Wednesday, March 13, 2024

A Cantrip to Catch Killers

tinyurl.com/cantrip-catch-killers

[First posted on Usenet in December 1994, the verse has been reposted several times since, e.g. September 2001.]


magi...@world.std.com (Gwendolyn M Piper) writes:
| Something evil walks in Massachusetts.
|
| At ten-fifteen this morning, the thirtieth of December,
| two abortion clinics in Brookline were attacked by one or
| possibly two gunmen, presumably of the Fundie variety....
|
| Two are dead, seven are wounded.

The awen is upon me. Hear:

I speak no spell offending the Rede of “harm ye none“,
But chant this charm intending that justice will be done:
Let truth be found for mending the wrong these killers brought,
To infamy unending for all the goals they sought.

Let truth be told in every word, the killers‘ hiding places;
Let truth be seen and truth be heard, the killers‘ names and faces.

That none need longer wonder who drove them to this deed,
Provoked this fatal blunder, inspired them with a creed,
Let lies be torn asunder to show their hidden guide;
Let this be published under the tale of those who died.

Let truth be told for all to know, the guilty ones be named;
May killers and their leaders show their face and be ashamed.

Three times this charm recited, the Furies to invoke;
Thricefold these Three invited to judge the words I spoke.
“Return threefold“ incited against abusive spells;
May I thus be indicted if truth against me tells.

Let truth be told, I say again, no matter where it‘s hidden;
And be they women, be they men, their full exposure bidden.


[As a point of ethics, be it noted that this verse is not a “curse“, as it does not ask for harm to be done to anyone, only for truth to be told... and that equitably, on both (or all) sides. Truth, goes the saying, has a power of its own.]

© 1994 C. M. Joserlin, “Raven”

Monday, March 11, 2024

Why Be Caws

tinyurl.com/whybecaws

In memoriam Martin Gardner (1914-2010),
editor of The Annotated Alice (1960)

A raven’s like a writing-desk in that
You’ll find both in woods and dens, whereat
     Both have flaps, legs, and bills,
     Both possess inky quills,
And both produce notes that are flat.

Their traces are left all around,
On the walls and the stalls and the ground;
     But sometimes the laws
     May require they give ‘​cause’
Whereby they may hold what they’ve found.

They may never say words, yet — no joke —
With the harshest of voices they’ve spoke;
     And though Poe wrote on both,
     Yet I give you my oath,
They’ve done more on him since his croak.

© 2004 C. M. Joserlin, "Raven"

(Some of these individual solutions had been offered by other authors in Gardner's 1960 volume.)

Saturday, February 3, 2024

The Penguin

[inspired by a Charlie Hankin cartoon in the New Yorker, Nov. 6, 2023]

Late night in a bitter winter, as I proofread where my printer *
Cockeyed lines I’d launched at witless critic or poet-wannabe—
     While I sat there long adjudging P/Q botches, tired and drudging,
     Suddenly I felt a nudging, nudging at my trousers knee.
“​’Tis some errant draft,” I grumbled, “budging at my trousers knee—
     Nothing else is here to see.”

But the nudging still repeated, like some foe yet undefeated,
So I turned and gazed well over to the floor beyond my knee—
     There stood a Penguin staring at me, as if ever boldly daring,
     Not for ranks or titles caring, with his black eyes lock’d to me;
Not for fall of empires caring, in his sable eyes thou’d see—
     Stood, and said, just: “Doo… Mee.”

“Ah!” said I, “Doom’s Harbinger!—From whom the messenger?
At least this note is less vague than what the last bird brought to me.
     Now I know to ask such matters as when and how and where doom scatters
     All ​’round; skip mere patters like repeating thyself to me.
Else, I swear, thou’lt rue the day thou ever tried to go through me—
     Plainly explain: ‘Doo… Mee.’”

“Friend,” the piebald bird exclaimed, “my very first two words explained
All I ever wanted or could want from a writer such as thee:
     Verses as once made a Raven famous here and in his haven.
     But if thou’rt too drunk or craven, there’s one more for me to see:
Deep in time, my work awaits; Breathèd will be the lad for me—
     The artist to do me!”
_______________

* [At the Broadway Journal, the only periodical Poe ever owned.]

© 2024, C. M. Joserlin, “Raven“

Saturday, January 27, 2024

Too Much Blood

(to the tune of “Me and a Gun” by Tori Amos)

we have shed too much blood and it may be too late
but we can’t just not try to stop all of this hate

i don’t care any more who’s what side of what fight
who is jew who is arab who is black who is white

we have shed too much blood and it may be too late
but we can’t just not try to stop all of this hate

i don’t care any more who is provo who is prot
who is serb who is croat who is with me who is not

we have shed too much blood and it may be too late
but we can’t just not try to stop all of this hate

we can’t sleep any more with our trust in a gun
it is time to wake up and to see what we’ve done

we have shed too much blood and it may be too late
but we can’t just not try to stop all of this hate

it has been too damn easy just to kill what we fear
or to let others suffer just because they’re not here

we have shed too much blood and it may be too late
but we can’t just not try to stop all of this hate

it has been first resort it seems all of my life
send a bomb or a bullet grab a rock or a knife

we have shed too much blood and it may be too late
but we can’t just not try to stop all of this hate

on this day I have vowed to myself that I will
find another way to live and let live not to kill

we have shed too much blood and it may be too late
but we can’t just not try to stop all of this hate

