Sestina: the raven’s revenge

The chicken cackle of pallid Homo Sapiens froths ignorance below
A bistro rooftop where conniving Avians cluster. With craving eyes,
Sea Gulls furtively survey hefty meals served upon picnickers’ plates.
Suddenly, a daredevil’s outstretched claws swoop over seasick seas
In a precision flight between two chattering skulls. Café Intellos
Curse in rage as slices of bread and bresaola sail into infinite blue!

Cheeks scratched, sandwich scattered, the Duo drown in Kozmic Blues
As Carrion Kings plot fresh assaults upon other pompous Intellos….
The Raven mocks: “As Edgar warned you Human Egg Heads below:
Beware! Soon your bosom cores will be toasted by my hypnotic eyes!”
“Nevermore!” ricochets upon eardrums of subjugated peoples overseas
Where Megiddo desert birds leave no scrap on either silver or paper plates…

Once again, the Raven commands his minions to attack! Vengeful eyes
Divebomb Sapiens speeding on e-bikes beside the froth of upstart seas.
Pigeons steal crunchy truffle chips beneath a sky of indifferent blue.
Not content to snatch fried shrimp and squid from clueless Intellos,
Other foul fowl peck at children running barefoot over porcelain plates
Shattered by flapping wings into sharp fragments upon stones below…

Having now savored human flesh marinated upon nature-morte plates,
The flock worships the Raven’s Icon framed in canvasses of royal blue!
Resurrecting Cenozoic DNA, he orders his Terror Birds to patrol the seas
And snatch Sapiens before they can once again hide in Caves below…
No respite! Without warning, these Raptors nosedive, their penetrating eyes―
Like arrows piercing tempestuous skies―target fledgling Intellos!

Perched upon a beach umbrella, the Raven jeers. Cowering Intellos
Are targeted with AI precision, algorithms note each overflowing plate.
Stormy Petrels are guided like black lightning by the Raven’s furious eyes.
Other flying rats arise from their watchtower over flame-thrower blue
And survey their next victims upon the Plutonium shore below:
All tremble as atom-powered fireworks scintillate over inhospitable seas!

Sunbathers waddle like blubbery Dodos before the tsunami seas
Where winged serpents strike tender loins from mephitic sands below.
“No human escapes!” cries the Beast. The canary lungs of peacenik Intellos
Are easily drowned. And with too much avicular gook on their Phineas plates,
There’s no way Jason’s Falconers can tame this Anarchy under comatose blue.
In pure cinematographic Poe-try, Harpies peck out the gas attendant’s eyes!

The parched hills of Holyvoid blaze below a horizon of holocaust blue.
The Raven’s Cobalt Eyes now rule the land, the skies, the seven seas:
His Terror Birds target dissenting Intellos. Nothing is right in its plate!

Barbecue Meltdown

I.

A baby rabbit's skull rolls out of a [puppy's jaws].
Headless furry bodies are strewn across the grass―
Far from their mother’s lair.
There are no decayed dinosaur bones here.

II.

Faces once painted [half red/half black] in reverence for humans and nature,
The tattooed Shaman of Leni Lenape have long since vanished [vanquished]
Under swaying ferns of red cedar where blackbirds no longer nest.
So too vanished their rattles of tortoise shell and beaded clothes of deer skin.

III.

A caravan of ants drag pieces of sliced watermelon [spiked with rum]
Over the petrified ashes of a barbecue meltdown: The intense heat
Has smelted fatty chunks of hamburger paddies, blackened hot dogs
And corn on the cob wrapped in aluminum foil onto the sizzling grill…
The fire is indifferent to the beauty of inflections,
To the beauty of innuendoes―
Yet devours both.

IV.

The mass gone critical: The tarnished barbecue tripod can no longer
Hold its ground. The metallic base splits wide open into a deep cavernous hole…
Cinders and ashes plummet, setting wood chips and dried grass and pine needles
And the stump of a dead tree trunk, intertwined with poison ivy,
Into violent flames…

V.

It was no really different
Than when H.D. Thoreau
Had “accidentally” it is said―
Set several hundred acres of forest
On fire on a fishing expedition…
When he and his companions hoped
To procure food from the stream,
"Indian-like."

VI.

Yes, it was really no different
Than if lightning had done it.
These flames are but consuming their natural food…1
So the “woods burner” had claimed―
Without much remorse for those
Whose woods he had destroyed
And for the fact that the same forest area
Had already been devastated by the deforestation
Of the early industrial revolution…

VII.

So much for “letting your life be counter-friction to stop the machine”!
The Raven must have cast a spell on his brilliant mind.
And jinxed him in a fit of premature senility and “thoughtlessness” …

VIII.

Dumping paper bags stuffed full of groceries a family of picnickers
Leap into their station wagon to escape an electrical swarm
Of very unwelcome bald-faced hornets so suddenly frightened
From their papier-mache nests and now buzzing frantically
In the quest of seared flesh.

IX.

Watching the flames hop and scamper with an arsonist’s delight,
The Raven stands proudly on a grey tree branch and admires
The bluish-black sheen of his own reflection in rippling lake waters.
He shakes the soot from his face [brooding] beside the row boat dock…

X.

In defiance, this proud Beast picks a hole
In a translucent bag of leftover trash
And then flaps his wings in freedom [unnatural].
A chunk of meat wriggles [like an earthworm] from his nailed beak.

XI.

Bright red trucks are rapidly mobilized: fire hoses gush jets
Of potent spray. Risking death by slow asphyxiation, valiant rangers
In heat resistant vests now peer into thick coils of smoke that swirl
Through the misty green panes of “Dulce et Decorum” gas masks.

XII.

It is not very long before the ocean-like spray
Stops spreading its healing rainbows
Once Da Vinci’s life-saving stream
Of water power runs dry:
Even the aerial bombardment
Of chemical concoctions
Cannot prevent the wild incendiary winds
From engulfing entire homes
And uprooting the lives of those
Who inhabit these forest lands…

XIII.

From within ice cubes, a child
Playfully removes a carpenter ant
From its sub-zero hibernation:
With the mere touch of a fingertip,
It writhes [from the dead].

Notes

1 Henry David Thoreau: The Woods Burner.