[Newspoetry] Myths of Eternal Returns: Early Summer Re-Run ((P)R)eview

[Donald L Emerick]

The Novelty Before Its Common Place-quard

I was just reading Maiko's make-over poem
celebrating (a-bis-male) pattern exhaustion,
baldly stated as the return of the king's heir,
and also, JWason (Comers here, I need you)
pessiversifying SOS cycles of activiscousness,
as a pestilence periodically pendulates petulent,
outbreaks of altruism follow every submersivera,
which chase their own dog tales round about.

I suppose, had I plowed the archives more deeply,
all seeds fallow and dormant in soil would awake
and rise, at last, as the last trump sounds, anew,
but I sought only a few specimen for my glass jar,
a generic specimen, to be sure, yellow with age,
salt of the earth, only a drink for spacefair-goers,
who would -- but of course -- recycle and purify it
before drinking it down the bilgewater hatch again,
to let its hatchet fall on the eggs before they hatch,
to make sure ala menu chickens come before eggs
even if the first and the later could not be detected
by any recoverable sense of distinct chronology,
the first and the later would never have mattered.

The insistence of history is upon the novelty of now
yet to be digested by tapeworms and bookworms,
before it could even become food for thoughtworms,
too early even for birds that want to get early worms
by being even earlier than earliest of little pig three,
at daybreak, hours before the dawn, the birds sing
loudly and lustily, before their eyes can see to fly.
What do they sing about in their dark treehouses?

They sing the birth of day and take joy in the sun
even if every sun also sets so it also rises again.
Benchmarks should start at the bottom and go up,
it's important not to dig your own grave into a well,
but to tunnel out of the tomb and to dance in light.

And, here, I have to agree with one of the gods,
a one who said "Evening and morning are a day;
by no other way around does this come about."

Thanks for listening,
Donald L Emerick
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