Slippery Sammy of the Sky

gistfile1.txt

Slippery Sammy of the Sky
By: Benjamin Roberts

Beyond the bluegrass, 
The fields of rye, 
Beyond the world of you and I, 
Is a slippery chap,
A speckled guy, 
He's Slippery Sammy of the sky.

Our story starts close to the floor,
Where Sammy was a little bored. 
'It’s quiet here', 
He was known to say, 
'Perhaps one day, I'll fly away'.

His friend Adele would then reply,
'I'd miss you here, beside by my side'.

'I'd miss you too', said Slippery Sam, 
'But don't you wonder, who I am? 
I've got this gift, 
I'm just a hound, 
But I can lift right off the ground, 
And I hear music in the clouds, 
Sweet symphonies of crooked sounds.'

Adele said 'Well, you silly pup, 
Then maybe you should float on up, 
And see what gracious gorgeous things, 
Can make such music with their wings.'

'Well' said Sam, 
'Perhaps I will, 
And put to use my special skill'. 
'Adieu' said Sam, 'I'll see you soon, 
Two days a night and one half noon.'

And with that phrase he started twisting, 
Twirling port and starboard listing, 
Spinning up a grand old time, 
To coat his coat in local slime.

Once Sammy was a slippery pup, 
He used his slip to slide on up, 
Through the puffs of cotton white,
Up and up, way out of sight.

Now you might think that Sam was scared, 
All that way up in the air, 
But Sam was solid, Sam was quick, 
His slippery skin was double thick.

He soared and swam and bound around, 
One half airplane, one half clown, 
Licking dewdrops from the air, 
Dewdrops frosting up his hair.

All the while the music grew, 
Louder, sweeter, faster too.

Then ho! He saw it from afar, 
A tiny musical bazaar. 
A banjo, pipe and Irish drum, 
A fiddle, mandolin, guitar. 

'Ho!' said Sammy, 
'I must greet them, 
I must treat, salute and meet them, 
Such musicians way up here,
Playing with no one to hear!'

Licking off his coat of slime, 
Sammy fell in 4/4 time, 
And tumbled down with a great howl, 
'Greetings friend', 
Said Dexter Owl. 

'Welcome to our friendly session, 
You must join us, there's no question. 
Sit upon these clouds of silk, 
And have a pint of Irish milk.'

'This right here is Sandy Rabbit, 
Fiddler from Musquodoboit (Musk-­‐a-­‐daw-­‐bit), 
Hairy paws and toothy grin, 
Maestro of the violin.' 

'Over here is my friend Will, 
Octopus from Signal Hill, 
Watch him play the mandolin, 
Two purple arms per set of strings.' 

'This fine gal is Claire the hyper, 
Kitty cat and Scottish piper, 
Hundred-­‐cubic-­‐litre lungs
, Gaelic is her mother tongue.' 

'Second last is my great niece, 
A banjo chicken named Alysse, 
She makes all our get-­‐togethers, 
Plucking tunes out with her feathers.' 

'Finally is Bodhran Boris, 
Drummer from Drumkeeragh Forest, 
He's the world’s most rhythmic bear, 
Keeping time with each fine hair.' 

'Wow' said Sammy, 'It’s a pleasure, 
Fine musicians, such fine weather. 
My names Slippery Samuel Squanto 
Noodle dog from north Toronto. 
I can't play the banjo strings, 
The fiddle bow or such fine things.' 

'That's okay,' said Dexter Owl,
'We can teach you, 'twould be a howl. 
For now just listen and discover, 
The instrument that's like no other!

Then Dexter, Sandy, Claire, Alysse, 
Will and Boris, last not least, 
Looked each other in the eye, 
And raised their voices up on high.

They sang: 
'Cirrus, Stratus, Cumulo-­‐Nimbus, 
We've got music deep within us, 
Fiddle, pipe or mandolin, strike up a tune, 
We'll all join in.' 

Instruments up to the ready, 
Filled with air and held real steady, 
Claire struck up the bagpipe drones, 
The ancient sound filled Sammy's bones. 

