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couchgrouch

Caravan of Secrets

Caravan of Secrets                           ©2017       Robert George BMI

 

There’s a meadow twelve miles out of Corpus Cristi

And that night the air was ominous and misty

They rolled down a dirt road on a coach and horses

And the stallions’ nostrils steamed with hidden forces

 

They were followed by a caravan of wagons

Painted on their sides were fiery lakes and dragons

They’re a nomad family of old world gypsies

Now roaming back roads from Seattle to Poughkeepsie

 

It’s a caravan of secrets

Riding in the night

It’s a wagon train of shadows

Hiding in the light

 

Her name was Janna and she scented of desire

And she went to local taverns passing out free fliers

Mobs of men came out that night to watch her tango

Shady strangers, Texas rangers, High School teachers, Baptist preachers

And a dealer from Durango

 

Gypsy elders hawked their powders, pills and potions

While the men folk gawked at Jezebel in motion

The next day hunters found young Janna dead and savaged

And the wagons had been overturned and ravaged

 

It’s a caravan of secrets

Riding in the night

It’s a wagon train of shadows

               Hiding in the light

 

Well, the elders answered all the sheriff’s questions

All while nodding and ignoring his suggestions

They laid Janna low and whispered ancient verses

Reading psalms and proverbs that resembled curses

 

First they bought supplies and then repaired their wagons

And when they departed moonlight seemed to feed the dragons

That night something bound and gagged a basement blogger

Locked him in a closet with a rodent fogger

 

It’s a caravan of secrets

Riding in the night

It’s a wagon train of shadows

               Hiding in the light

 

Ev’rybody thought that preacher was an ass wipe

No one cried when he was blown up by a faulty gas pipe

When they found that teacher’s tongue beside his iPad

They just figgered he had ratted on a Chinese Triad

 

Then that dealer made a run to Colorado

Had ten pounds of Blue Dream in his El Dorado

He was doin’ eighty-two when something blew his tire

And the town of Spunky Flat got toasted from the fire

 

Well, the sheriff questioned bikers

From a sleazy local joint

Though he rounded up hitch-hikers

They were not the focal point

It was doubtful it was grifters

Cos the homicides were hideous

Then two superstitious drifters

Said it’s something more insidious

 

Well, the sheriff drank some potion then he popped some tic-tacs

And he thought about retiring on his pension and his kick backs

Then he mulled the murders as he drove along the ocean

And a stallion rode the starlight as he sipped his potion

 

Well, that lawman couldn’t keep his squad car steady

When he saw the undead lady rider with the long machete

Then a treasure hunter off the coast of Key West

Found the sheriff’s head inside a sunken sea chest

 

It’s a caravan of secrets

Riding in the night

It’s a wagon train of shadows

               Hiding in the light

 

Ev’ry kingdom has its version

Of a legend from a prehistoric age

Old monks say a deaf mute Persian

First scribed it on a vellum page

And that wagons hauled by steaming horses

Were once hitched up to a saber-tooth

And that tiger was a herald for angelic forces

Who would smite the seed of Cain with truth

 

It’s a caravan of secrets

Riding in the night

It’s a wagon train of shadows

               Hiding in the light

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Gulp!

Wow!

Colorful!

Inventive!

Funny!

Great rhymes!

A truly dystopian presentation, obviously penned and anonymously deliverd from the hideout of a mad soothsayer and raconteur !

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