Cat play most every morning before coming downstairs. Breakfast and part of the Sunday paper read. Last night at bedtime you put your scanner app on New York City and Boroughs and have been listening to the Fire Department reports from time to time. The last you heard about an hour ago was that some streets had sewer lids blowing, no doubt from too much water.
The app focuses on a large area so who knows where these things are happening. It is interesting because the calls are singular and detailed.
You are over at Pine Hill park and have completed your walk. Not much fantasy this week. Your soul is closing you in by degrees, like your transitional lenses, orndorff. Even on earth the soul offers a degree of protection to soften the ensuing reality of this week’s final conclusion. People sometimes become confused when they are seeing a loved one, a friend or family, for the last time. No need to be, boy. You have always been honest with Bob, no need to change that for politeness. Grief wells up. You both are captains of your own ships, so to speak. It’s a large ocean still, Bob has steered to port side while you have a ways to go. A shake of hands and a figurative salute with words will do. He would expect nothing more or nothing less from what you know of the man. Different ports of call, that’s all. Post, when you arrive home. – Amorella.
I appreciate the clarification, Amorella. Thank you for the existential perspective, it is a solid base to reason for me.
The existential perspective is heartansoulanmind, son. At this point the rest might as well be metaphor. – Amorella.
***
The Rebellion is dedicated to my brother poet
Thomas Robert Pringle
We two are twin-like brothers in soul and mind,
Our hearts, like shadows, are set on parallel paths;
Our bodies molded us with different keels.
Ship-like and Captains, we have steered similar waters
In search of words for that great magnificent White.
Similar sails, same waters, salt and fresh alike.
Sailing, we caught top winds with dignity.
In courage and humility you set your sail portside;
I sail on; rudder straight set for now.
Two different ports of call we go, that’s all.
Solid land will be what it is on that day,
Life will become a metaphor to heartansoulanmind
We wave good-bye in peace and good cheer,
I love you dear Robert,
In the greater reality of the humanity,
In my heartansoulanmind.
Land lubbers we all will one day be
Thankful to finally shake a leg on solid ground,
Thus say I, Richard, while on these rolling waters.
***
Requiem
Keep thy eyes, Robert, a-bright and gleaming, say I, Amorella,
“To the starboard green, my man, to the starboard green.”
In Chaucer’s immortal ghost I hand thee these lines,
So similar you are to a true Chaucerian hero:
A clerk ther was of oxenford also,
That unto logyk hadde longe ygo.
As leene was his hors as is a rake,
And he nas nat right fat, I undertake,
But looked holwe, and therto sobrely.
Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy;
For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice,
Ne was so worldly for to have office.
For hym was levere have at his beddes heed
Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed,
Of aristotle and his philosophie,
Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie.
But al be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;
But al that he myghte of his freendes hente,
On bookes and on lernynge he it spente,
And bisily gan for the soules preye
Of hem that yaf hym wherwith to scoleye.
Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede,
Noght o word spak he moore than was neede,
And that was seyd in forme and reverence,
And short and quyk and ful of hy sentence;
Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche,
And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche
***
The above is how it will be two pages in dedication. Post, and see Robert has a copy of these tomorrow with best of cheer and little sorrow. – Amorella.
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