Christal Marie - A Poem by D.M.D. Goodhead
- By D. M. D. Goodhead
- Published February 2, 2008
- Poetry
- Unrated
Ah—
Dawg land
dawg land
dawg land
The stars came and departed.
The night came and departed.
The day came and sailed into the west-bound horizon.
A flock of jovial geese quoting Dylan Thomas,
And bearing gifts for his old sire,
Who had gone on his way,
Flew past the cirrus veldt.
In their wake came an Alpha-dog star,
And the night became as plain as day.
Bright. Bright. Like a swift-flying laser-beam.
The sky flushed, glowed, blushed, and smiled
Like a high-society lady drawing a fat check
From a well-stocked account.
Ah, what an amazing day
Ah, what an amazing day
But the day was not yet done with its business.
Its genie’s bag still had a gondola of tricks.
Ah, C, have you ever been to
I hear they use gondolas there, and they are expensive too.
Their pilots know a tourist when they see one.
And they will not let slip an opportunity to make the fat buck.
Whenever you go to
Ride the gondola, and on the back of a postcard,
Write a sonnet, no, a haiku, okay, just scribble a few lines,
CM was in
You will like yourself for it afterwards.
You know how postcards behave like kittens
When it comes to memories of distant places
One has visited. They are fuzzy.
They are warm. They never go away.
And this as far as I can tell
Is the chief duty of postcards.
Okay, the night was as bright as day,
And I remember quoting Dylan Thomas,
Quoting him as if I was speaking to his father,
His departed sire, and walking through campus,
As if my ears were as alert as the ears of a rabbit
In flight, and my eyes as wide as calabash bowls,
When along with my companions, I saw what looked
Like a lone bird, a kite, drop clear out of the light-
Clothed sky. It was a kite unlike any we had seen,
A behemoth of a creature, one of those birds
One sees in replicas of flying reptiles of the dim past
In a museum of natural history. Have you ever been to any of those museums?
Once I went to one of those museums, and the tour guard
Was so excited about her work, I, along with everyone there,
Felt as if we were taking a tour through
I bet it was greater fun though, even though I have never
Been to the land that ol’ Walt conjured up out of his hat of wonders.
Ah—
Dawg land
dawg land
dawg land
The kite from the dim past carried a mammoth flag
In its mammoth claws. Anytime I remember
The kite, I think of Sinbad and the rocs.
When I was a child, I used to play Sinbad
In my imagination. And I thought it was the coolest thing
I ever did in my imagination, as fantasy.
Now I wonder whether Sinbad and the rocs
Are as much fun as the DN volleyball team.
Ah—
Dawg land
dawg land
dawg land
The roc from the dim past carried a mammoth flag
In its mammoth claws. A stadium-sized purple flag,
Dawg flag, emblazoned in gold, and multiple colors,
Wisdom-seeking acolytes from every nook and cranny of the earth,
What a rich tapestry, what a rich tapestry, O someone say it, what a rich tapestry
I remembered the dreamer of ancient times, O I remembered the dreamer of ancient times
And how he became the prime minister of the most powerful nation on earth at the time.
O I remembered the dreamer of ancient times, but what remains still clear as crystal
Was the purple flag in the background of gold in the background of countless colors,
With a legend on its burnished face:
Christal Marie, Pacific-Ten Player of the Week
Christal Marie, Pacific-Ten Freshman of the Year,
Christal Marie, Pacific-Region Freshman of the Year,
Christal Marie, All-Conference First Team Selection,
Christal Marie, All Pacific Region First Team
Ah, C, Ah, C, we have drunk deep from the cup of Coleridge,
And even though we are not on our way to take our wedding vows, we have come
Under the spell of the old man. And like schoolchildren bursting out
Of classrooms at break time to gather at the playground to listen to an itinerant Homer
Tell his tale, we wait & wait, stupor-drunk on the wine of your amazing feats, & raising
Our eyes from the
A water-plagued drum: “So much so early?”
But ere our Bacchus-inspired words had fled our lips,
A pack of dogs running wild in the prairie,
Old Socrates appeared before us as if in a dream within a dream,
A ripple stirring on the face of a gentle river, and the touch of Bacchus,
Like an accursed plague fled from our senses,
And alert like warriors on whose vigilance the survival of a city rests,
We listened to wise old Socrates speak. And speak, he did, his words flowing
Like the
Wait,
Wait,
Said,
The grizzled
Fellow,
Until
She burns
The irons,
And her
Upper body
Strength
Stands
To attention
Like a Roman Soldier
At his duty
Post.
Wait.
Wait,
Wait,
Until
She
Develops
The iron
Fist
And
The elastic strain
Of the Cunning
Creepers
In her
Bronzed
Legs
And
Can
Spring
Faster
Than
The agile
Cat.
Block
The missile
Shot
Before it has shown
Its fiery face
Wait
Wait,
Wait,
And
See
Her
Star
Ascend
Higher
Than
The flaming ray
Wait
She will gather heat at the forge and burn brighter than the low-hanging
Proxima Centauri.
Wait,
Wait,
Until
She
Becomes
The unrivaled
Queen
Of
The
Court.
And if her fellow queens are willing, & yes as sure as the heaven’s bright sweeping star,
They are, the crown of ol’ Hec will be festooned with one or more national buntings,
Ah, his lofty crown will be studded with rubies like smiles on the face of healthy apple,
&
yet for her it will just be the beginning. O for her, it will just be the beginning. O for her, it will just be the beginning. & the noble Socrates disappeared through the thinning mist, the way he had appeared before us.
Ah, Christal Marie
Ah, Christal Marie
Ah, Christal Marie
Her strikes, her kills, her blocks will scatter the gathering fists of opponents in the way of the wind. O wind. O wind. O wind. Her strikes, her kills, her blocks will scatter
the gathering fists of opponents in the way of the wind. O wind. O wind. O wind.
Victor in purple, victor in gold, sportswoman of sportsmen and sportswomen,
The stars stoop down to garland her royal neck, their crown of victory adorn her lovely
head.
O stars, O stars, O stars, O stars, O stars, O stars, O stars, O stars, O stars, O stars
We all agreed with the grizzled sage, and with merry hearts, and like merry fellows,
Set our merry hearts to the cause of garlanding her and her fellow queens with roaring
praise.
Praise like the rush of mighty rivers, praise like the call of the roaring ocean, praise
Like the song of a thousand of waterfalls. O waterfall. O waterfall. O waterfall.
Fall, fall from the mighty rafters of ol’ Hec. Fall, fall from the stands where an army
Of stomping feet stomp, stomp, stomp until the stands tremble like burning fever.
Ah-
Dawg land
dawg land
dawg land