The Tarzan Story-Poems Series
~Page 2 of 2~
by
richard lloyd cederberg

Click on any title below to access:

“on the Isle of Durntwick ... 10”
“the abandoned castle ... 11”
“with the swiftness of atalanta … 12“
“the lost descendants of Feradach the Fair … 13”
“in the house of Greystoke … 14”

Click Here for Page 1 of the Series

“on the Isle of Durntwick ... 10”

TENTH SCENE in a series of Tarzan Story-Poems … being damaged severely in the gale,
the Aborantha requires temporary harbor for repairs on the Isle of Durntwick. That night, in
the tavern, the hand of Providence reveals their grandsons kidnapper to John Greystoke.

Days passed interminably
Before the storm lessened in intensity,
And, as providence was willing it, England
Emerged through thinning mists, in
The distance,
Off the port bow,
On the eighth morning,
At which time a merry mood
Gripped the crew and various bottles
Were apportioned, notwithstanding the passengers
Still aboard, the Captain - subsequent to his first mates
Inspection - decided that temporary harbor was
Required as a result of severe damage to
The bowsprit, backstays, and battens,
Chain-plates, cleats, and clews,
The halyards and rigging,
And so, being that the
Nearest port of call was only several
Leagues northeast of their present position,
A notice was sent to  
The passengers informing
Them they would be detouring to
The shipyards on the Isle of Durntwick and,
As a result, their voyage would be foreshortened
So repairs might commence on the vessel …

Creeping from their
Berths, tousled and pale,
And the majority having suffered
At length in the gale, their only representative
Implored the Captain now, (modestly) to set them ashore,
Anywhere, and even suggested a handsome incentive
If he could do it that very afternoon; chuckling,
The Captain agreed,
And the price was set at
Two thousand pounds sterling,
Which the men counted keenly into a
Large leather pouch that they placed in the
Captain’s hands, following which a resonant voice
Drew his eyes to an imposing man jostling
Through the crowd to where he was
Standing next the forecastle …

Lord Greystoke
Spoke hastily to the Captain,
Who now, smiling broadly, ordered his crew
To make all haste for the Isle of Grenache’,
A woebegone locale,
Rife with fenland and rock,
A few thousand yards larboard,
Where (only) one stand of trees and a
Smattering of shrubbery, along the northern shores,
Represented the magnitude of its verdure- but, as the Captain
Had just learned, there also was a rickety mainland ferry
That fetched proletarians each day to the piscary and
Pothouse and returned for them in the evening…
With some apprehension the passengers
Disembarked the vessel and
All were escorted
To the ferry
Now conveniently
Debarking day workers
As sharp bursts from its air-horn-
Three in succession, repeating at thirty second
Intervals- acted as a reminder to stragglers that the ferry
Would soon be leaving on its return voyage…
Contempt reared up in
The ape-man’s features as the
Ferry maneuvered away, and, when
A guttural growl rumbled from his chest,
Jane whispered: “Be at peace John, they’re gone now,
We must remain focused, my darling, for the babies sake.”
Her voice was soothing, and, as he pulled her close,
And smothered her lips with ardent kisses,
His resentment lessened … 

Upon reaching
The Isle of Durntwick the
Greystokes bid farewell to the Captain
And registered at the only lodge,
A dreary place,
Foreboding to the senses,
And, being rank of body odor and fish,
Jane suggested they secure the uppermost
Room farthest from the tavern with
Windows towards the ocean…  
Several hours later,
Being showered and settled,
And his beloved having found sleep,
John Greystoke went down to the tavern for
Refreshment, and to pursue something he’d heard
(Bits and pieces of) earlier from a scowling beady-eyed
Man in conflict with another Scotsman on the docks;
As quietly as Sheeta he
Took his place at a corner table,
Unbeknownst to any, his imperturbable
Character obscured in the flickering shadows,
Where an open window wafted evenfalls pungent air,
And an unobstructed view of the docks held him…

Darkness was descending,
And moisture was forming halos
Around the coruscation of dock lights
As moonlights soft illumination burst from
Behind a transom of ridges and caught the tops
Of lazy lapping waves in lambent fluorescence;
(Peaceful were the moments he spent
Gazing through the window) and
After a time he ordered a
Tankard of stout
To slake his thirst, and,
Being that his curiosity was aroused
By a wizened graybeard, John bought him
An ample glass of single-malt 
To free his tongue
And learned
That the vessel 
Moored along the pier
Had a dubious reputation
As her Captain was a well known
Smuggler and bootlegger who would work for the
Devil if terms suited him; the ‘Black Beldame’ was her name…

