‘Bear Spray’ and Other Poetry by Paul Burgess

.

Bear Spray

My little brother took a dare
To pepper spray a mama bear.
It seems the spray was much too mild,
So I’ve become an only child.

Except for near the polar ice,
The bears you’ll see are mostly nice
When people give them ample space
But get irate when sprayed with mace.

(A polar bear may rarely treat
A human as a source of meat,
But eating people seems less shrewd
To bears with leafy types of food,
And many bears, despite their roars,
Are scavengers and omnivores.)

When bears are eating fruit and shrubs
And spending time with cuddly cubs,
You’re likely not the prey they’d hunt
Unless you try a silly stunt
Like giving ears or tails a tug
Or asking for a crushing hug.

When egged on by his foolish friend,
My brother met an early end.
Surround yourself with wiser pals,
And bug no bears, you boys and gals!

.

.

Lady Fame’s Monologue

—a fragment from an abandoned epic

The goal’s no longer ever-lasting fame
But rather wealth to last until one dies.
Who cares if future ages know your name?
The point’s to have a name whose credit buys
Enough to put medieval popes to shame.
It’s present wealth and fame a star now seeks
Unlike the heroes of the ancient Greeks.

Perhaps you’ll think this lady’s fallen prey
To deep despair or modern cynicism.
I’ve thought this problem over night and day
And studied every spectrum of the prism.
Although some areas are shaded gray,
The argument is strong for nihilism.
I’ll now present all seekers with my case
For making wealth the only end they chase.

The best contestants ever to compete
Are hardly given any guarantee
That present wins won’t later find defeat
When Time and Madame Mutability
Decide to make a talent obsolete.
(Those wielding swords with great agility
Once earned applause from kings and queens at court,
But fencing’s now a barely noticed sport.)

You see, it’s one of Fame’s unchanging laws
That many praised as legends in their age
Will find themselves, without apparent cause,
All but erased from history’s changing page
While people once devoured by gaping jaws
Of Time emerge to win the title sage
And rise to sit with lasting fame’s elect
Despite their prior eras of neglect.

So, artists who deserve the label “wise,”
The ones to whom I open up my doors,
Produce the type of work that satisfies
The people shopping at the hottest stores.
If work won’t cause the bottom line to rise,
Its maker never stands upon my floors.
To measure merit’s easy in these times.
Just count what’s earned in dollar bills and dimes.

.

.

Paul Burgess, an emerging poet, is the sole proprietor of a business in Lexington, Kentucky that offers ESL classes in addition to English, Japanese, and Spanish-language translation and interpretation services. He has an M.A. in English with a concentration in the Renaissance and once earned a fellowship at the Folger Shakespeare Library. He has contributed work to Blue Unicorn, The Orchards, Flash Phantoms, and several other publications and has recently started writing short fiction.