Chicago - Dec. 8, 2017
Music TV Politics Sports Books People Places & Things
 
Beachwood PP&T
Our monthly PP&T archive.
Chicagoetry
Rhymes for the Times.
Beachwood Bookmarks
So You've Decided To Be Evil
Vintage Beer Signs
Easy Bar Tricks
Best of Craigslist
Wacky Packages
Chicagology
Taquitos Snack Food Reviews
How Products Are Made
Everyday Mysteries
Chicago Zombie
FAIL
Texts From Last Night
Fuck My Life
Awkward Family Photos
QuackWatch
Alcademics
Lamebook
Ultra Local Geography
Uncyclopedia
Best Pinball Machine Ever
Land of Sky Beer Waters
Calumet 412
Chicago Patterns
Vince Michael's Time Tells

Chicagoetry: All The Panthers Are Rose

All the Panthers Are Rose

A leaden lion
And a leather lion
Lurk through a savannah

Of spun gold.
Only one can be
Leader.

Mind: the tiger
Is suzerain
Of the jungle,

The savannah
Is suzerainty
Of the lion.

From the low branch
Of a distant copse dangles
The tail of a dozing

Cheetah. Soft eyes
Open. A single emerald copse
Festoons the horizon.

Spun grass, swaying
In the rising sun,

Rolling under their feet forever.
A black tiger burns
In the nearby forest

(A sort of jungle).
In this instance,
All the panthers are rose.

All the lambs
Are gazelles, each with
A target on its back.

The lions' wives
Fight for supremacy,

Wives--leaden
And leather--
Determine the leader.

Lion by lion, tiger by
Brightly burning tiger,
The stalking, the bleeding

For gazelle meat and sex

Cycles on: death
Of necessity, not sport,
Dreadful yet

Merely natural.
No miracle of mind,
No intelligent design:

Simple, quantum folly,
An accident
Of imagination, pure

God hunger.

A fang evolves
From stardust alone,
From the remnants

Of the looming sun.

Soft eyes open,
Afire with stardust.
Each louche cheetah

Disdains all

Yet remains on guard.
They only doze
Up in the copse.

All the panthers are rose
As the cheetahs doze.
Spun gold, gold leaf,

Flexible strands
Of tall, gold grass
Sway as the lady lions

Swerve,

Leather with perhaps
Some leverage over leaden.
The panthers remain

In the forest, of course.
I mean, for God's sake,
Rose on gold?!

Nowhere to hide!
See: at dusk, the copse
On the broad horizon

Becomes the heart
Of the setting sun.

-

J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.

-

More Tindall:

* Chicagoetry: The Book

* Ready To Rock: The Music

* Kindled Tindall: The Novel

* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance



Permalink

Posted on March 15, 2016


MUSIC - The Weekend In Chicago Rock.
TV - Time For Royal Scroungers To Earn Their Keep.
POLITICS - More College Aid Going To The Rich.
SPORTS - Bears At Peak McCaskey.

BOOKS - Before Breitbart.

PEOPLE PLACES & THINGS - Chicagoetry: New Fucking Frying Pan.


Search The Beachwood Reporter

Subscribe To Our Newsletter
Email:

Follow BeachwoodReport on Twitter



Beachwood Radio!


Ask Me Anything!



Wool and Hoop