“The place is fulla’ arses today,” the graybeard quetched,
“Flapdoodle yakkers; a rowdy lot pissin’ the kinda’ money a’
Makes the owner wanna bend over and grab his blimey
Ankles fur more; yes sir, right up the wazzoo, and
If that ain’t the worsen it son…”
The old man chugged a
Mouthful of scotch and continued
Fulminating as John observed the tavern
Fill abruptly with a raucous lot congregating for the
Darts tourney- so, as it was, both sailors and
Chawbacons began complaining because
Of the abysmal service and- being
All braggarts and louts- began
Pounding the tables for
Attention from
The inns
Only waitress,  
A dowdy woman
Beset with the crowd
Smelling of cigs and liquor
And overwrought with emotion
Who waddled about like a penguin
And, being in demeanor at times a kind of
Social misfit, she would curse and glower at anyone
Who was (in the least way) disrespectful or yokelish with her…
So night progressed
And, as providence willed it,
Tarzan picked up the spore of the
Beetle-browed man (he’d watched earlier
On the docks) who had entered the tavern now
With a tatterdemalion man, bent and gaunt, who,
Threw back his hood and barked angrily:
“Someplace private ass-wipe an’ gezz yer best bottle.
Charge it tae his accoont…” Leering scornfully the
Bartender pointed upstairs to a table directly
Above where John sat watching…

Now something
Swept over John’s heart,
And it consumed him like a drenching rain,
An intuition that he was closer to the
Sources of Jack and Meriem’s
Dilemma than he’d realized,
So with senses attuned
And muscles steeled
Tarzan vanished
From his chair
(As quietly as a thought) as
The men made their way upstairs,
Leaping nimbly to the rafters just above
The two; he listened as they began bickering,
Once again, about something that needed resolution …

“Whit shoods ah dae wi’ it? It needs milk an’ scran,
an’ aam nae its mammy…” The scowling man argued…

“I’ll gie ye fife thoosain poonds fur th’ brat,” spat the other,
“nae mair. Aam nae its mammy either thenk god…”

Nodding his head the first replied:
“Gezz th’ bunsens ‘en an’ be dain wi’ it…”

Thinking for a moment, the second
Man scratched his beard and then replied:
I’ll teel ye, Keptin, when that scum Greystoke pays th’ ransom,
yoo’re nae getting’ a penny mair from me, its ower an’ dain atween us …”

“Aye! Aam agreein’,” He shrugged, “sae, where’s th’ bairn ‘en?”

“Well bucko … comes closer an’ i’ll teel ye …”

©richard lloyd cederberg
9/2011

“the abandoned castle ... 11”

ELEVENTH SCENE is a burgeoning series of Tarzan Story-Poems. John Greystoke
makes a remarkable discovery at an abandoned castle near Dornie in the Highlands…

Evil eyes glistered as
The men toasted their heinous 
Plan (swilling whiskey) and both becoming
Mordant in demeanor, downing another, and another,
Until the bottle was emptied and cast aside …
Shocked at how far the
Miscreants were willing to go,
To carry out their hideous plan, to
Arrogate the Greystoke fortune, at the
Expense of a three and a half year old child;
John strained to hear any clue as to where Jonathan
Was being held (but could not) in the taverns clamor…
Furtively the men exchanged
A bulging leathern sack; this transaction
(Having released the Captain) gave the other the
Responsibility of Jonathan, who would, at some point,
Take possession of the youngster and transport him to another
Locale where a hearty ransom would be demanded of the Greystoke’s…
“We'll be sailin’ at fife,” the Captain noted…

“Awe rite Keptin’,” the other nodded briskly, “I'll see ye ‘en.
And when its dain, mah mukker, we’ll baith be jiggin’ a strathspey”…

