
Peregrines took them over the fences;
they battled the big folk—sent them hence—
confronting the wizard—the white clad buzzard—
who flits his forked tongue like a lizard
brings industry to this untouched land
creating glass from the river sand
and cutting forests down to feed
the forges, disregarding the foreign seeds
sprouting in the south farthing.
Perhaps it's always for the best—
that hobbits expel unwanted guests—
But the blood and viscera spilt in fields—
of foes who would refuse to yield—
poisons the soil where orchids grow
along the roads which lead one to
the great, looming shadow who…
sweeps them into a second darkness.
I saw an owl monster
that flew over pumpkin castle,
it howled, threw up
a half-eaten blue
gum drop
and died.
I rubbed my eyes to spy
a crying furnace
earnestly burning
ferns and popping kernels.
Then ten paryblots past
when I spotted a lot
of dots and pots
filling the lawn
piling on to make
unmistakably
a mountain of galleries.
My eyelids grew heavy
but I could make out
a stout hero who slew
a large tube of glue
Whew!
Darkness seeped into a heap
of deep violet apopleeps
I stared at them a while before
falling asleep
and apopleeps went extinct.
In midsummer
In midsummer,
river rapids
rush roaring and
canaries call
for companionship—clouds
kindly ceased crying!
Rustling leaves
land in
roaring river
rapids,
took the ferry
to find
(tour) flounder
tumble flustered.
The canary called
and came an
answering
prance from the proud
woodland whistling
thing,
scooping silt for
something built
on the bank,
where flora
washed up for a
westward wind
to carry them
past the canary whose
call caught an
answer.
Aidan Stickles is a junior majoring in Psychology at SUNY Plattsburgh in upstate New York, where he also co-runs the creative writing club. His work appears in journals including North Star Literary-Arts Magazine, Ballast Journal, and the Remington Review.
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