A Meeting of Five Strangers

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a scene in mixed verse
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by @d-pend

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A Meeting of Five Strangers

Narrator:

       What stilted assembly is this
       in dark locale obscured from sense?
       New-sent forth upon the haunches
       of that skittish nether muse-steed
       who into pregnant mire launches
       mortals sick with apprehension
       to the bitter moor-stalk's sap
       that curl'd affect, anguished tension
       might unfurl and soft disperse.

       With harsh alkalinic remedy,
       ferment-swirlèd bee-lush symphony—
       what brings this midnight sentinel
       with camphorous touch
       to this dun niche of strangers met?

       O unseen Guide, may my pen glide
       as high as pinions mine may soar
       to view from vantage such companions
       motley-crewed in stygian moor.

       Humbly do I beckon, calm reposed,
       judgement eschewed—
       aloft the air in matters bare
       though knowing not the name, what care?

       The five that speak and share unnamed
       within this verse, though unproclaimed
       take up parade-tail, trotting still, fear not.

       For life full kens its own sweet mare,
       though all our quillings lack its title:
       still we take, O my dear reader,
       up the seat and up the bridle!

       Now speak Sage, so I no more
       with clumsy speech will bore
       your precious eyes that read on page
       or ears that hear this joy and rage.

...
Five Strangers sit in a half-circle;
all around is total darkness
save an iron lantern between them.
...
The Sage:

       "I shall give an invocation brief
       in rambling words, a minute's thief
       while ponder we this place we sit.
       So for a space, fears may unknit.

       If I eschew the rules of grammar,
       orderly verse, mense-silk-sick hammer—
       forgive my stiff, decrepit age
       for I am naught but a humble sage."

...
Sage's Invocation:

       "Living is but a leapfrog turnstile
       to turn the while:
       the bane of fair trajectory,
       to beguile fate's face
       with conversant murmurings not heard
       but seen to play upon ill humor's strings
       in the guise of quick-redd'ning or pallidified favors
       that throw eldritch tones upon the breeze
       with each respective grimace rung
       in registers too rare for ear to seize upon
       who's long-attuned to earthsong sung.

       An ill-assembled smattering of wits
       dashed abstract in daubs of dye,
       the all expansive whims of preference
       which ever revolve celestial houses
       in the castled firmament:
       switch harsh locales for more propitious skies
       to build their starry armament.

       May diamond wit and webbèd heart
       bejewel mind-net and seize the toad:
       Insight your shield, discernment's sword
       will usher you 'long winding road.

       Not the measuring of one specific ray
       but their compounding whole, prolific day
       whose body breath to ours must give:
       and so, just so, in truth we ever live."

...
With darkened countenance
and a scowl the Dismal replies.
...

The Dismal:

       "These may be sage, bewitching words
       or folly cursed, or pure absurd;
       but tell me, what's the import
       of this chaos all-entangled?

       Have I not through contemplation, noise,
       peace, strife, sport, and ploys,
       unabashed epicury in rounds extemporaneous
       shown that same nature-ennobling deference
       as ocelous stem of glade to fiery hounds
       of wildfire bares its nape that they may seize upon
       its tender neck to turn all life to ashen urn?

       Have I not considered, rejected, recovered, renounced
       in the smithing of a soul-circlet drawn from awareness-ore
       the weight and levity of the moment's grasping
       to be further smelted by each successive pawstep?
       Was I not a proper meek doe to the slaughterous intent
       of the world's leonine maw? Even, lo,
       as lion communes with inverted pyre
       of cobra of emerald Thoth,
       who with mesmerizing eye
       strikes rainbow batrachian of whim
       in grisly embrace, she with him,
       both torn, unto their cosmic cradles fly
       and thus bereft of vigor—die."

...
Swayed not by this morbidity,
speaks the Celebrant with a smile.
...

The Celebrant:

       "In merriment and song repose,
       unroll a bed of lushest rose!
       And for our weary here
       bring mead, and meat, and meal in rows!