“Aye … baith,” the Captain scoffed…

How consummate John’s
Thwarting seemed – feeling now
As if his heart was being flagellated - as he
Watched each of them exit a different door; the
Buyer vanishing into a deepening mist and the
Seller re-boarding the Black Beldame…
Having awakened Jane,
To inform her of everything that
Had transpired earlier, and feeling her
Heart fraught with fervent feelings at the thought
Of being separated from him again, he was able; finally,
To assure her that there was no other plan but
To follow the clues where they led…
Seeing the soundness of it
She agreed at last,
(Amidst melancholy sighs) 
Following which John booked her
Passage home and they dined a last
Time together…
With many tears,
And troublesome words -
Where the delicateness of her 
Nature and heart, concerning Jonathan,
Was an open book to him - he was able to console
His beloved wife, and later, obscured in a rambling fog,
Slip aboard the Black Beldame, where he remained
As a phantom for five long days in passage,
Unbeknownst to anyone, stealing the
Sustenance required for surviving,
Hidden always in the shadows,
Watching and listening,
And at night, in the crow’s nest,
Finding rest from the days clandestine rigors,
As the vessel made its way north past Anglesey, and
The Isle of Man, into the Irish Sea, past Donaghadee and the
Isle of Mull up through the North Channel towards an abandoned
Castle near Dornie in the Highlands…

His was a sullen heart,
Brooding his grandson’s dilemma,
And each day its burden felt as a mill stone
About his neck, accompanied with a persistent
Anguish in his soul for the suffering Jack and Meriem
Were forced to bear as they waited
Uneasily for any news
Of their precious
Sons return…
Oh how his heart ached, and
His eyes, for hours at a time, being
Drunk with tears (those long days sailing)
Waiting for some resolve to come, or to chance
Upon some clue that would at least reveal to him the
Beloved child’s whereabouts; John knew, in his aching heart,
That there had been no greater summons (in his life) than
The one Providence had lain upon him now - but not
Knowing was more than he could bear, and
It hounded him like
Some harrying carnivore, as
Did the knowledge that aboard this
Very vessel the architects of his family’s misery
Swaggered about devil-may-care, for he was helpless
To do anything,
Except remain a phantom,
Patiently poised, soundless, collected,
Balanced, a brooding Numa measuring its prey,
Listening and watching with eyes ablaze, waiting for
That time when his stewing vengeance would be unleashed
Upon these heinous outlaws…

Early forenoon,
The sixth day, a cry from the 
Watch echoed across the waters:
“Castle aheid, keptin, aff th’ larboard baw!”
Skilled sailors and lubbers scurried topside and
Began bristling as they broke into an old sea shanty
With the Bo ‘suns pipe adding color and
Now the Captain,
With veins popping in his
Neck, was bellowing to heave to and
Lower topsails and jib, to loosen the mainsheet,
Lower the mizzen and the foremast, and to unlock
The capstan and prepare to drop the anchor
As the sailors, determined and focused,
Saw nothing of what was transpiring
Around them…
Seeing this, and
Weighing the context, Tarzan's
Mind was made (in an instant) and into a
Nigrescent sea he dove, from the port stern, with no
Sound of splashing, swimming smoothly in silent strong strokes,
His body soon racked by frigid water, and a peculiar swooning,
In his head, lessening his focus as he made his way
Towards a heavily bouldered shoreline, where,
Upon reaching it, he clambered soaking
Past a crumbling jetty,
Through slime and wrack and
The oddments of countless tides-
Shivering now, and being mostly numb
From the swim, he stealthily hobbled his way
Towards the castles barren bulwarks, it’s stained
Menacing walls (being of great height and strength) rose to a
Height of eighty feet and all were pierced with spy slits and
Small windows, and, around its entire perimeter, a moat
Rife of muck and weeds reeked of rot and death-
He observed, too, as he neared,
Upon the few monolithic oaken doors,
Visible about its base, geometric motifs depicting
Shields and characters with emblems, perhaps as allegories,
Suggestive of historical events and the achievements
Of the lords and ladies who once ruled this land…

Being now fully recovered,
And in possession of his faculties, Tarzan
Entered through a side entrance adjacent the Captain
And Sholto, the tattered man, who had entered moments before
With a dozen of the crew, and who also, [despite] being armed to the hilt,
Were maundering about the inauspicious circumstances as they made
Their way towards the main staircase leading up to the balcony…
“Awrite abune!” the Captain hollered in a cupped hand…

A voice filtered down asking:
“Who be ye, an’ whit be th’ watchword?” …

“Ye blimey dimwit, open th’ duir ur I’ll slit yer gullit!”
The Captain menaced…

“Aye keptin, nae offense, jist daein' as ye tauld me…”

“Sholto is haur fur th’ brat,” the Captain spat…

“I’ll gang fetch heem keptin!”

