By J.J. Tindall
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.
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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* Kindled Tindall: The Novel
* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance
Posted on March 15, 2016