       Dwell not on such vexation,
       life has abundance enough to sate.
       Stronger souls than yours have fall'n
       To the mendicant—false ingrate!

       See the loft of midday cloud,
       whispering morning that precedes her,
       decked with dew, ambrosial shroud
       keep all that would impede her.

       Gaze upon fair creatures
       who against all odds arise,
       and raise their shining countenance
       with mistborn fiery eyes.

       Feel the silent music
       of the temperate and the cold,
       each sun its beauty hums
       for willing spirits to behold!"

...
At the mention of winter
the Griever starts, forlorn.
...

The Griever:

       "Yet every note intoned by fire is alone,
       the heart is rent in twain
       by privacy of thought and feeling thrown:
       all love is in vain.

       And if ten thousand years could I
       be with my dearest friend—
       what of the million more, apart,
       which we must needs append?"

...
The Sage's knowing grin
suddenly widens.
...

The Sage:

       "Ha! But what is this?
       A gathering passing dull.
       Unstop the flask, resound the chime,
       that half-filled may be full!

       Time to speak and space to think
       and womb in which to sleep:
       simple charms upon the blink
       pass life through cumbrous deep.

       Such a clump of strangers met
       in this eclectic hall
       methinks occasion rare enough
       to throw some sort of ball!"

...
With flitting eyes
the Fearul replies.
...

The Fearful:

       "What sort of dance? For seems I sense
       a pall descending 'pon me.
       All this speech of sundry sort
       inscribes de'il-trace along me."

...
The Dismal interjects.
...

The Dismal:

       "Of some of you I'd sure expect
       a nobler urge than this.
       To revel? Sure, the Celebrant,
       but Sage, too, rambling thus?

       For seven decades have I strode
       o'er plied and rocky turf,
       to view primordial stone erode
       by cruel, insistent surf.

       What balm's in song, and rhyme, and fare
       befitting kings and queens,
       that seals the skin to deathly wave
       which ever-harsh, demeans?

       More fools are they that hope
       upon mere trinkets and delights
       than this sad Fearful here
       that every turn of chance indicts."

...
The Celebrant speaks,
with fond-sad look.
...

The Celebrant:

       "Ah Sage, sweet friend, ah Dismal too!
       I pity naught but all you
       who refuse to widen warm orb-path
       before your pulsing step
       and sink into such aging wrath
       as hellish reaper yearly brings
       with keenest blade before all springs
       unleash their glow on slumberous Earth.

       Shall you, upon a Saturn-bended knee
       with grave affect and hunchèd posture yield
       to brief, impassive chill of hoary field?
       Nay, but hold! With your ecstatic soul
       that March may find you whole.

       No fear is there, nor deep despair
       can sink the warmèd shoal
       of joy full-wed—
       fed by sun
       for wading arms to live life well
       afloat the seas bright-dun
       from morning-bell to twilit knell
       yea still hold! With your ecstatic soul
       that Spring the next, and next e'er new
       with light unrued may find you whole."

...
The Narrator:

       And saying their parts, the party all fell mute
       and glanced from each to each, forsooth,
       I've never heard such silence deep:
       a vacuum, soul to steep.

       And after one thought-lush eternity
       from Sage's throat erupted such
       a mirthly sound as none could match
       and ere they all knew, caught such laughter
       in their auric spheres that even Dismal Fear
       could not resist.

       Captured in sweet glee
       the place lit up, revealing golden beams
       and cherubim with ruby goblets,
       sapphire rounds, and plenteous host
       to share their joys and join with them
       at bounteous feast.

       And looking round, astonished found
       their comrades not unknown,
       but friends long-lost to sultry cost
       of sorrow's taxing moan.

       Then who could speak what tenderness,
       what tears of understanding,
       what sunbeamed smile followed
       that clear gaze of apprehending?

       Perhaps a defter pen than mine
       could all these joys expound,
       held not in throes of brightest chime
       with which these halls resound.

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. . . . .
Writing and images
By @d-pend
March 24, 2019
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