Mr Trail Safety Speaks!

A long time back, in the Golden Age Of the UltraList Salt Wars, a poet declaimed epic poetry as none other could, would, or did. Periodically here at Mr Trail Safety Speaks!, we'll present some of these immortal verses for your learned perusal.   I Am Home: The Poem Long ago and far away, I chanced a home to seek, But knew that it would not be found, On Gottapeepee Creek. I packed it up and headed West And Drove into the westward sun, For I was on a Vision Quest This was My Destiny to Run. I have been here for about 3 weeks, In my dreams for what I’ve yearned, The home I have always seeked, But now the trees are burned. The sylvan rapture is so weighty, The smells, jack rabbits, and the deer But I can rent movies over on I-80 And they’ve got my favorite beer. I’ve looked down on the old South Fork, With fishermen that wait, Who only think of spuds and pork And cutting some more bait. Yes! Here in the tall green pines. How can I fully convince? Only ...

Desdemona and Terrazzo are featured in a dramatic reading of "A Poem For Spring", wherein a dewy maiden proclaims her troth to the virile and enigmatic Forest Prince.

The Little Rose Bowl Float that Did   Actually, what WAS awesome was yesterday's Rose Bowl Parade. Sharp-eyed specators saw the late entry and insertion of the fabled Forest Prince Float, brought to you by D&L Industries.  The 100m float featured a lazily recumbent 50ft high Ye Auld Forest Prince himself, winking at the spectators while nymphs and Trail Betties danced about his startlingly realistic Jade Stalk, as they took turns giving him what was described in the press release as a "hands behind the head knobber"  The float rocked to the thumping and wheezing of the High Country Rump-Wrangler Latex Marching Band from Tom Of Finland, Wyoming as they played "Hot for Teacher" "Take A Walk on the WIld Side" and "La Grange".   Regis Philbin and Ryan Seacrest were stunned speechless by this float, while Stephanie Edwards was observed mopping her brow and loosening her collar even though she was outside under an umbrella in the pouring rain....

Old spirits to the New Year. A legacy presentation from the Mr Trail Safety KunstSchriftArkiv. This originally appeared in The Journal of CryptoAethnology, Winter 1999.   Part 1 The snow lay in a crisp white blanket on the ground. The trees were shrouded in ice rime and crystals. One's breath hung in the air in silver wreaths. The outlines of the trees were like silhouettes cut by a happy child with way too much time on it's hands with a dull razor. It was so quiet you could hear a bird fart. And smell it too. But all this was far far away from our hirsute Forest Prince. Where he was living, the semi-tropical air wafted in through the glass louvers, bringing in the warm damp vapors of the great outdoors and carrying with it outside remembrance of his morning pot of coffee and chili. He stood in the kitchen, with his distinctively shaggy short squatty legs sticking out of a pair of oversize canvas shorts, his rotund gut spilling over the top of his "69" belt buckle he...

This was originally dramatized on the Wanker Network, Autumn 1999.   Prologue du Bois   Our portly, avuncular, geezer-Brit sits in a large wing chair. His fingers are steepled and he contemplates, you, the audience with a smirk. It is presumed we are in his living room at the family estate, Wowzer Hall in Jamaica. " Tonight's narrative concerns the rhythmic intersection of privilege and vigour as our dynamic protagonist, a class of high-caste female graduate literature students, and a middle-aged naif all collide one summer afternoon in a college classroom. Let us begin our story with the Aulde Forest Prince. He is outside on the College Green, riding a lawn tractor. And thus we begin..." Whirring and cutting of the mower-blades released heady green aroma. The blue clouds of rich oily gasoline fumes blended together into a ritualistic summer perfume, dispersing into the early rising heat of the verdant summer morning. The lush and fertile campus of the Biddle-Barrows...

* The 23rd Psalm. Abridged and embroidered by Lady G, (with apologies to the King James Krewe)   The Forest Prince Is My Pacer, I shall not Bonk. He maketh me lie down in the Gu-spot, And I complaineth not. He maketh me do the wild thing, And I shall not falter. He anointeth my lips with SUCCEED! And I DNF-eth not. I scampereth naked down the Trails of Life, And I am not spanked (well, maybe later). I gather to my bosom the Jaybirds of the field, And verily, the Forest Prince is pleased. For he is the tall wood that crowneth the hill-top, And of righteous girth is his timber. And I shall dwell on this in rapture, For this, and the Rest of my Posts. ORN: Avoided the nettles today, maybe tomorrow.

The majesty of poetry. For your edification and enjoyment, from the "Poetry Korner Kompilation" Erasmus Binkster, editor, [Coprolyte Press, Hellmouth CA, 2000], p 9.  This slender volume has long been out of print, and is somewhat difficult to find.  The Greatest Show: A Poem for Spring  See the pinks, the blues, the yellows, the Reds, Watch the flowers open their pretty heads! For it starts the road to summer, In a field of glory, getting a hummer!  The sun is warm, and it dries my face, As my equatorial zone starts its race! The grasses change from brown to green, And ladies asses in see-through dresses are everywhere seen!  All the cute fuzzy animals are to a Purpose Aligned, The deer, the bear, the squirrel: One Mind, The Primal Fandango is truly hard-wired, Why just waking with wood, makes this boy tired!  With birds in the air, the clouds multi-layered, With a song on their lips, that's Carole Bayer-Sager'd! Tom-tits, jaybirds, robins-no slackers! '...