Saturday, June 27, 2015

Multifaerieousness to Sew

                    Multifaerieousness to Sew
       (Of Faerie Magicks and Terrestrial Tepefaction)

This Oh Canada metamorphosing come every wintertide
Great blankets of snow swathing the marshes and bushland
But apertures do loom where mortals allured by allegory can stride
Whirled out of the great white north into that enchanting Faerieland

As we traipse along things seeming slightly peculiar
The world is missing that fuzzy hint of substantiality
We open our eyes wide and the vagary it is spectacular
Seems trepidations they have all vanished, winking at reality

Strolling through the nebulousity we may note our passing cogitations
Clues of other worlds orphicly passed to us by the umbral Faeries
They bring us prescient warnings not to mess too much with the environs
Be that as it may the snow flakes have many gifts for us, and reveries...

Now do we dream, we dream on a bicycle we seem, we seem
To ride on drifted roads in blizzards us solitarily unseen
Begloppened by an angelic Faerie whose intendment we deem
Is to beseek of us the obstacles for a life so serene

Encumbrances just general or more personal our sweet Butterfly?
Because in general 'twould be treading on society's firm consternation,
And personally 'twould be this great craving for rhubarb pie
But we see you're laughing, yes this flat tire's sufficient aggravation

So off we ride, or fly, we fly, on her bicycle built for two, for two
With a flittering Fae our Butterfly, alighted in our vernacular
To flitter and flutter besmirching our jitters, enjoying the view
We espy a world where things do skew slightly to the peculiar

Knowledgeable in realms where even the sagacious seldom tread
Our elusive Canadian Ministry of Faeries all shrouded in snow
Manifests itself bashfully unto the cavernous PMO with dread
To give guidance and caring with multifaerieousness to sew

The Prime Ministers Office forestalls His Highness from going all stale
Lurking schemers in short pants whose missions contort to countenance
Legislation to the benefaction of well heeled hobnobs of imported ale
Attempting with recalcitrance the Supreme Court of Canada to flounce

Now our PMO has consternation with this whole global tepefaction thing
Sort of screws up their efforts to allow vast modification of the landscape
As the swashbuckled masses take the medieval warm period on wing
To enjoy today's warming trend melanging the beaches in welcome escape

Oh those disrobed Vikings herding cattle along the Greenland coast in their Speedos
Annoying our moseying scientists strolling through Antarctic ice cores with a drill bit
Confabulating with inhabitants of otherworlds, gaining clues from how it all froze
Finding contravening bits of datum and then having to go and blab about it

Yes that frigging ocean circulation keeping our Greenland Vikings exuviating
While the ones who couldn't take the heat turfed the newly more frigid Romania
Blabby scientific methodists finding earth a smidgen colder than our present abnegating
The gifts these snow flakes bring, and the leading cause of nymphomania

Yes yes our Fae we know, we know, on your bicycle built for two, for two
We beat the bush, our flittering Fae, but we must construe, our Butterfly
With flitter and flutter besmirching our jitters to tell our view
To a world where things do skew slightly to the perfunctory lie

So then, as the Ministry of Faeries manifests itself quite capaciously shying agenda
The question is posed it by the PMO in their search for the source of all heresies
Of the habitation of Faeries on our tellurian and especially in our Oh Canada
And the Ministry of Faeries bespeaks thusly: “Faeries may titillate your fantasies...

Faeries inhabit the earthly subterranes, the sea lakes clouds or the airs themselves
Some may indwell our human ravage, others prefer the more natural habitats
Fashioning a dwelling as simple or opulent as it need be for their effervescent selves
Though usually the fringes of human abode is where they like to doff their hats

And yet, befitting quirks of all the magicks, Faeries only live in Faerieland
Our espyings are the rendings of Faerieland's ambits that swathe our entwined world
These encounters are through portals where with childish slight of hand
We can flitter flutter with our fancies till our noggins come unfurled

Nonetheless no preponderance of humans can cross this vaunting latitude
But must wait until the barriers between worlds are unfettered in some way
So crossovers are few and far between, occurring by some willy-nilly consuetude
Excepting for the zenith and the nadir of the year.” Now say not the PMO was gay

Them not being too wont to frolic naked in the damp grasses of spring
Took fancy to this here nadir, yes the Halloween, those three days of open Faerie revelry
Dressed up as wizards with long beards and staffs, out in the frosty forests poking
Our bemusing PMO and the Primed Leader himself to gain insight schlepping chivalry

