A. Gee Where words collide

Poems

Lions And Tigers, Not Bears

When heaven made the cats, and crowned one king,
dividing them by genera and types,
the lions laid in privilege and bling,
with others making do with spots and stripes.

Then tigers leveraged their massive heft
to claim a kingdom, some would call it raj.
They, like their western brethren, will use theft,
and scavenge, though they lack an entourage.

What of the cheetah, fastest in the land?
Successful as it is in all its hunts,
why is this cat -- I cannot understand --
why isn't it a king -- the slight affronts,

offending my intrinsic sense of fairness.

The cheetah could care less; lacks self-awareness.

Author notes: https://allpoetry.com/poem/16015441-Chit-Chat-by-Agee

Translation: My Gypsy Song (Visotsky)

Yellow lights invade my sleep,
rattle shakers my slumber.
Wait a while, for it will keep,
morning's got your number.
But come morning, nothing's right,
fun is gone, it's over.
Smoking -- belly, not a bite,
drinking, still hung over.

Hey, more and once more,
and so many, many more.
Hey, more and once more,
drinking, still hung over

Ivy damask in the pubs,
napkins from white linen.
Paradise for clowns and plebs,
I'm a caged bird singin'.
Church is sooty, at half light,
priest smokes incense doobie.
In the church, too, nothing's right,
nothing's as it should be.

Hey, more and once more,
and so many, many more.
Hey, more and once more,
nothing's as it should be.

Hilltop beckons and I climb
hoping not to falter.
Pass a cherry, in its prime,
at the top, an alder.
Were the hillside plush with vines,
I'd rejoice and revel,
but there's nothing, and no signs,
nothing's on the level.

Hey, more and once more
and so many, many more
Hey, more and once more
Nothing's on the level

Ambling riverside, a field,
bright as godless darkness
Cornflowers its only yield,
and a road, near endless.
At the roadside, forest, thick,
Baba Yagas baffled.
At the end of it, no brick,
axes on a scaffold.

Nearby, horses beat a beat
hooves reluctant, more so,
and the road beneath your feet,
it gets even worser.
Nothing holy, church or pub,
neither saint nor zealous.
Nope, dear fellas, that's the rub
nothing's right, dear fellas.

Hey, more and once more
and so many, many more.
Hey, more and once more
Nothing's right, dear fellas

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8h1qxzKctHg