“An’ be quick abit it. An’ he better be weel, ur i’ll flin’
ye tae th’ feckin’ sharks,” the Captain menaced…

From across the room, hidden in the
Overshadows of a sagging tapestry, Tarzan
Watched the men mounting up the flight of stairs,
As an ill wind started moaning outside, and the shuffling
Of boots and groaning balustrades aroused a storm of
Feathers from a passel of stirred up pigeons flapping
From beam to beam – cautiously all
Ascended the
Creaking wooden treads,
Past languished paintings of departed
Hierarchy, the fluttering torches playing tricks
As the eyes seemed to stare sullenly at each man,
Following them, a morbid mask raising their superstitions
And every fear the circumstances could conjure…
The rogue at last
Ambled through the doorway,
Clutched in his hand a ragamuffin boy
Was standing defiant and tugging to be free,
The child was small in stature, but well muscled, with
Dirty blonde hair and a face smeared with dirt and tears;
When he saw the others he began sobbing fitfully…

“Haur he is, keptin’, braw as a fiddle…”

“Shaw th’ bairn tae Sholto,” the Captain pointed…

Turning him into the torchlight
The child’s face was fully illuminated…

Tarzan gasped …

“Aye, that’s th’ brat Jonathan,” Sholto smiled scornfully…

©richard lloyd cederberg
9/11

“with the swiftness of atalanta … 12“

TWELFTH SCENE in a burgeoning series of the new  Greystoke -Tarzan Story-Poems. Tarzan rescues Jonathan and together they embark on a long trek home to England…
 
1. Skree… wildcat
2. Gimla … crocodile
3. Bolgani … gorilla
4. Numa … lion
5. Sheeta … panther/leopard
6. Manu … monkey
7. Atalanta … female athlete/huntress in Greek myth who was the fastest runner alive
 
In that moment Tarzan
Divined much from what he witnessed,
The role he must soon play,
The child’s helplessness,
His fear,
His choler,
His ingenuousness,
His need for ministration,
The grandness of extracting him
From these heinous circumstances, but,
More importantly, the requisite need to protect
The boy’s heart from a savage retribution
That soon would befall those who had
Violated his family… So, as he
Stared with fixed eyes
Upon the scene, and mulled
The storm roiling inside, a sanctifying
Rage rushed into his being, as swift as Skree,
With the fierceness of Gimla, and the strength of Bolgani,
This as an inflowing of light imbued him with peace, for he knew
Now the boy’s safety was his only priority, even if he
Must suffer (or die) securing it for him…

“Gie th’ brats’ clase,” Sholto hissed, “an’ be quick abit it…”
 
The rogue wricked about
Dragging Jonathan behind him, and,
In an instant both were swallowed up in the
Inky doorway… Now Tarzan acknowledged keenly
What Providence had just willed, and he bound as silently
As Sheeta up the back of the staircase, where he passed unseen,
Via the same door, in the flickering shadows of torchlight;
Here he sprang soundlessly up a narrow high-walled
Staircase to a musty under-lit room…

“Papa,” Jonathan gasped as Tarzan entered…

Beckoning silence,
With a finger to his lips, Tarzan 
Rushed to him, and embraced him, and
Then motioned the boy towards the far window,
Where he scurried eagerly with eyes burning intently

 “Where is the man? He whispered in his ear…

Jonathan pointed
To a doorway towards which  
Tarzan crept stealthily as a stalking beast 
Assimilating every aspect as he passed through,
In a far corner the rogue stuffing a rucksack,
The butt of a knife protruding from his belt,
A rumpled pallet and pillow on the floor,
And in the center, a wooden table,
Upon which lay
A revolver,
A box of shells,
An old deck of cards,
A dozen stubbed cigars,
One pitcher,
Two glasses, and,
Piled up in the corner, a heap of
Whiskey bottles lay shattered in shards …
Muttering indistinctly
The man pulled himself erect;
Reaching into a coat pocket he removed
A bottle of spirits; taking a long swig he sighed,
And then stiffened, spinning about his stupefied eyes
Opened wide and he began shaking, for before him loomed
A heavily muscled savagely wrought man,

