Gene Dixon
Sonneteer
Gene Dixon
Man of Many Hats.
Gene Dixon
Voir Dire.
 © 2013  Gene Dixon
All rights reserved
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 Tim Dixon  © 2000 all rights reserved
The Magician and His Company


There once lived a magician
Who never was on time 
He stayed within a hollow clock
And sometimes spoke in mime

In moments of pure sunshine
His eyes were deepest blue
In moonlight they were somewhat vague
Often changing hue

He wore a robe of strange design
It had a regal sheen
Except on Autumn afternoons 
When it was barely seen

His boots were Spanish leather
Rarely he wore gloves
He kept his pockets filled with seeds
For feeding vagrant doves

His house was filled with wondrous folk
The wierdest sort of group
Each had particular powers
All loved potato soup

His dog was red most brilliantly
With fiery yellow eyes
He'd disappear inside a wink
And leave you only sighs

His owl, a bird of plumage rare
Was talented and true
But would not respond to questions
That began with "why" or "who"

Beneath his kitchen table
Lived a family of Trolls
They had a very special gift 
For saving unfilled holes

A bat flew 'round the rafters
Surprising those he knew
With messages that made no sense
Delivered postage due

Closets filled with china
Housed several naughty elves
Who wrote the finest poetry
And kept it to themselves

In every nook and cranny
Slept the most unseemly souls
With the strangest sense of humor
And the shortest vaulting poles

Their stories came from here and there
They told them now and then
For paper they used paradox
A lightning bolt's their pen

They'll dance to the magician's tune
In clothes of finest felt
But he first must feed them cloverleafs
Or else his boots will melt



The Magician's Holiday


After fifty days of forecasts
The magician stood aside
"I need a break from saying sooth"
"I think I'll take a ride"

His horse it had four diamond hooves
A mane of fine spun gold
And deep within his honey eyes
Were tales best left untold

So off he went one Sunday noon
Well mounted on his steed
His bright red dog ran after him
His owl flew in the lead

They rode along for quite some time
Cresting several hills 
The dog would stop quite frequently
The owl paid all the bills

They came across a teeming throng
Of people without shoes
The magician said, "Let's stop awhile,
We've nothing left to lose"

The owl perched on a rotted stump
The dog sat on some rugs
The magician lay down on the grass
Annoying several bugs

The people, well into a dance,
Did quietly surround
The magician and his company
Who didn't make a sound

Too keep them at their distance
The magician thought of song
The owl played dirges on a drum
The dog just danced along

The magician gave them sevenpence
And handed them his cloak
The owl gave feathers, five in all
The dog claimed he was broke

The throng was not quite satisfied
They asked for more than bread
"Your horse looks somewhat interesting"
"Undoubtedly well read"

"His mane would feed a family,
For several weeks, it's true"
"His ears would make fine trophies,
His hooves, expensive glue"

The throng they argued back and forth
On how much each would take
The elders wanted everything
The young ones favored cake

The whole thing then came crashing down
In splinters of delight
The trio gave out prisms
Then vanished from their sight

The Kingdom of the Passing Thought


The kingdom of the passing thought
Isn't hard to find
It's settled in a distant dust
Where things are out of mind

It sits, sometimes within our sight
Quite softly in the sand
With castles made of yellow leaves
On avenues unplanned

The king is large in every case
And knows each subject's name
He spends his time rewriting notes
From tigers he can't tame

The queen, in constant laughter
Aims arrows at the priests
And swears by all that's holy
To tolerate retreats

Crown princes, twelve in number
Count cadence 'til they're crowned
And each one whispers loudly
I am the most renowned

Standing on a stained glass chair
The princess was amiss
Pondering the many frogs
She might have to kiss

The duke of develish doings
Stood sadly at the gate
Announcing to his squire
I think we've come too late

The squire, after signing in
Decided then to leave
His back was turned upon the crowd
He had aces up his sleeve

Six dancing knights were on the hill
Defending sacred scrolls
They waved their flags most frantically
Wearing armor made of coals

Nine ladies from the court came by
And said they would bring suit
Against unpleasant peasants
For handling the fruit

Ten jesters who had never smiled
Began to sing a song
Chiding the company choir
For refusing to sing along

The itinerant musicians
Who lost their instruments
Played etudes, fugues and polkas
While hiding in their tents

Considering the lillies
Standing stately on the pond
The wizard stroked a callous cheek
And waved a nervous wand

The little folk who lived nearby
Kept watching wild events
Claiming to be the first to know
This whole thing makes no sense


The Gypsy Queen


 The Gypsy Queen, she tells me tales
 In the middle of my dreams
 About flying fish and singing whales
 And how foolish life can seem

 She sets her table carefully
 With exotic and strange cuisines
 Enchantingly she speaks of love
 Keeping time with her tambourines

 In abstract words and sentences
 The Queen, she bids me stay
 Her syntax is so shattered
 I can't believe what she says

 Holding court in a shady grove
 While speaking to the trees
 She knights each passing jester
 Just to keep them on their knees

 And so the Queen reigns on and on
 She says, "Never mind the cost.
 'Cause with all these knighted jesters
 The empire just can't be lost!"


The Cat


She sits
On winter-chilled windowsills
Casually cleaning orange-gray fur
Unperturbed
But well aware of words
As yet unheard

She peers past frost
Cornered on window panes
Eyes bright, gathering light
She sees
Movements out of sight
Around trees
She sees
A world beyond the looking-glass

All along the walk the dead leaves dance
You think it merely chance
The wind just makes it so
She knows
What shadows come and go
And if you could only see
As well as she
Your eyes would widen
Much like hers

The Sean Side of Gene
Gene Dixon
Man Of Many Hats Pg 2
Gene Dixon
Historical Poems