Sometimes I Escape From a Fictional Novel

    Don’t fuss too much. Look here, just like in a supernatural story, a spirit can manifest itself and write a novel or other written work. There have been Twilight Zone episodes where Shakespeare is brought back to live etc., and other similar devices. The “conceit” is sometimes necessary to write a fictional character in first-person.
    So, indulge me. I have escaped from the blog-novel “The Blog That Would Destroy the World,” in order to write poetry. So has my friend Diane. I am the temporary High Priestess, an ordinary female Dictator.
    This is just a friendly reminder that the narrator of a poem is not necessarily the same as the author, just like the characters in a play are not the same as the actors. It is said by my followers that “She is a fair Dictator, and a great poetess, but we don’t like her foreign name, “Zawmb’yee,” because it is hard to pronounce, and she doesn’t say it outloud herself.”

Walking With Doug
by “Zawmb’yee Nuje”

On a sunny sign day across the street
the sign said WALK ye
carefully, and we did
across the street into honking,
dodging the cars that trapped themselves
in intersections at change of light, we
swirling about a hot dog stand line, and
pushing our way where
pedestrian streams flowed
our way towards the park

I think we passed the building
with trees on every terrace, and
the buses faced us at every stop
their unloading commotions, their
boarding confused hordes
looking for cards and change

But mostly I didn’t notice if
there were gems in the din, or
new fashions in the store windows, no, mostly,
I listened to the music of Doug’s chatter because
I love the sound of his voice

it comforts me when I hear as I laugh
the song of his voice turning tender, and
I know he loves to be with me

when my word of acknowledgment
makes him smile and pause, I
know he loves me like the humming bird
loves the flower however fast the flutter of his wings
(but I would tell him he’s like a lion), and
I think perhaps I dress to be his nectar
Doug has seen my paint box and asks:
Could this be a Phtalocyanine Blue sky?

‘Huh what’ I wonder, an odd fact
could break a romantic spell
oh well, I laugh

He says, I mean:
it seems like a god has
lent you his brushes, and
you’ve painted my sky. Is it you
who paints my world?

No, I say, it is you who
shines on my tears, penetrates
the rainbow of my feelings and I show you
the canvas of the world as I see it. I look
in your eyes and pray they will see
every color that makes you happy and
if I would be on your palette, brush me

His hand brushed my cheek and touched my lips, but
we collided with a passerby who said, “Idiots!”
But we are not fools to be in love
flowing and in tune with a romantic moment

Doug kissed my hand and
we crashed into a hot dog stand

Doug said we’ll take two with sauerkraut.
Yes, two to go with the day.