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Alan Schweitzer

of

Brooklyn, NY, US

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Terrible Tucker

by

Alan Schweitzer

Who hasn't heard of Terrible Tucker
Who crept in the glow twixt midnight and moon
From the weeping forest of Erin De Brucker
In the fabulous land called Land o' the Loon?

Who doesn't know the tale of the boy
Who painted the tigers, who rolled the snakes
Who made every beast his own hairy toy
Who built up the mountains, who filled up the lakes?

Who feathered the fowl, who fashioned them flight
Who gave sweet voice to the packs and flocks
Who rippled the waters and starried the night
And sprinkled the glitter upon the rocks?

Is there a place in heaven or earth
On the seven seas, in the universe
Where is not known the heralded birth
Of he who the powerful damn and curse?

And damned and cursed and flung and tossed
Is Terrible Tucker on this Earth
For that is the price, and that is the cost
We Tuckers terrible pay for our birth.


Glasses for The Field

by

Alan Schweitzer


I have discovered glasses for the field
They hang beside the fingers on my hand
They gently graze the whorls and grooves
The ridges, oils upon my fingertips

It is a fluid land that curls in tune
With colorful flutes and tiny dancing bells
And they, the bells, are often gold and silver
And oftentimes they cannot be discerned

The sun is stark, revealing all shadows
Within the frame of life experience
I live in a confusion of people
I lift the glasses to my old grey face

The glasses take me softly by the way
Unveiling wonders from a far-off place
I do not hold the glasses, they hold me
I have become a partner of the light

I have magic glasses for the field
That hang beside the fingers on my hand
My glasses hang beside my fingertips
My gently weeping fingers reaching out