The Bard and Jester

Welcome Readers! Here you will find some real life experiences and musings that I'd like to share with you. So, come on in, if you have the time and I'll do my best to be entertaining... Please click on my sponsors' links!!! Established March 12, 2005.

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Location: New York, United States

I can be a clown, a poet, a fool, a romantic, a diplomat, a beast...it all depends upon the timing and circumstance.

Sunday, May 29, 2005

Funeral


Tombstones
Originally uploaded by vraven.


There is tall and crooked gate
upon which rests an old, rusted rake,
a discarded shovel and a pair of shears.
Just beyond, stand people shedding silent tears
gathered in a circle before a mound
in a stone-lined garden absent of sound,
one patch of solemn brown amid the rolling greens
and the shining line of long, black limousines.

Beneath a golden treasure of ribbon-tied curls
is the soft, wet-eyed face of a little girl.
She holds flowers as she ascends the small knoll
and drops, at a weeping pace, each petal into the hole.

There comes a sound then, that of the preacher
who speaks in a voice with an unusual feature:
it inspires the circle into long, wailing moans
that fall spent among the cracks of tombstones...

Patrick Von Raven 1995

Monday, May 23, 2005

The Drunk In the Men's Room


vulcan-booze
Originally uploaded by vraven.
Back in my college days, when the clubs and bars of New York City would close at 4 am, my buddies and I would then venture to our favorite diner before finally going home.

On one Saturday night at that diner, my friend Joe and I went to use the men's room.

As we entered, I saw a short man in his late forties standing there. He was obviously very drunk, swaying on his feet. As he watched us pass him, his lips curled into the mischievous smirk that only serious drunks wear...the kind where you just know they're going to make some idiotic comment.

And, sure enough, this guy did.

The drunk turned to us and said, in a slurring voice with a heavy Brooklyn accent, "I see two fags." Then he ran out of the men's room.

I laughed and shouted after him, "I see one!"

Before the bathroom door could close, the drunk caught it and stuck his head back in. He yelled, "I see two!" and then fled.

I laughed again, but my friend Joe got so angry that he blugeoned the walls with his fists.

Moments later, as we left the men's room, we spied the drunk sitting at the counter. Now he swayed on the stool and seemed about to fall off.

My friend Joe, still fuming, wanted to confront the man. But, I laughed, and said, "Joe, I doubt the guy even remembers what he just said...so what would be the point?"

So we left the drunk alone and went to join our friends at the table.

To this day, since telling my family and friends this story, whenever they see Joe and I together, they grin--almost like the drunken man--and say, "I see two fags."

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Plastic Bag On the Wind

A plastic bag floats on the wind
catching currents and refusing to fall,
to plunge.

It's billowing body
suddenly becomes a confused acrobat
twisting,
flipping,
reversing its direction.

Now the bag falls,
but no...
it struggles,
floats,
catches a handhold on a breeze.
Up now into the air-circus,
a lone peformer!

Down now as it finally drops.
The bag scrapes along the sidewalk
until, exhausted, it stops
and hugs the stiff pole
of an unimpressed parking meter.

1993 Patrick Von Raven