Obsidian Eagle's Blasphemous Bazaar - avant-garde poetics, indie publishing, nom-de-plume

Obsidian Eagle's

Blasphemous Bazaar

META-Poems For A New Millennium

<br>META-Poems For A New Millennium<br><br>

The Flagship of Anti-Poetry — est. 2010

The Fish Fry

The Fish Fry

Once there was a fisherman living close to the shores of Idealism. He had a pretty young fishwife with whom he shared a humble abode. Each day he would dive down beneath the waves, harpoon in hand. He would bring back exotic catches and plenty pearls for a necklace. She in turn, scraped scaly sparklers off fantastical fishes; removing gemstone guts with a serrated blade made of flame. They would place flawless fillets on a skillet over inner fire. Their supper was such that even an Emperor would envy them.

One day, both decided to cast their net from back of boat. Its translucent mesh spread out widely, dragging all in its wake. Yet while he began pulling in the net, a merman appeared to her. He told her this haul was a trifle compared to his sub-sea riches. Lulled by that seductive spell, the foolish fishwife absconded. A mighty tidal wave came and swept the fisherman far away. His boat became driftwood bits on a remote island's beachhead. However, he had held on to the net as well as its contents.

Hence did his solitary life commence set aside there. Although sweetest love was lost, he did become a better baiter. He caught everything from the slickest swordfish imaginable to Nereids who brought about reports of scarcity below. Alone he'd prepare the Fish Fry, starting with the biggest; supping on wonders of the deep but also fasting at times. During full moons, countless bioluminescent specimens came to pay him tribute and adorn his thousand-petaled coral crown.

The moral be: cherish whatever you yourself conceive. Unlike a fishwife deceived by the deeps!

Aquiline Ascension

Aquiline Ascension

Up on its aerie at the top of the world
It perches, plucking mottled plumes.

Arthritic talons, crimped from overuse
Shall have to be painfully pulled out.

Then even that dull rostrum will lie busted
Smashed against a freshly reddened rock. 

Days will pass. Weeks, months (maybe years).
Wintry winds will buffet a barely living body.

But gradually, feathers, claws, and beak grow back;
Which is when Eon Eagle heads forth thus renewed.

Swooping so swiftly as to part oceanic waters
Before arching skyward, into the bluest expanse!



* Except on Wall of Worthies
whereon rights are retained by respective authors.