GUANO GARDENS

…It lyth nat in his wit, ne in his wille,
But soth is seyd, `a fol can not be stille …

So he said, our Geoffrey Chaucer, in Parlement of Foules, back in the thirteen hundreds, in England. Here it is, the 21^st century, and we’re still fools. Not much has changed:-)

So a long time ago I wrote this poem, mostly in Heroic Couplets, and recently revised it somewhat. Not much has changed:-)

Guano Garden
By Justin Dowling

Of him I sing who like the poet his muses,
Crusader after love of her he chooses,

Of him who bends his blade, who toils and sweats
To try a lass he hasn’t tumbled yet,
Who stumbles after, mumbling prose and verse        5
And finds him caught, his hopes to catch reversed.

What length foreshorten he his locks descried
And bind Our Prince him to a job unprized?
A hundred bucks a week, an airport bit
‘Neath hot skies, summer rains and seagull shit        10
If not to woo Erato, muse of love,
Amuse her day and night on his time off?

Erato, lovesome lady for who’s trust
He lingers long in shade bereft of lust.
(For swivings, while great sport, sans love are sterile,  15
Two beasts backing one both blind and puerile.)
In shade he lingers, longs to love another,
And worries that he’ll wind up with her mother.
(“He’s such a nice boy, quiet, I approve.”
“Oh quiet mother he hasn’t made a move.”)                20

But she declared, for all to hear, her promise
To follow soon and lay her presence on us,
So mollified he turns his thoughts ahead
To fantasies of taking her to bed.
Waking to alarming noise he drops                              25
His trusty blade and reaches for his socks.
“Oh God, the lifelong bother of it all.
A creep like me with Grace in love I fall.”

Erato’s bird in flight its song persists.
Unmindful of his plans it lands and sits                        30
On its tail and sings and sings. And even though
Our Boy were then a man his words would blow 
No bird to him if in the trees she knew
A different nest, another future flew.

Now frown, now look around. Inspect Her Grace,      35
Reflection of his soul. Now see her face
Reflected in his lusty, gleaming eye 
As she glowers like he's a muddy sty. 
“How nice Sean dear you met my plane--don’t drip
Fuel on the ground be careful keep your grip              40
Here help me with my bags I lost my case
Oh damn this magazine here hold my place 
Now there’s my friend’s new car forget it I
Must find a hot tub now and soak or die.
‘Nice seeing you again,“ she wings and flies               45
To join the leisure flock. He’d like to lie
The mag aside but hold her place he must, 
While the earth, falling away, loses his trust
And he clings to a single page, scanning the track
From left to right, top to bottom and back                   50
Until the moment’s meaning disappears,
And only its music falls on his numb ears.

Closed eyes begin to view unearthly sights,
Numb ears strain to hear Psyche’s song
Peacefully breezing a golden butterfly along               55
Time’s rolling fields until she finds their nest, 
Alights, and lays Our Sean’s crusade to rest. 
What fuels our Sean’s desire to willfully choose
Her, the creature he doesn’t want to lose?
Sexless, will he act against his nature?                        60
Loving Psyche, Sean’s a different creature. 

II

Of him I sing who at the stroke of noon
Summons life’s wise thoughts into the room
Where a voice announces to him: ”lock the door,”
As if his heart would see the sun no more.
Drawing the shade, with care he selects a pen—        5
Her sun inside will rise just once again—
And writes these words: who like the poet his muses,
Crusader after love of her he chooses,
Who bends his blade, his pen, who toils and sweats
To try a lass he hasn’t tumbled yet,                          
Who stumbles after mumbling prose and verse         10

And finds him caught, his hopes to catch reversed.
Now tell of his awakening, how he knows
Her scorn is innocent, and even though
The boy were then a man his words would blow       15

No bird to him if in the trees she knew
A different nest, another future flew.

Now smile, hang up the hose, bow low and face
An image of your soul, “your servant, Grace.
Give me those bags, I’ll find your case, now run,     20
It’s good to see you too, your friend has come.”
And with a shrug he waves away her smile,
He’d like to say please stay with me awhile,
He’ll love her still, but in a different style.
.
His mind now knows his soul and, just perhaps,      25
She’ll follow, now that Sean can truly choose,
Can leave his heart, entrusted to her lap.
To win, oh paradox, he has to lose.