© 1994, C. M. Joserlin a.k.a. "Raven”

Thursday, January 25, 2024

The Feast of Saint George

My local SCA barony held a Feast of Saint George, with dragon contest entries of every sort (from cookies to a giant sculpture built out of carpet rollers sprayed green). During dinner, my wife and I ended up sitting at one end of head table, looking at the giant dragon sitting at the other end… and I tried to figure out how THAT story fit the legend… then the words started running through my head like fire, and I sputtered to her, “Pen! Paper!”… scribbled through the third course, and begged leave of the herald to recite the result during the fourth course, standing next to the dragon, goblet in hand. It was well received.

There once was a bold British Knight
Who went hunting a Dragon to fight;
     But when it smelled Dragon
     His horse began laggin’…
And then ran away out of fright.

The Knight was left standing alone,
To face the fierce Wurm on his own;
     This warrior so brave
     Followed smoke to a cave
Where the Dragon lay deep in the stone.

“Bold Knight,” said the well-hidden Beast,
“Your visit shows courage, at least,
     But wisdom is lacking
     In Knights who go hacking
At mountains, instead of at feast.

“Go home, and carve pork-pies instead,
And chickens, and cheeses, and bread; *
     Come back with a share —
     Folks’ll be free from care,
For no Dragon hunts when well fed!”

The Knight walked all day down the road,
Then rode back with a wagon-full load
     Of savory feast
     To feed to the Beast;
And as for the Dragon — it GROWED!

It ate ’till its stomach was swelling
To fill all its cavernous dwelling;
     And, true to its word,
     The Dragon preferred
To dine home instead of go killing.

So now we may lift up our flagon
In salute to the Knight (and his wagon),
     And wash down our feed
     With good whiskey and mead,
And — give a BIG share to the Dragon!

(* These were among the foods served at that dinner.)

© 1991 by C. M. Joserlin, “Raven”

Dealing with Dragons

(for Lawrence Watt-Evans)

A dragon is a snooty beast: it will not speak politely,
But only snorts when spoken to — retorts that burn so brightly.

A dragon’s famed for stubbornness: it guards its gold hoard tightly,
And only leaves that to fend off its foes, both base and knightly.

A dragon’s quick on land or air; it’s nimble, swift, and sprightly.
A stone wall daunts it not at all, and water only slightly.

A dragon knows hot-headed rage; its temper is unsightly;
And woe to those this critic flames for not behaving rightly.

So when you are in dragon’s den, be careful to tread lightly;
And if you step on dragon’s tail — apologize contritely!

© 1996 by C. M. Joserlin, “Raven”

(The first six words are a direct quote of a humorous remark Lawrence Watt-Evans made to a fan about her shoulder dragon in the huckster room of a Milwaukee science-fiction convention in 1996. Overnight I wrote this piece, and handed him a copy the next morning.)

Wednesday, January 3, 2024

A Voyage to Middle-Earth

tinyurl.com/voyage-to-middleearth

Find me a ship that can sail on the sea
     Whose waves are the washed-away years,
Over the Ocean of Dreams; let it be
     Sweet Middle-Earth’s shore that she nears.

Voyage to Ennorath, tree-tangled land, *
     To find my old friends faring well,
Take dwarf, elf, hobbit, and wizard by hand,
     And hear what new tales they will tell;

Wander in Lorien, try to console
     Galadriel’s elven lament;
Party with Bombadil, merry old soul;
     At leisure, converse with an ent;

Fly with the eagles, look down on the graves
     Where dragon or balrog once fell;
Stand on the shore and look over the waves
     Toward where the Valar now dwell;

Ride to the mead-halls, astride the swift steeds
     Of Rohan, that race like the wind;
Hark to the harpers and hear of the deeds
     Of those who sought virtue, or sinned;

Learn of the lore of the long-ago times
     Before Sauron dared to attack;
Hear how his creatures accomplished his crimes,
     And how the Free Folk fought him back;

Join in the praise of the courage they showed
     By facing that fell, fearsome foe;
Joy in the peace and the freedom bestowed
     On good folk to flourish and grow.

Let me sing with them the songs of the Quest,
     The heroes, the brave and the fair;
Let me hear legends of Middle-Earth’s best...
     But, most of all, let me be there!

   * In the Hymn to Elbereth, the line “o galadhremmin ennorath”
     translates as “from tree-tangled middle-lands (Middle-Earth)”.

               © 1986 C. M. Joserlin, "Raven"
(Blogged today in honour of J.R.R. Tolkien's 132nd birthday.)