Events of Night

Ole!
Seems to be the day
when pines grin
at parading elephants
across the lawn.
An intentional awe of lamentation
in the low slow lantern light.
And, do flowers form chains
linking a grand void triumphant
with elves?
Rise eventually to the corner of Rafael.
Attention! Attention! Attention! -
Charms are debilitating.
Crest on calm,
when in the night the elves on rally
pace cool in the pines
about to avenge gothic.
The forest forms from the fruit of my loins -
comes an army antique.
Don’t let lances or pines,
sergeants or torment
slay villagers entertained,
mediated, maintained.
Come, converge,
with billiards and The Poets,
and these new silver pages
without ventilation.
“Now, Grand Sir,”
leer the pigeons,
“Fondle the gypsies.”

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Believe it or not, this poem arose from a french poem by Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918). This was an assignment for my creative writng II class. perhaps, at a later date i'll post the poem by Apollinaire - an entirely different kettle of fish!