Yes our Fae and we, as legends tell, in a time gone by our worlds were one
But humans lost grasp of the beyond, illumed in that thaumaturgical vivacity
Though rather shy our spirited Fae, provoked by our merchantry overdone
Do dust our sphere with this great force of fiddling diddling energy

Now with graphs of terrestrial tepefaction emboldening the walls of the PMO
Not to mention incantations, potions and lists with frogs eggs and leech juice
Perchance to suppress the sources of heresy unsettling our moseying science bros
Who knows, does evangelic Christendom preclude Spaghetti Monsters and the Zeus?

Here we may go off our rocker and give up to you a bit of a popper
With high hopes that terrorism offences has a full quota, that shocker
By saying that parousia's greatest fear prim and proper
Is that these just as justifiable enchanting ruminations, they'll off your rocker

Prestidigitations fulfilled, our bearded bestaffed wizards return to the Hill
An opulence of graphs and charts sneaked into their pockets by the Fae with ease
Our Primed Leaders trousers are drooping, oh what a thrill
Says he “It's Halloween candy if you please,” my what a tease

Lucy in the sky with graphs and charts and tangerine trees and marmalade skies
The sun's in her eyes, the temperatures rise, the oceans rise, we'll use cellophane flowers
Ne'er been so high since the Pleistocene, and Plasticine porters with looking-glass ties
Climb in the back of our newspaper taxis with beclouded heads of the CO2 superpowers

Oh yes our Fae they waddle and dawdle tweaked by the love of petroleum jelly
Sore afraid of their god for incanting, they empty their pockets of loathsome admonition
The Ministry of Faeries still shying agenda enjoined once more before this gets smelly
And the Ministry of Faeries bespeaks thusly forgoing all premonition:

No matter where you live, there are Faeries working to help trees grow
To push up flowers in the spring, to rot the leaves into Faerie gold
To usher the weather and the flowing of streams, guide the tide to and fro
They've various names o'er the world, realms journeyed to as adages we behold

Faeries are powerful beings whom we may befriend for a mutual benefit
A saving grace espied from the ancient peoples, lulling back our teetering flings
We must learn to listen and dance to Fae music, that's about the size of it
It's so easy if we offer food and drink and Fae do have a love for pretty things”

Oh but our Faerie, our sweet butterfly Fae our stomach does twitches
Our cravings not staving and this encumbrance inveigles for sweet rhubarb type pie
Oh for cherry red rhubarb (not the green stuff in ditches where we dirty our britches)
And a crust made with real lard, anything other 'twould be a big lie

But we've still this flat tire and oh yes you guessed it, the very next day
Out in the trees behind Parliament Hill along the Ottawa River the whole PMO
Leaving leftover tidbits from lunches and plucked pretty pebbles found on the way
And they danced in a circle the Primed Leader's face 'twas purple, but tally-ho

Yes you guessed it again, they returned to the Hill with grim satisfaction
An opulence of graphs and charts sneaked into their pockets by the Fae with ease
Finally worded dissertations on the inner workings of that terrestrial tepefaction
And in everyone's pocket enwrapping a little chunk of coal like fine American cheese

Lively mayhem this graffitied up wrapper, a rapper on par with preachers of hellfire
These sweet willful words from the calligraphical brush of an intransigent diplomat
Enjoined to insulting with gracious abandon, no fear of reprisal, just out to met ire
If you can't beat em you join in with hateful despisal and doff them your hat

This here Stygian gold's yer god's oosphere from out earth's organism
Yer derricks they prick her to fecundate yer corporate spiritualism
Y'all spasm with frenzy unveiling the shlong of yer christian supremacism
Yer ductile rubber ducky is heir to the throne of yer anarchic realism
                                              (and someone peed on our begonias)”

Now red faced those interns with covered bagonies, the Primed Minister diddles away
Unregisters his long straw and blows peas at the ceiling then mutters with feeling
Those Faeries they're terrorists and must be interrogated at Guantánamo Bay
And axe that Ministry of Faeries with the Expenditure Restraint Act, 'tis less revealing”

Oh yes our sweet Fae we know, we know, it's show, it's show
This politics is but a game, it's quite a shame, the shame
Like moneyed hoarders flaunting the borders, it's only for crow
Playing pick up sticks cleverly charming the poorering game

