© 2015 Wolfgang Leidhold

The First Day

In the beginning there was the Harbor Master
And the Harbor Master‘s breath was full of spirit
And ecstasy was rumbling deep in his sleep
And His ruah loomed upon a κύλιξ full of phantoms

And built a slick ship of surplus gondola parts
And said: Let there be an equestrian
And there was the equestrian
And He divided the equestrian from the vessel of light

And the Harbor Master saw the divide, that it was good
And He sent it to you as a gift for your stock exchange
And He wishes you: A happy stock exchange!
And the Harbor Master said: For now I’m done!

End of First Day

 

The Second Day

And the Harbor Master said: Let there be a gnostic love
And let her divide this from that in the midst of the harbor
And the Harbor Master made this and that
And He saw: this and that were neatly divided

And She divided the equestrian from the pedestrian
And added some looplabs to the vessel of light
And the Harbor Master called the equestrian: postis rusticus
And He named all the rest: excrementa sancta

And the Harbor Master blew a whistle
And said: Where is the lively herd?
But in the midst, there was only this and that, and a linguist
And the gnostic love blew the linguist into oblivion

End of 2nd Day

The Third Day

And the Harbor Master said: Let there be Squeeze-Me
And there came Squeeze-Me. But the Harbor Master saw
That Squeeze-Me was good. So his breath boosted
And his flatus zapped to lovely education

And the Harbor Master educated Squeeze-Me
And he saw her Holy Gimbo move like lovely ruah
And Holy Gimbo gathered gin for holy sacrifice
And Pinckney Graham drank to all the phantoms

And fine Philanthropists besqueezed the Harbor Master
Inventing lyric plots against Olympic Gods
And sending them to you for infinite redemption
And wishing you: A happy sacrifice!

End of 3rd Day

The Fourth Day

And the Harbor Master said: I see
No fires by the quiet ploosnars, burning holy flesh
No gifts were rendered lively, soothing troubled minds
No smoke cried multilingual, speaking to clear clouds

And the Harbor Master blared: Sancta Simplicitas!
No clouds moved over floating springshade
No water waited on the hillside painting crested lines
No swift alignment pleased him like disasters

And no disaster eased his troubled vanity
And no good Love-Jah whispered quiet ploosnars
And no alignment stalked through shady waters
Who then recorded phantoms for the Harbor Master?

The Harbor Master saw the wheel of fortune
And sadly said: No gain suppoxed on Fourth Day
And all my work just diced the apeiron in vain
Creating greedy thirst for chiefly spirits

But chiefly spirit will be Holy Spirit
To sail my Son on coils of blue metallic tides
Around abysmal arms of mine, unable yet
To grasp the shape of my profoundest vanity

End of 4th Day

The Fifth Day

And the Harbor Master said:

Who grasped the shape of my profoundest vanity?
Dicing the apeiron created thirst for chiefly spirits
And plumsucked patterns of inspired views

And plumsucked patterns sprawled my Saggart’s ruah
And Nemo founded nothing on the Fourth Day
So get some rest on such a furry foreplay

And make a bed for me and say: let’s go to sleep
And later — take a little nap. And see: that this was good
And halloween away – ’til end of 5th Day

The Sixth Day

And the Harbor Master said:

Sixth Day Now! Let‘s roll the dice
Do not fail — make paradise
Take your knife to mountain-peak
Where monkeys spin & apes will shriek

Let‘s have some fun when stars rise up
And save your soul at country club
So fast my game with honeybee
Cry: Double six! Bad men shall be

The bestest world now is my spouse
All face of books loves Santa Claus
Black river deep sighs Luck Good Bye
When rain will fall from pumpkin sky

Then plants and trees may shorten lines
And fish and chips shall add good rhymes
When sun down King sings James quotations
Blue moon spills milk on new creations

Yes! Sixth day’s gone Zur Ewigkeit
Pray: Sanctus, planctus, All bereit

End of 6th Day

The Seventh Day

And in the end there was the Harbor Master
To give a code from clear conclusions
And fill the edges of eternity

My universe? A lousy harbor, a flying saucer
To bounce around the Book of Revelations
Miles of illusions — excessively too far

Where we can fly, we need not speak
The seventh code gave perfect resolutions
Deplore the grouchy host and say:

Anathema — dispose of this elation station
Soft apple: die. And someone else
May try again next time

The Harbor Master handed him a piece of paper
Sat down his gnostic love and made a swift dispatch
Then Pinkney Graham told a final joke: The End.*

* Recorded on October 23, 4004 B.C.,
at nine o’clock in the morning