Puppet Play [narrative poem]

PART ONE: The Poet Muses and Seeks for a Theme

I.

The mumble of whimsy was burgeoning swift
      I wanted to yammer a yarn
what tale would avail? what droll for my drift?
      the curtain hung black and untorn

The puppets turned pensive "For sure you've a story!
      You've always proved fine for a fib!"
I bantered defensive "It's all for your glary
      bright puppets!" quoth I rather glib

"Why not a romance?" piped the svelt Clytemnestra
      I'm bored by vile murders and strife
"If you croon we will dance!" bade the comely Countessa
      when was song the lost lodestone of life?

Yes in singing and dancing and carrying on
      and a'spinning blithe bluster for play
might bide meet entertainment from dusk nigh till dawn
      one could see if I've aught yet to say!

II.

To retail the old tales wert a trifle pedantic
      hath the mind not the mill to imagine?
pour the grain of the day and I'll grind it right frantic
      in frolic mayhap   or high dudgeon

but the news wreaks such noise and its plagues wake such blues
      and its woes evoke frowns of confusion!
if we choose to seek poise will the vague we peruse
      bop the nose of the clown of illusion?

all the brews of the market fall flat and bite bitter
      else prove they too sweetish by half!
all the crews of the cinema bail out at my meter
      presuming all rhyme vapid gaff!

well in short I've no notion what drama to tell
      though at length I've the craft to draw out
strange report from the ocean where karma may swell
      but what strength hath my raft? I'm in doubt

III.

If my puppets could clue me what saga they seek
      I'd oblige to make hay in their sunshine
don't play shy! spill your mood! 'neath its curtains but peek
      let us quaff of your say and your moonshine!

"Mister Poet!" here comes one to join what assignment
      I've posted for fresh requisition
"if from stars in fair heaven I purloin mine alignment
      a sketch will I fetch with concision

Pray regale with that myth of the Original Chicken!
      it's ancient and new! rich and strange!"
aye indeed it's a marvel! its plot loves to thicken
      but its plume far exceeds my poor range

to pursue such a telling would want long seclusion
      and musings and drowsings and prayer
for its theme be the goldenest in all of illusion
      I careen penny lanes -- but not there