And yes you guessed it again, but 'tis worthy of mention as it caused apprehension
That they labelled the Faeries as a terrorist organization and defunded the Ministry
And of course it got turfed to the Supreme Court of our Oh Canada causing dissension
Who vanquished the Fae, seems Sir John A Macdonald had gifted them sovereignty

But the damage was done since the fly list was all secret and now Faeries do fly
And the airports were encumbranced with top secret sensors to discern all these spirits
But the technicians found little to show for excepting for coal in their pockets, why...
Everyone had coal in their pockets from kiddies to pilots. The PMO was in fits

The mountains they grew beside every posh terminal, this confiscated insurgency
Deemed highly inflammable, posing threat of deeds excogitated by dopey mongrels
All but shut down the airlines, was a national urgency, a drastic emergency
The PMO had no choice but to invoke martial dictate citing piceous bitumen infidels

Twas a dark and gloomy day, that day
The Fae held breath and beauty felt death
The spirits of good were held at bay
Evil ran rampant lauding venality's shibboleth

Picture yourself on a raft on a river
With overhead choppers, banks full of coppers
A megaphone calls you, you dive in, you shiver
The Fae whisk you away, y'all have a nice day

Sir John A. Mandonald he turned in his grave, his ghost levitating
Big bottle in hand came a knock on the shutters at twenty four Sussex Drive
Twas the Primed Minister in night cap heard strange yammers sore irritating
From out of the fracas came “I am the ghost of your conservative past, let's jive”

Snowflakes falling and Laurier came by, along with most all the late top actuaries
And party they did till the wee small hours and talked and talked of flittering Faeries
And the Primed Minister himself got so drunk his head was sloshing with cherries
It was snowing and blowing and he went to bed and bumped his head full of canaries

Yup, he wouldn't get up in the morning but after the noon he made hangover soup
With hamburger and stewed tomatoes and macaronies too and he slowly came to
And he felt so good, didn't deserve to feel so good, after treating those Fae like poop
So he put on some short pants and a big red bandana and walked to work, it's true

Oh but our sweet Fae, it is rather humbling, and even demeaning
To be made to eat dirt, we took solace in chagrin, twas almost religion
Can we forgive him, this pompous fried piper, will it be our undoing
To swallow our pride and like him just a smidgen

And well, he got frost bite because outside 'twas winter and thirty below
And well, Fae don't really care about freaking human sublimation
They don't, they don't, they just don't care, our Fae, our Fae, that's show
To flitter and flutter besmirching our jitters, enjoying the view, oh our salvation

And well, then he got gangrene and they oft with his left and then with his right leg
Even cut out his tongue, just for fun, those recalcitrant progressives, those scum
With overhead choppers, banks full of coppers, 'twas too irksome hearing him beg
That dark and gloomy day when beauty felt death and spirits of good were overcome

Then it happened, that parousiamania, that long awaited scriptural transition
Yes the cat came back, with point two percent of us rapturing in the sack
Set a spell, take yer shoes off all ye sinners, mother earth is done her mission
This indigenous Yid donning said koppel, evangelic utopia, but do we still frack?

Hey fiddle diddle, the cats on a donkey, the masses are starting to swoon
The Fae all laughed to see such sport, and they laughed and laughed and laughed
Till their sides were aching and the earth was quaking, this humanity's festoon
Yes beauty returned, they just couldn't help it, quickening to lavish with magickal craft

And the Primed Minister he rose up, had been just a nightmare - that Sir John A.
But the carnage was done and his hard heart was undone, yes benevolence had won
The Fae were vindicated of wanton besmirching, confabulation ruled abrogated of risque
And the Ministry of Faeries redeemed it's stature, the PMO they ordered in won ton

This Oh Canada metamorphosing come every wintertide
Great blankets of snow swathing the marshes and bushland
But apertures do loom where mortals allured by allegory can stride
Whirled out of the great white north into that enchanting Faerieland

So off we ride, our dear sweet Fae, on your bicycle built for two, for two
This politics is all a lie, a lie, the world is what it is, it is, the world is what it is
No laws can alter reality, and allegory does little but give us a clue, a clue
That our noggins are full of organic mush and the vagary it is spectacular, it is

Oh but for rhubarb pie
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