X Files Parody 8th Episode Epic Comedy Poem

From snail to Sibiryakov
Greenygrey did accelerate
no sign of art or Wolfhol
recursive Droste effect
Andy’s Matryoshka doll trait.

Hi, it’s Jack Wolfpac, legendary travel writing poet satirical comedy correspondent at the Greenygrey, inspired by Jack Kerouac. Here’s the latest post from the Greenygrey/Grey/greenYgrey’s third epic fantasy travel by Google Maps; the search for Andy Wolfhol across Eurasia.

The poem is a seven stanzas quintain rhyming ABAAB, unlike the limericks of the last episode, which rhyme AABBA.

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XaW Files Chapter 1 Episode 8

Twenty Four Hours From Tulsa
sang Gene Pitney in 1963
now I’d travelled all day
but was still 36 hours from Irkutsk
by car driving continuously.

Twenty Four Days Walk to Irkutsk
according to Google Maps
2,868 kilometres, 1,781 miles
578 hours divided by 24
like running Earth axis laps.

There’s a bus once every 24 hours
but it takes two and a half days
for the Siberian journey
I was feeling daunted until
meeting an explorer in history’s haze.

English: Alexander Sibiryakov (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sibiryakov – Alexander like Orlov
but surname has a structure
mirroring Greenygrey
with five letters before a y
followed by four after.

Hello old adventurer
I did read and greet
have you been sailing to Pechora
or trekking across the Urals
it looks the latter from your feet.

Ah Greenygrey, your name
seems familiar to me
I think I heard about you in Tobolsk
from a Womble called Tomsk
before my island in the Kara Sea.

So off together we did ramble
and it didn’t seem like a day
before we reached Irkutsk
not cutting corners before Chita
or milking it under Ulan-Ude.

Link for Amazon book and kindle.

Link for multiple Ereaders at Smashwords.

Alexander Mikhaylovich Sibiryakov (Russian: Алекса́ндр Миха́йлович Сибиряко́в) (October 8 [O.S. September 26] 1849, Irkutsk – 1933) was a Russian gold mine and factories owner and explorer of Siberia.
Sibiryakov graduated from the Zurich polytechnic institute in Switzerland. Later in life, he financed the polar expeditions of Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld (see Vega Expedition) and A.V. Grigoriev. He also sponsored the publication of works on Siberia’s history. In 1880, he made an attempt to enter the Yenisei estuary through the Kara Sea on a schooner. In 1884, Sibiryakov reached the Pechora estuary on the “Nordenskjöld” steamer and proceeded up the river. He then crossed the Urals using reindeers and reached Tobolsk by the Tobol River. Sibiryakov contributed significantly^[how?] to Siberia’s economic development.
Sibiryakov Island, an island in the Kara Sea at the mouth of the Yenisei River, is named after him, as well as icebreakers A. Sibiryakov andSibiryakov.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Sibiryakov

Poem about Life Reality between Dreams and Folklore

Image by MissMessie via Flickr

Marc Latham’s latest Folding Mirror poem resides in the greenygrey area between fantasy and reality; our place in it and others’ perceptions of our place in it.

Before we are born we may be the fantasies of our parents, and after we die our lives and images may become the fantasies of those who shared our lives and the descendents who never meet us.

Even in life, much of our lives are a fantasy to most people; who only know a little about our reality, and may make up the rest themselves.

And to yourself, the ‘real’ world can seem like a fantasy, where you don’t feel you have any control over your life and environment.  What is hidden beyond bureaucracy, walls and horizons is imagined by the mind.

Here’s the poem:

Between Times of Fantasy 

In your mother’s dreams and belly
babyhood being smelly.
Unremembered times of laughter
burping after each eating disaster.
Your experiences learned
in photos and tales.

Reality within dreams and memories

Your story pieced together
jumbled jigsaw dialogue.
School tomfoolery and work folklore
friends recall once more.
You’re not present
to witness descendents create your epitaph.

Poem telling a story of youth to middle-age

Image by Gilderic via Flickr

Marc Latham’s latest Folding Mirror poem started off autobiographical but then he thought it worked better as a fictional piece.

And without further ado, here it is:

Middle-Age Memories

back in the day never fancied old age
it looked boring as beige
didn’t think future
couldn’t see juncture
no need to worry
plan responsibility
don’t have to behave
in an early grave

enter middle-age, rage caged

what now for I’m
fifty years and alive
remember rebel
how used to tell
self no compromise
maybe youth’d empathise
if he’d known my life
after the night he picked up the knife