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a poem from Phriar Phil
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>From Phriar Phil:
- THE ISLE OF DAXONIA -
A sea was formed in a time Divine
Between two mighty cliffs of stone
An abyss of blue so vast and wide
That many who did chance to sail
Were lost within its fathoms deep
Aimless souls drowned in human broth
I said farewell to my family dear
Singing Ave Maris Stella
And pushed me off from my lonely shore
Toward the backwards moon that smiled above
That green and smug and ancient waning thing!
Who for some joke had reversed my flow
I saw the things of herois wrecks
Which deep within the Virgin's ear
Did sound the bell of hollow bliss
And washed me up on this island here
Far away from my native land
And far away from a memory clear
Half drowned and spent but burning hot
I, the dunce, did grope for something sane
Confused by the multitude of stars...
At last I did with woe look up
And found old sailors from my youth
Ghosts returned from some forgotten fame
The brain had stopped but the heart beat wide
And looking there for my friends inside
I tok up the chalice once again
And with digitals all white with salt
I waved a hand and said hello
And waited for a word from them
Meme! They said quite all together
Meme! Yes, Meme is what they said
I strained and cupped my ear to hear
A word that I had never known
Then they beckoned for me to come
And I alone was wont to follow
More Ghosts there I saw for sure
Each familiar as a childhood game
Dancing round a brightly burning fire
Whose smoke coiled up as if a dream
And whose incense did make me drunk
Whereby I ventured up some nearby hill
I saw a throne of gold and steel
Th exotic tribe's most holy seat
To the right was laid a golden harp
To the left a golden drum was seen
And then a fragrance fair I sensed
Proceeding him who commandeth all
Adorned in plumes and shells and silk
And sporting the white mane of experience
He emerged to seat himself down
His eyes transfixed by a glowing tube
His hand an extension of those eyes
His face now calm beyond belief
Towards mirth not wrath his spirit moves
This Grand Father of Afric's shore
Who jumps up now to call his own
And all at once they hear his call
They dance round the brightly burning fire
Circling somewhat faster than before
And cried out MEME! another time
And I this discourse overheard
And scrambled down from the mountain top
Roaming the shore of this faerful isle
Pondering the mighty cliffs of stone
And my wildly beating heart
- Phriar Phil
August 1996
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