Cloud Cuckoo Land [poem]

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Cloud Cuckoo Land

As I dreamed me through the wilderness of this broken world
I came upon a country where they claim that only milk and
honey flow through fulsome flowing rivers in which molten
lava changed from gold alchemically swirls & writhes & rolls.

And in that strangeful dream of mine, with wide eyes I had
soon observed that every forehead of the herd of humans
(walking in a row) had ‘Wishful Thinking’ slavishly inscribed
(though maybe more precise to say they were lobotomised).

Forgetting that unpleasant scene I noticed later in my dream
that everyone residing there threw many flowers in the air
proclaiming “Peace and love to one and all! Here in this land
we have no walls; with everyone our wealth we freely share!”

With great relief I heard those words for I had come there
poorly dressed and with, I must confess, an empty stomach
having never eaten less for many days before my journey’s
path had wandered to this colourful intendlyfriendly place.

I spied a man sat on his porch cavorting with his little children in
full play, who muchly laughed and watched balloons in rainbow
patterns fly away, with “Peace and Love” emblazoned on those
non-synthetic rubber floating balls & then I courteously did say:

“I’m pleased to hear you speak of sharing, for my palate has
gone dry and weakness makes it difficult for me to fly” (for I
had wings upon my back, whereas I noticed theirs had been
removed; I later heard it was because they’d been “misused”).

To my surprise, instead of greeting me with warmth into his
home, he looked me up and down with some suspicion (one
might even say disdain) for he had quickly noticed (I did soon
perceive) that I did neither speak as he, nor dress the same.

Just then his wife appeared. The same expression on her face
as him she wore. “Come in”, to him she urged. “I’ve seen his
aura and he means our tribe no good. His thoughts are dark
and negative; he must be driven from our neighbourhood”.

I looked that woman squarely in the eye. But she could never
straightly look me back in mine. Her thighs were taut and
tightly closed in fear. Her juices dry. (She hadn’t shed a single
tear since seeing her mother beaten by her father as a child).

He meekly went back through the door which she then shut
and through the window I observed that frightened flowery
family embrace each other chanting to some female deity
a love and peace decree (and then they put a curse on me!)

I eyed them all with naught but full compassion in my heart.
Their little huddle through the window seemed to me to be
a sad example of some installation art, as never having rid
themselves of engrams from the past, in fears they basked.

I never will forget his face, contorted by his wariness of those
whose eyes see well beyond a countenance or slogans writ
in uppercase on balls of air (I think that helium would have
been infinitely better there!). The curtains closed in haste.

And so I wandered down the road and then I spied a woman
with a heavy load. “Allow me please to help you carry that
huge burden lain upon your back. Such strife!” She looked
at me with spite. “How dare you claim I’ve luggage in my life!”

I realised she knew not it was there, so I resolved to walk for
some way down the path accompanying her in hopes that
maybe I could lighten up her burdened little world (although
I came to realise she was in truth a deeply damaged little girl).

For some while forth we walked the way as one. Her face had
brightened and she sometimes joined my ever-singing song.
I barely noticed that her load had then transferred itself to
mine and when in time I fully looked I realised she’d gone.

I threw that pack down to the track and opened it with care.
10,000 desperate barbs flew madly through the air including
letters of the alphabet which seemed to spell MAN’S CRISIS
(an anagram describing well that woman’s mesome heart).

Further down that crooked road, I came upon a woman who
(forgive me for my forthright words) resembled well a common
garden toad. She’d placed herself so no one could get past and
sat before a table upon which was only set a shiny crystal glass.

I realised that to the world she did epitomise a certain kind
of beauty with her flowing locks, her graceful dress, her scent,
her everything impressed. It seemed that it was only me who
saw beyond the deep seductive frippery to who she really was.

She greeted me with hugely smiles and lectured me awhile
about the need for love and peace and said how if I pictured
in my head abundance and great wealth instead of poverty
and need, then that would quickly come my way indeed.

She said that for a price she’d share with me the secrets of her
paradise and soon I’d have great wealth to me ascribed.
I begged her pardon saying how I love the simple life and had
no need for fame or fortune such as she had just described.

Then I did bold become and fixing on her eyes with mine
I spoke about the stealth with which she’d gained her wealth
by selling so-called secrets which were nothing more than
self-perpetuating lies — a far cry from our calling to be wise.

Then you’re a fool, said she. I was amazed how quickly all the
veins stood out around her head! In an instant all her love and
peace dissolved. She overturned the table and became that
toad that I had seen and slinked away. Her scaly skin was green.

So once again I went my way and came upon a dim-lit city street
wherein the oncewerefairer sex were prancing in a mob with hats
upon their heads that seemed to me were shaped as pussy-cats.
It seemed that they were celebrating, tho’ within I sensed deceit.

“What is this secret emblem which you wear?” said I to one who
wore some flowers in her hair and carried in her hands a sign
which read: “Only a woman can provide true love and care”,
at which I said I also had love in my soul, with much to spare.

Perhaps I am naïve, for I perceived that studiously they ignored
my words and treated me as if I was some turd upon the road
and, brushing me aside (tho’ not before their eyes had glanced
toward my genitals), I was a candidate 4 figurative homme-icide.

I saw there were a few more genitalia among those snarky girls;
but they belonged to worn-down half-men living in the shadows,
beta-types who sported metaphoric skirts disguised as trousers,
4 cocks will only B permitted there at all if they are limp & small.

I cannot tell you my relief to be departed from that chanting mob.
The loveliness of women seemed at odds with all that rent-a-gob.
I longed to meet a soul upon my pilgrim’s way with whom to be
myself without these mind-disordered frays of stark unhealth.

I trekked through mountains, dales and dells, through many
towns and villages and cities there wherein did dwell the kind
of folk like those I met whose food I did not get, who also
chanted (though they did not realise it then) to Baphomet.

I then discerned their smiles and love were only there for show;
a facial uniform reserved for those who share their interflow.
They dwell in slavish darkness just like those of other lands
and build their houses not upon a rock but only in the sand.

Their talk of love and peace is just a mist to cover up their
fears — collectively a fortress of denial. Their ways are nothing
more than style. Perhaps as kids their worthiness was crushed
and now to compensate for this with phoney love they gush.

So then I ran to where their world had interfaced with mine.
And there in shock I saw a massive psychedelic notice-sign:
“We hope you have enjoyed the stay you planned. Please do
dream back. You’re now about to leave Cloud Cuckoo Land”.


© Alan Morrison, 2018

2 thoughts on “Cloud Cuckoo Land [poem]

    djsbzbee said:
    February 20, 2018 at 6:33 am

    Very interesting and sad commentary on what could have been a strong and vibrant culture. “Man’s crisis” = n’arcissisM ! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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