Not In Kansas Anymore
c 2006 E. Paxson

This morning when I awoke
I heard the windows rattle,
Cymbals, trains and howling brass
And lowing of the cattle.

Looking out toward the west
Where darkling masses form,
I felt my house tear from the ground
And rise into the storm.

Clinging to a book of prayers
I found myself adrift,
Until at last the house came down
And fell into a rift.

Climbing from my ruined shack
I slowly tried the door,
Astonished by the vibrant hue
I’m not in Kansas anymore!

Not in Kansas anymore
Not in Kansas anymore
Free from black and white and gray,
I’m not in Kansas anymore.

Tripping through the rainbow light
All the trees did sing,
Red tornados danced in time
Yet never harmed a thing.

I heard the music in my soul
There was no need for fear,
I threw away my book of prayers
I’ll never need them here.

Not in Kansas anymore
Not in Kansas anymore
Free from black and white and gray,
I’m not in Kansas anymore.

Enveloped in a cosmic wind
Releasing me and mine,
Traveling like a tufted seed
I drank the giddy wine.

In dervish dance I spin and sail
I sing the rocks and birds,
No body to confine me now
No need for useless words.

The runway glitters
The lights are set
The Pooh-bahs of fashion are there,
The models fluff and frown and fret
As they finish their make-up and hair.
When all is ready they stand up tall
Like saplings all in a row,
And wait for the signal to strut their stuff
At the century's fashion show.
In pink and bronze and neon lime
They twirl on pin-like heels,
The catwalk crowd is taking notes
Of designs they can later steal.
But out of the shadows
She now appears,
A model they've never seen;
She's the one with the nose
And invisible hose:
Make way for the Colobus Queen!
Everything stops as she makes her way
Her statement spare and new,
All eyes are on her pendulous nose
A pear-shaped bulb of blue.
She balances so daintily
Her breasts are small and neat,
A fetching hat sits on her head,
Her smile is pure and sweet.
And when she turns a cheer goes up
As the other girls turn green:
Hip, Hip, Hurrah for the blue-nosed babe,
Hurrah for the Colobus Queen!

Tawny-suited weasels
Shifty lemon eyes,
Sharpening their fangware
Keen as kitchen knives.
Twitch, twine and tangle
Lithe as summer eels,
Sharpening their fangware
A banquet to congeal.
Tantalizing mouse folk
Counting seeds and stones,
Unwary of the weasels
Counting on their bones.
Oh little mice come join us
For a gala jamboree,
Your presence is requested
The tickets all are free!
We’ll dance the tarantella
Eat millet, bread and corn,
See circuses and magic
Until the early morn.
Mouse folk stood in rank and file
To buy the weasel lies,
As each mouse crossed into the hall
He met his sad demise.
Now those mice are nothing more
Than weasel amplitude,
Except the clever little mouse
Who saw himself as food.
E.P.

E. Paxson

At the brink of the great chameleon lake
The bones of trees collide,
I, the diviner walk alone
And measure the evening tide.
Fine grasses pierce the veil of sand
Rough wind cuts hard and wide,
Stones call out to touch me
And so I must oblige.
Like star-seeds far the rocks are strewn
Along the ciphered strand,
Where green water beats and spills
I walk the spangled band.
What magic in these tumbled runes
Emerging from the deep,
What timeless dreams in every stone
Have cast them from their sleep?
Green water now where shadows run
And sun-blood stains the sky,
Red- glamoured clouds meet violet dusk
Against the gulling cries.
Turning in the gathering dusk
The changeling lake is blue,
No constancy does she provide
And yet her soul is true.
For all is writ along her shore
In stick, in sand, in stone,
I, a momentary footnote
Pass this way alone.