Sandy started with a grin,
To play his stunning violin, 
Bowing out a Scottish song, 
Boris began to drum along.

Next was Will, eight arms ablaze, 
A smile lit up his purple face. 
He doubled up on every note, 
And Sammy saw the music float. 

Alysse the chicken started plucking, 
Her Banjo strings, they started clucking! 
Dexter pulled out his guitar, 
Four great big strums for every bar. 

The sound was big as fifty larches, 
Jigs, and reels, strathspeys and marches, 
Each one with its own great beat, 
And Sammy's paws tapped just like feet. 

The music closed with seven cheers, 
And Sammy said, 'My-­‐noodle-­‐dog ears
! I would not be being bold, 
To tell you they've been filled with gold.' 

Dexter said, 'Well Sammy hound, 
I'm glad you liked our session's sound, 
But now we'll put you to the test, 
Which instrument did you like best?' 

'I loved them all' said Sam-I-are,
'The bagpipes for their strange bizarre,
The banjo for its metal twang, 
The Bodhron for its rhythmic bang, 
The guitar for its full, full sound, 
The mandolin for doubling down. 
But there’s one noise that gives me wings, One instrument with magic strings, 
The fiddle is the one for me, 
There are no clouds up here you see.'

'Fine choice' said Sandy with a start, 'The fiddle, it will steal your heart, 
Try mine and you will surely know, The pleasures of the horse hair bow.' 

And Sammy dog's imagination, 
Thought of infinite creation, 
Thought of sounds to please a nation,
Genius fiddle computations. 

He pulled the bow across the strings, 
And thought of all of these great things, 
But what came out you'd never wince,
Has been heard long before or since. 

Somewhere there are power saws,
Mulching lawn mowers, children’s claws,
Empty milkshakes, eager straws, 
But none so foul as Sammy was,
At bowing with his noodle paws.

'Ayieeeee' said Sammy,
'What a sound,
I fear that I'm no music hound.'
Sandy said 'Fear not my friend, You are nowhere near the end.'
'Music is a life long road, And you are but a tiny toad,
Starting out with tiny hops, Learning to decode a code.'

'Take this fiddle home with you, 
And practice each tune through and through, ‘Till every song that’s old is new,
Stuck to your paws like super glue.' 

'Next time we meet,
Next time we play,
The next fine sunny cloudy day, Your violin will sing and say,
The things that it would not today.'

'For now we must be getting home,
For Boris has forests to roam,
And Dexter has the night to prowl,
For after all he is an owl.'

'And Claire will guard her window sill, 
And Will will watch o'er Signal Hill,
And kind Alysse has eggs to lay,
And you my friend have tunes to play!'

Then as the day turned into night, 
You would not believe the sight, 
Of licking slime and hurling trite, 
Of fauna twisting left and right.

And Sammy dog looked on in awe, Not believing what he saw. 
'My stars' said Sammy, filled with glee, 'You’re all slippery, just like me!' 

And one by one they blasted out,
'So long' said Dexter with a shout,
'Slán' said Claire in Gaelic tongue,
'Peace' said Will, ‘It’s sure been fun.’ 

'Adieu' said Boris with a yawn,
'Its late, I must be getting on.' 
'Cluck cluck' said chicken friend Alysse, 
'And may you land as soft as fleece.' 

'Goodnight my friend', said Sandy hare,
'You give that fiddle love and care,
And she will give it right on back,
And sure enough you'll get the knack.' 

'Goodnight' said Sam, 'There are no creeds, 
To thank you for such music deeds.
But every day that’s snow or rain, 
I'll practice tunes again, again, 
And every day that’s sun and cloud, 
I'll listen clear and far and loud.' 

'And if I hear a banjo strum, 
A pipe, guitar or Irish drum, 
I'll coat my coat in local slime 
And fly on up to join the fun -­‐ 
I hope my friend Adele can come!'

Then Sammy dog, he headed home,
Full of milk and song and poem, 
His fiddle and his brand new bow, 
His slippery coat, the stars aglow.


Copyright Benjamin Roberts 2015.  All Rights Reserved.