From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Green Saga
Date: 31 Aug 92 17:53:18 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

More later.

Kate, walking rather stiffly, and myself continued down the dry path
through the split water, and the wee blue light grew stronger as we
approached it.

Finally we heard music and singing, culminating in the hign note of four
Sineads, which cracked the water around us like glass so that it
disappeared and we were now in a world of mist.  It is here that I saw
Josef, as tall as myself and no longer gold.  He showed me his blue topaz
ring as though I required evidence of his O'Toolishness.  Unfortunately, I
forgot to bring mine, but the sallow look in my eyes must have convinced
him that I was Posthumous.  Plus, he had my description:  "the young Orson
Welles"  

"Why aren't you three inches tall?" I asked.
"I thought you might prefer me in this guise.  Besides, I wanted to be able
to properly acquit myself with your lovely mistress."  Kissing her hand
seemed to restore most of the life back to her.  She finally opened her
eyes.

Somehow in all that fog Josef was able to find a diner where he and I
ordered Sloppy Joes.  Kate just wanted Bloody Marys.  

From there we picnicked by a huge muddy river where Josef proved his
ethereality by making his cigarette butts disappear.  All the time, a
bright yellow spirit flashed around us.

"What is that?"  I asked.
"Visions of Johanna," he answered.
"But I thought you didn't like rock-n-roll?"
"Oh, you mean Bob Dylan?  That's merely a dreadful coincidence."

Then Joe presented me with a book:  "Poems from America" signed by the
Author.  I perused the chapter from Minnesota:


There's a fellow named Joe
From Minnie-So
Who knows just what to do
And if you sniff him long enough, you'll know, too.


And as I read an invisible Sinead sang along.  I thanked him profusely and
he disappeared, leaving us in this land-o-mist.  I, tired, and Kate, bored,
prostrated ourselves and fell to sleep.


tobecontinued

{cont'd)

"Wake up!  Wake up!"  Joe was back, having left Johanna home.  Now we could
truly paint the town red (but no one brought brushes).

First thing we did is find a bar in this vast o'erreaching plain of mist.
Unfortunately, this was not a human bar but one belonging to the little
people, you know the "Ding an sich" or "Tir na Nog" or whatever they're
called.  Once they saw Josef they let us in.

"I didn't think they'd let humans in here," I whispered.
"As long as they have an escort," said Joe.
"But Joe, that means..."

The unfortunate part was that they only served fairy drinks.  Joe ordered a
"Frosty Roman" and I had an "Old-Fashioned Cherry Soda"  I don't remember
what Kate ordered, but she usually gets Capuccino.  I ended the fun with a
"Long Island Iced Tea."  Curious, I looked up Long Island in my new tome,
"Poems from America":

Long Island

Way to the east of this fair isle
lies a Muse of flame-red hair.
She waits for you to cool her tea
as she sits on her reclining chair.


"Who is she?" I asked myself.
"'Tis Calliope," he answered.
"Huh?  You know her?"
"She was the first to learn of the O'Tooles.  The first O'Toole really --
under those strange stars."
"The first?  What about Peter?"
"Oh, enough with your Peter O'Toole crap!" (perhaps 'crap' is not a term
that Josef would use, but it's the closest I can recall right now) "I have
here proof of Calliope's O'Tooleship.  These are her pockets."

And he handed me the following list, written on a handkerchief with this
monogram: "jOg"

The product of Calliope's pocket calculator 

1.  A bodice-ripper and a penny-dreadful
2.  The patent application for my latest invention (the Kiss-O-Phone)
3.  Cat's pyjamas and bees' knees (several) 
4.  A thing of beauty and a joy forever
5.  A kilderkin of metheglin (for medicinal purposes)
6.  A marzipan pig and a truffle
7.  A blarney stone chip
8.  A whatnot and a whatsit
9.  A passe-partout and a half-dozen cartes-blanches
10. A speckled band, five orange pips and a blue carbuncle
11. A curious riddle and a gypsy fiddle
12. An ill-sorted collection of execerable etchings
13. One jot or tittle
14. A small vial of curare and a hatpin
15. Extremely privately published slim volumes of a hundred housebroken
Ezra     
    Pounds
16. A martingale (I leave it to your imagination which sort)
17. An ophiolatrous fetish with a viperous tongue
18. A treasured daguerreotype of the infant Uncle Josef dressed as Little  
                      
    Lord Fauntleroy for a typical O'Toole family charade
19. A pair of tinsel wings
20. A simple, a wimple and a misplaced dimple
21. The negatives (You have been warned!)
22. A good report card from a school for scandal
23. A flower press (with thumbscrews) and some dessicated snapdragons
24. A miniature glass harmonica
25. A pearl-handled derringer and six silver bullets
26. My long-lost marbles, including four yellow cat's eyes and three fine  
    
    agates
27. A minor key
28. A wee peccadillo and a small kerfuffle
29. A wasp in amber
30. A score of elephants, ten pink, ten white 
31. An ancient shibboleth
32. Two peas in a pod, easily distinguishable


Well, I'm quite sure this list has exhausted you, so I'll continue this
tale later on.

Yours, Posthumous O'Toole

Up yours, Candlestick O'Toole

(my, but I am an errant knight-errant!)
-- 
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