Monday, April 27, 2015

troubadour


by horace p sternwall




i am a wandering troubadour
traveling from town to town
i long for a lady’s soft amour
but receive a burgomaster’s frown

i grieve for the glorious days of yore
when gallantry ruled the earth
for heroic knighthood my heart is sore
though i be of humble birth

how little joy to walk a land
in which poetry never flowers
where love must tremble at the priest’s raised hand
and mammon cruelly glowers

o black-clad men of reason
who lay waste to the woods and fields
in what untimely season
must you set wolves on a poet’s heels?

we are on this earth to love
and for no other cause
no angels line the skies above
to enforce your cruel laws

i am a wandering troubadour
traveling from town to town
i long for a lady’s soft amour
but receive a burgomaster’s frown




Saturday, April 25, 2015

old chums in chicago


by horace p sternwall




i had long suspected cousin mark of murdering grandmother.

wishing to get to the bottom of the matter i requested a leave of absence during the christmas holiday and journeyed back to the cedars, an undertaking i found quite lacking in stirring up nostalgic memories.

by good fortune cousin mark was away, visiting old chums in chicago. i had a long talk with a gardener who had been in the employ of the estate since the aforementioned unpleasantness, and i prevailed on him to tell his tale.

it was as i suspected, and after assuring the fellow that his livelihood would not be compromised i notified the authorities.

i am retired now, and live alone at the cedars with only one servant. as i sit by the low fire with a good crackling log during the long chilly nights i often reflect on cousin mark and am drawn to the conclusion that he was guided not by malice, but only by weakness.



Wednesday, April 1, 2015

at last


by nick nelson




"the clown will see you now, mr dawkins."

ralph stood up.

he had been waiting forty years for this moment.