“Fa ur ye?” the rogue cowered …

 “Greystoke,” he snarled and
Sprang upon him; slipping from his
Fingers the bottle crashed to the floor…
Moments later
Tarzan rushed to the boy,
Embracing him, he spoke clear
Words of encouragement, and then a
Rope was secured and thrown through the
Window, upon which he - with the boy cleaving
To his back - lowered himself to the ground and
Melted into the surrounding trees…
Inside the castle the
Kidnappers were becoming
Phrenetic trying to understand
Why the rogue was so long in coming…

“Stay here and hide,” he instructed…

“Ok Papa,” Jonathan nodded and hugged his leg…

With stealth and cunning
Tarzan re-approached the castle-
Using the same door the kidnappers had
Entered through, he hovered in the shadows as
A living phantom, listening and watching, as the men
Cursed and scurried about like rats; of a sudden one of
The men appeared at the balcony rails and hollered down:

 “Keptin Artair, th’ loon is gain, an’ puir Cormag got kilt;
it’s nae a bonnie secht.”

With eyes
Boiling bloodshot the
Captain fell into a paroxysm
Of burning rage, as if the Eumenides
Had been loosed against his scornful soul; looking
Up he screamed: “I’ll teel ye, an’ mark mah words, if ye
dornt fin’ th’ wee jobby ah will keelhaul th’ lot ay ye…”

Sholto, too, had become crazed…
“Hoo coods ye lit somethin' loch thes happen keptin’?”
He is mah property an' ye trysted me success.”
Pulling a dagger from his cloak he threw it; narrowly
Missing the Captain it hit the jamb of a doorway with a baleful thud…

“Buck ye, yoo blaggard,” the Captain spit back,
“dae ye hink ah hud a scooby abit thes happenin'.”

Sholto’s eyes darkened: “Fin' th' loon ur ah swear ah will kill ye.”

“Th' buck ye will ye piece ay jobby! Haur, taste th' baa ay mah revolver!”

The Captain fired and Sholto fell dead…


PART THREE…
 
Tarzan sprang 
Upon the remaining men
With the fierceness of Numa, and,
After dealing swift and terrible vengeance,
Made his way to the shoreline where stealthily he
Severed the Black Beldames anchor line and watched as
A fierce incoming tide cast the vessel upon the rocks,
Now the bow was rent asunder, leaving the last
Detail of Captain Artair’s crew shipwrecked,
Marooned, and desperate, upon the same
Barren topography they had chosen
For their evil deed…
Tarzan smiled
And with all haste
Made ready the twenty
Foot sailing dory (the rogues had
Used) still anchored upon the shore,
Which, being of stout construction and adequate
For sea travel, would take them on the first leg
Of a dangerous journey home to England…
After provisions - fresh water,
Weapons and fishing gear - were secured,
The two departed the desolate outlands of Dornie,
Upon break of day… South they sailed on bracing winds,
With all haste, following the rugged coastline upon the Firth of Lorn,
Through the Sound of Jura, past the Isle of Gigha, around the Mull of Kintyre
South to the Moors, where, after a long week of sailing, they were (at last)
Forced to abandon the dory, due to rough seas, and strike out afoot
Through the Rhinns of Kells towards the Glenkens, where
Civilization would be sought with the sole goal being
Sending home news of the boys’ safety…

With resolve and focus
Tarzan, and Jonathan, (as agile and
Fast as Manu) made their way overland,
Clambering up steep cliffs, and down deep corries,
Faltering at times through fields of gabbro – dense and
Greenish – but, (at times) running unhindered through lucullan
Lowlands, and rolling hills of heather, primrose, and boar thistle,
Where the purest streams carved meandering paths
To the sea, and arrant mountain spirit
Filled them with the joy of a tin
Whistles dancing notes…
At times Jonathan tired and he
Rode high upon the ape-mans mighty
Shoulders, holding firm his flowing hair, as ‘papa’
Ran with the swiftness of Atalanta, bounding forward
With the strength of Equus Cabalus, they made their way,
As sunrise and sunset revolved monotone,
Their bodies never wavering, with minds percipient
And sharpened, their muscles steeled, with strong hearts
Pulsing life through vigorous flesh, stopping only to kill and roast
And eat and sleep… So, as it was,
When they had neared Hadrian’s Wall, where
Upon the River Eden the township of Warwick Bridge
Would offer him means to communicate (at last) with his family,
Tarzan and the boy, early the eighth morning - after the fire had waned,
And a chill morning mist was lying still upon the ground – were awakened
By a mournful coronach of Northumbrian small-pipes accompanied by
The combolin, the concertina, the banduria, and the bodharan…

“Papa, papa, is it a circus coming?”

