The Second Soul of November

"Resistance" by David Noah,
Winterville, Georgia

Athens, Georgia

November 18, 2011

       Call me Aquarius

unlike Ishmael

set to sea

by soul’s November

damp and drizzle

cold November

grim about the mouth

November

chased into the arms of Ahab

        ever striving,

        ever driving

raging to the fading light

in endless existential angst

aspiring to redeeming greatness

spurning fear and hope alike

embracing Übermensch inside

        which elevates

        contentious ways

        defines the dark

        in dismal days

        descends again

        the well of cold

        which holds the dread  

        November soul

well goodness gracious that

November, bless its existential

heart, so Sturm und Drang, so

not my drama. Mine the mellow

Southern season mixing mild

with bracing days, when

woodlands open up and welcome

winter’s heart of tan and brown.  

There’s peace in piercing shafts

of sunlight slowly warming forest

floor where solemn anoles fade

in silence, green to tan in golden

sun, a grace in shy suburban does

when flushed from front yard

flower gardens, gracile statues

snapped to life and soaring lightly

merge with early evening shadows

cast by rising Hunter’s Moon.

November’s second soul is sweetness

wrapped in dwindling light and life,

a treasure passed unrecognized

by those who set themselves

to sea

        immersed

        and haunted

        ever onward

        driven, seeking

        never finding

        ever scanning

        endless oceans

        screaming

        squid-breath

        over here, ya

        wanna’nother

        piece a’ me?

Though some still think to call

it glory – deeply woven hero

story – manning up is in our guts,

in coded genes we cannot break,

but fallen human spirit grows

new harmonies will soon take hold

November’s grace will seep inside

and ground the mind of greatness

yet.

        So never mind

        the date precisely

        when my fate shall

        breach beside me,

        when the white whale

        comes for me, I’ll draw

        upon that second soul

        to harness what I have

        in store to bless the beast

        that looms before me,

        bless the beast that lurks

        inside, to look with love

        on ice cold eyes, to look

        my last on open skies,

        to fill my lungs with light

      and dive.

Tryptophanic Sugar Buzz Blues

Athens, Georgia

November 30, 2011

I don’t bake turkey

      Thanksgiving Day.

Don’ bake no turkey

      Thanksgiving Day.

But sis-in-law cooks Butterball

an’ ain’t no shame to give a call

when all I hafta do is pray.

The feast is spread,

      it’s laid before me.

A mighty spread

      awaits before me.

just who to thank, you make the call –

the cook gave labor, bird gave all,

the voice inside cries bless the fowl.

I said a prayer,

        and then I toasted.

Cried out that prayer,

        then blessed and toasted

Fifteen pounds of turkey roasted

brown and juicy, packed with stuffin’

made from crumbed corn bread muffin

whipped potatoes mounded creamy

drippin’ pools of giblet gravy,

bowls of butter beans with ham

hot casseroles of squash and yams 

green jello salad thingy chillin’.

Ready now, we’re set, we’re willin’

Lordy mercy make us able:

eat our fill and leave the table.

      And it’s –

      First big helpin’, belly bulgin’

            Twenty pounds of pieces scattered

            all across the turkey platter.

      Second helpin’, belly bloatin’

            Thirty pounds of tryptophene

            still lyin’ round about the scene.  

      Final scrapin’, belly breakin’

            Forty pounds of scraps remainin’

            call the dogs, my stomach’s achin’.

      My oh my, this grown man cry

            ‘cause here come’ sweet potato pie

            an’ pumpkin, pecan, apple crumb,

            in whip’ cream bliss just let me lie.

Tonight I’ll toss

      in bed and dream.

Oh Lord I’ll turn

      and squirm and scream:

The Lady of the Gravy lake

is bakin’ spells I cannot shake  

while mired within my sugar swampland

turkey zombies slowly stalkin’

candied yams approach gyratin’

devil’d eggs incarnate Satan

wafting ghastly sulphur haze

and through the stuporifous daze

mad bargain shoppers pepper spray

their fevered way into the scene.

This ain’t no ordinary thing,

Thanksgiving night I got again

the sugar crusted, diet busted

sweet tea sweatin’, midnight frettin’,

stomach churnin’, belly turnin’

blood congealin’, colon squealin’

bowel blastin’, pyroclastic

nostril flarin’, zombie scarin’

Tryptophanic sugar buzz

      Blues.

(Now don’t be lettin’ this happen

to you!)