Mythtery, Oh Mythtery…..

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Mythtery, Oh Mythtery
by Lee Broom

 

Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others.

Unfold your own myth.”

~ Rumi

Does it matter that I got it right?

Must Eleven rhyme with Heaven?

Why not Seven?

Isn’t it enough that I experienced Love?

Must I care……

That I err?

Or whether?

Or never?

Who is to judge?

When will it stop?

Perhaps if  I lock……..

The door.

(I shall permit only speechless animals in my life.)

(I shall nod my head and tap my toes to the changeless rhythm of the many Faces of Fear and then I’ll be able to continue with my studies.)

Will I still be able to experience Love?

I wonder what Rumi would say,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

(What is so Mythterious, Lee.)

Comments, please.

Thank you.

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Felves by Lee Broom

Lee_Broom

“I’m perfectly happy with my perfect self.”

Said the perfectly happy, perfect elf

“Except for only one thing.

I never learned how to sing.”

 

“Sing?” Trilled the fairy with voice so clear

“I’ll give you a voice we’ll all love to hear”

She waved her wand; it went “bling”

“Now let your new voice ring.”

 

Elf opened wide and tried his new sound

A lovely voice so mellow and round

Except for only one thing

To his old self he wanted to cling.

 

“I was perfectly happy with my perfect self”

Said the formerly happy, perfect elf

“Except for only one thing

I’m a bit of a dingaling.”

 

“Now that I’m perfect there’s nothing to change

There’s nothing at all left to rearrange

If only I had some wings”

Fairy waved her wand; it went “bling”.

 

If you’re looking for a happy ending, there is only Now. But let’s suppose that the elf is an ordinary self much like you and I. Elf discovered that his new voice was not new at all; he had been so enamored with his new persona that he failed to notice that his fairy friend now spoke with the husky voice which had once been his and that Fairy no longer had wings. The swap was irreversible. They now must learn to accept themselves and each other or spend the rest of their days being miserable.

Elf decided that Fairy must have loved him

A bushel and a peck

As the old song goes

And a hug around the neck

As the old song continues.

“Will you marry me” he trilled.

“Yes I will, yes I will”, she croaked.

So they were married by an elfin priest in the Magical Church of Fairyland and promised to spend their lives together, loving and sharing and maybe even raising some little felves. I never did learn how it all turned out. Are they happy together? Are they together? Are they…..? If I hear anything I’ll let you know.

Buffalo Bill Kills a Fly and a Gnat with a Single Swat (there were no pigeons around). From curiousabner.wordpress.com December 18, 2012

Lee_Broom

On display for all to see who were able,

”It is eye”

Said the gnatty, gnat, gnat on the nose of the fly

Who was perched on the nose of an irritable guy;  “Take that”.

 

And the irritable man, he swatted away

At the fly on his nose,

And the gnat (there he goes),

As his world went awry, said “goodbye”.

 

And the irritable man with the tie in his hand

Completed the Windsor knot.

And tucking at this and that around the collar until satisfied that “handsome is as handsome does”

(He loved this tie a lot),

Except for the spot

Where the fly had landed.

 

So happy he was  that the fly was now gone. (the fly never really knew what hit him on the return approach).

 

The gnat by the way, was just that, In The Way.

And the hand of the  man went SWAT once again

And returned to his image in the glass in the lav

And perfected the  knot in his Brooks Brothers tie and said “Dang,

I’m a handsome man.”

 

So….what do you think of your blue-eyed boy now Mr. Cummings.

Who is That in the Mirror?

Lee_Broom

Black holes and dark clouds and space dust are universal metaphors for what(?); that part of you that has no room for anything at all but the perfectly straight line that travels from the retina of your only remaining eye, returning when it will from the end of the universe, ignoring, no, completely oblivious to anyone else in you path(?); no, it’s the other way around, isn’t it?

Isn’t  it?

I’ll pass, Old Friend.

It’ll pass.

My Shoes Don’t Match by Lee Broom

Lee_Broom 

My shoes don’t match I say to myself
Observing one black and one brown.
One pointy toe, The other a moc
I chuckle as I sit down.

I remembered a time In Pershing Square
An orator holding his own
The end is nigh Beware my friends
Repent before heading Home.

Is he right I wondered My shoes don’t match
I’d found them a moment ago.
I repented not They felt warm and snug
I left them on my toes.

My shoes don’t match I repeat to myself
Observing one black and one brown.
One pointy toe,  The other a moc
Each slipped over A woolen sock
The time is passing Tickety tock
A smile replacing a frown;

(I’ve another pair just like these And they are my very own.)

From: An Amo and Curio Olio. A Folio of Prose and Poesy
By Lee Broom