Whelmed with the prospects
Jonathan leapt from his blanket
And began capering as young boys do…
With senses attuned,
Tarzan sprang up and sniffed the air
As his keen eyes scanned the approaching
Gypsies, counting three dozen in number, with four
Irish Wolfhounds, a team of oxen, an angry [caged] white tiger,
And the body of someone passed; he saw the men were attired in
Long robes, and had staffs and woman were playing the instruments…
Tarzan saw, too, as they neared, that most were in possession
Of wicked looking weapons, and that each wore
A menacing expression…
 
©richard lloyd cederberg
10/11

“the lost descendants of Feradach the Fair … 13”

THIRTEENTH SCENE in a burgeoning series of the new Greystoke-Tarzan Story-Poems… Appearances can be deceiving, as Tarzan and Jonathan discover. Prefaced by a short back-story…
 
It was once a hearkened tale
[Pervasive in all domains] encouraging
The dismission of witchery- a tale of conversion
Within the Firbolg Tribes, and later of Eochu Dryflesh,
A prime man, in lineage of the Kings of Connacht, whose
Defiance to injustice begat a renaissance of faith for many during
His reign, and where fervor, as a devouring wave, inundated
The people and swept away the status quo to usher
In his notable predecessor, Feradach the Fair,
Who ruled as a true judge
With an iron fist… Now,
As it turned out, Feradach’s grandson
Became alienated from tradition, and adopted
A kind of false humility; posturing as a latitudinarian, he
Decided to break from the irons, and disciplines, of
Grandfather’s truehearted prescript to follow
A seductive hissing [only he heard]…
And so it went…
But after some years an
Obvious and terrible psychopathy
Became evident in him, and his crusade,
(A strange commingling of free thinking, sorcery,
Manifestation, and thaumatolatry) began to unravel and
His followers (shortly) turned as a restless flock of birds diffused
Upon mercurial winds, following which, his endeavors – having
Been for a season the foretoken of more salutary days - now
Were relegated [only] to causerie in taverns, and in the
Prattles and tommyrots of fabricators and tosspots…
 
“STOP WHERE YOU ARE!” Tarzan commanded,
His voice an oily pharyngeal snarl…

Jonathan clung to his
Papas hand (wide-eyed) as
The procession came to a standstill…
Now the tiger roared in snarling spasms,
And the wolfhounds slunk sniffing and growling,
And the oxen, baying in deep resonant tones, struck
The ground angrily with their hooves; no animal or man was
Happy in this motley procession, and when a gangly man pulled
Back his hood and raised his wooden staff, the way of Numa
Began to stir in Tarzan's chest…

“We are descendant’s av Feradach av de
Kings av Connacht.” The man proclaimed feebly.
“We were on our way ter bury our brah’der, whaen we saw
de smoke av yisser fire an’ smelled de meat. We cum ter offer yer
friendship an’ ter clap if yer ‘av any spare grub…”

Casting a grave eye upon this
Kindred of vagabonds and mendicants,
Tarzan listened warily as the story unfolded,
Sensing, as the man spoke, weakness, malady,
And shiftiness, and remembering from
Experience that in the jungles
Of his learning,
That any human animal 
Incapable of supplying what was
Necessary to sustain life - tools of trade, food for
Table - became inclined to fraudulent schemes and
Deviousness to finagle what was sought…
As they listened, Jonathan
Gave in to a strange irritation and he
Moved about uneasily, looking up at Tarzan,
And then at the clan, and then at Tarzan, back and
Forth in a swaying mesmeric rhythm … Suddenly, the boy
Cried out pityingly:

“We can help them papa, we can
Kill deer’s and roast them; you showed me…”

