The Octopus

A ‘Justin Koop Classic’

October 25, 2008

The Octopus

Out of the Sea, springs a scene, unseen

Mortal eyes do glean, sense of awe from this being

A man; you and I; steps from the foamy brine

His head, in the sky, flies nigh to On High

Humans, ought not to mock

His face, fearsome with tentacles flocked,

Was that of an Oct,

Masterfully maneuverable, monstrous with muscles wrought

Atop his back, borne brightly and brave

Wings of wonder, widespread in whispering wind

Wings: neither flapping nor flailing, falling nor failing

Each powerful eagle plume, perfectly placed in position

His hands holding hard, his instrument of honor

Ivory keys, quickly click constant consistent choruses

Marvelous Melodies melt the mundane and make them magical

Softly, secret sounds seep and silently, like an assassin, strike

The accordion sings:

Wings, alight me from the sky split asunder;

O noble huntress of the sea, sing your siren song to me

God-like, his golden greaves gently graze the golden sands

Heaving his heavy haunches, he humbly steps landward

His body above the beaches, broadly breaching lands borders

First: frightened falling jaws flop like fearful fallacies

Scared sailors seem significantly less salty

Tears tear torrential trenches towards the threshold

Broken because of beauty, badass boys blink back briny bulbs

Second: Silent cities sleep soundly, somber and unaware

Parents planted permanently, prostrated placidly, in bed

But children chase the colossal creature, captivated

And playing peacefully as the Pontifical power passed overhead

Third: The slums sit stinking, storing sick slothful sludge

Brothel girls gaze gauntly, grown greatly joyful

Jumping jauntily out of their jail, jamming

Streets with singing voices celebrating sovereign self-determination

Fourth: The castle collapses under catastrophic crushing,

The foot of the Oct fell fully, flattening false kings

Causing clutching queens to quickly cut chords and

Run.

Fifth: the Mountain. Monstrous, matching the mighty Oct,

Coffee farmers coughed, calling Oct regular stock,

Oct brought its face, full view, front the fearful farmers,

They rapidly realized their wrongs, rolling in rough-cut self-wrath

Monks meditate, making much moaning

Their cry calls the Count of Oct, climbing the consecrated crags,

Their shock is sudden and solidified by staggering size and surprise,

As heads bow, honoring his heavenly head, holding holy happiness

So do trees bow, teetering toward, and tops twisted, topiary “THERE” signs

The sun set as treetops swayed, steering the sizable Oct southward,

Followed by flocks of free faces,

Dancing downwards, to dark daridinian lakes,

Burning, wreathed rouge-like, red poured regally

Onto the octopus’s head

The lake looked lacking, losing light and leaking black

But beauty’s broad body blessed the blank black lake,

Dazzling and dancing, dark depths dare not dim,

Brightness breathes blue beauty, beneath billowing bearings

Ships sink at sight, splitting their seams in self-sacrifice,

Ill-conceived ideas about man-made monstrosities meaning much, Die

Dealing dark damage to darker demons

The octopus’s great strides set his course past this world’s edge,

Taking astral steps beyond sun, Saturn and space.

Where golden light and dark of night became one,

And there he remains to this day:

Wondering at the waters of the world from which he wandered.

–         Justin K.

© Justin Koop 2008*

*Not for redistribution without written consent

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