Now, Lord Greystoke was moved by his
Grandsons compassion (for he had none) and, as
A consequence, he began to weigh the man’s entreaty,
As the boy pulled inquiringly at his cloak, and the
Clan shifted nervously about… Slowly
Tarzan’s cynical instincts shifted,
And when he drew nearer the
Man to gaze upon him,
He saw
A woebegone face, 
Ashen and drawn of fateful years,
With uncut hair hanging in strands, and
A chest-length beard matted and twined as rope,
His eyes, as sunken tombs, were darkened and sallow,
And upon his shoulders rested the heaviness of living hopelessly;
He was a jaded wanderer, by all appearances, seeking shelter
And any sustenance available…
Now, as Tarzan considered the gaunt
Look of famishment upon the clans faces, and
The despairing cloak smothering them, and when he
Saw that their minds (and aspirations) had atrophied from
Ailing bodies, and that they had wandered as phantoms, seeking
Fruitlessly for some semblance of what Feradach’s
Grandson had once called forth in the land,
Pity swept over him, and he bent and
Hugged the boy, for he knew that his grandson had
Understood before he had, and he had acted with compassion…

“WE will help you,” Tarzan nodded at the boy as he straightened…
~
“Yippee, papa,” Jonathan began capering…“We can do it,
You'll see, we can do it … yippee…”

Securing his bow and arrows
And answering [in kind] the thankful eyes
And salutations of the clan, Tarzan and Jonathan
Departed suddenly, together running as Skree, they
Flew swiftly upon the winds in the direction of a dense stand
Of trees, between jaggy peaks, where a watercourse meandered
Down from the far mountains through fields of verdant
Sweet grass, and where the droppings of ruminant
Mammals were visible near various pools
Eddying from the larger flow…
In one swift movement
Tarzan swung Jonathan onto his back
(Where he clung tightly) as he leapt into the
Trees with the strength and agility of Mangani and
Where both, as quietly as a drifting feather, watched from
The nook of two large branches for Wappi to come and drink…

Sometime later …

“Papa, look!” Jonathan’s excited whisper drew
His eyes across the meadow where a small herd was
Cautiously emerging to eat and drink in the cool of forenoon…

The following
Morning John Greystoke
Awakened to the clans satiated snores,
All of them at peace, and each owning a fresh sense
Of renewed vigor and hopefulness;
Quietly, as he prepared to leave, John
Was drawn to examine the randomness of
Encountering these vagabonds in such a manner,
And the change it had made in Jonathan’s (and his) thinking…
He construed how the timing seemed preordained, in that if
The Black Beldame had been forestalled in any way,
Or if he had been wounded in his struggle finding the boy,
Or if they had stayed an hour more (or less) anywhere,
Or if they had abandoned the dory a mile further
North or south, or if anything had happened
To change the timeline, would their
Paths have ever crossed?
Clearly he saw (now) that what
Had come to be, would never have been,
If one small detail had been different, and, because
Of that, he sensed the hand of Providence working to instill
A reinvigorated sense of worth (in this clan) as they
Continued on in their quest to find the peace
And wholeness they were seeking…

With no sound, or farewells,
Tarzan donned his rucksack, and,
After shouldering his weapons, he set off;
Making his way south towards Hadrian’s Wall,
He forged forward along another unknown path; his
Goal now was to discover Warwick Bridge where he would
Contact Jane … And being that Jonathan was wholly
Exhausted from the hunt, and still fast asleep,
Tarzan carried him cradled in his arms,
And as gently as a newborn…

Around the outer boundary
The sky was beginning to glow with
A luminous cerulean transparency, and when
Sunlight (at last) pierced the far horizon, effulgent yellow
Slivers burst upon the land with a warm resplendence;
Another day was upon them; another day that
Would bring them closer home…

“I love you papa,”
Jonathan smiled as his eyes fluttered open…

“I love you, too, son…”
Tarzan's face glowed radiantly in the sunlight…
 
©richard lloyd cederberg
11/11

“in the house of Greystoke … 14”

FOURTEENTH SCENE in a burgeoning series of the new Greystoke - Tarzan Story-Poems. There is a great outpouring of love and affection when John and Jonathan return home, but after several months Lord Greystoke becomes dulled with sameness...

When our agonist, and
His young ward, entered at last
Into the warmth and comfort of home,
Both were embraced with a great out-pouring
Of affection and gleesome weeping…
And while the resolution of
This trying ordeal [not only] inspired
A magnificently impassioned celebration, that
Evening in the house of Greystoke, it, too, accorded a
Full release from all misgivings and fears (which had strained
Them for many weeks) and, in a matter of moments,
Supplanted all spites of their dread ordeal with
A consuming jubilance… Now, as all
Partook together
Of Jane’s sumptuous
Feast, around the table, in
The crackling warmth of firelight, and, as
John and Jack imbibed a fine Dutch Brandewijn, in
Celebration, as the women doted over every whim, an irrepressibly
Animated boy (having matured ten years in a few months)
Leapt up upon the stone hearth with fiery zeal… 

Jonathan’s eyes blazed as
He capered about joyfully proclaiming
Thankfulness for his papa, and for being home,
And for his mommy and daddy, and for his nana Jane,
After which, he began demonstrating the vocal sounds he'd
Learned of the wild beasts they'd encountered– and when
He tired of being a tiger a dog an eagle and a deer,
He stood facing them, in all earnestness,
And began recounting a tale to them

About the mean Captain Artair, and Sholto,
The ugly man who hated him, and the man who
Drank whiskey and talked to himself, and the big black
Boat, and the castle, and sailing on the little boat with papa, and
How they caught fish and roasted deer and ran fast like Skree through
The mountains, and how they slept each night under the stars,
And the sad people in robes and the angry white tiger
And the big dogs that smelled and the dead
Person wrapped in rags- And
As his narrative gathered momentum,
Meriem, Jane’s, and Jacks eyes filled with tears,
For before them stood someone who – once having
Been a delicate blossom forced heartlessly between desiccating
Pages of dire circumstance – was burgeoning now in a lush garden
Wherein a young oak had appeared and was putting down roots…

And when John saw their tears,
His thoughts drifted back to when he
And the boy had passed Hadrian’s Wall,
On the final week of their journey,
Together riding a
Train from Lancashire to Gwent,
And then a ferry from Gwent to Somerset,
And how the boy’s exhilaration- after he'd engaged
A horse drawn wain to take them to the northern coast
Of Devon- had somehow encouraged rolling fits of laughter…
And now, on that final night, as they trekked as vagabonds
Through a maze of by-ways traversing the countryside
Like a tangle of capillaries, an encompassing love
Swept over John for Jonathan and he was
Obliged to share with him some of his great
Adventures and discernment's since the she-ape
Kala had raised him… Many fervent recollections came
To his mind, as they ambled those last few miles, and
With an overflowing heart he shared his incredible
Tales and exploits with Jonathan who listened
Wide-eyed gripping his hand- And
As he shared he considered, too, since
The night air was balmy, and the sky clear, to also
Point out to him, (as they neared Candamere Road where
His home stood) the Milky Way arching above as a great cornucopia of lights,
And how it passed through Perseus and Cassiopeia, and then through
Cygnus, Aquila, and Sagittarius, and, as his allegory unfolded, he
Pointed out where it disappeared below the high southern
Horizon in the region around Shaula in Scorpius and
How profusely complected the heavens were
And how life, too, was a complex tapestry
Of great beauty to be cherished
And lived to the full…

Now, after their night of
Celebrations and elated reunion,
The months passed uneventfully, in the house
Of Greystoke, living without inconvenience, while each
Day was imbued with a wonted and familiar sameness of souls
At peace, routinely going about the business of money-making and
Interacting with the beau monde who sashayed gaily about in their affected
Dance; behavior John Greystoke never had fully assimilated…
Being dulled, now, of sameness and
The constant churning of his restless heart, he
Yearned for a challenge to vivify him, one that would allow
Him to feel life’s burning exhilaration once again…
And so it was, that
During the season of Yuletide,
The day following Christmas celebrations,
After a heavy snow had blanketed the countryside, and
The atmosphere was still pregnant with nimbostratus, that an
Unexpected knocking, at the front door, startled the camaraderie
The family was enjoying together around the fire… 

“Can I help you?”  John growled hulking in the doorway…

“Sorry to bother you sir; uh, by the way, happy holidays…”
The man nodded with (what John saw as) an affected smile…

 “WHAT IS IT YOU WANT?” John’s brow tightened
as he scrutinized the stranger…

“Yes sir! Uh… my name is Belman Sandston, and
I would like to speak to John Greystoke if I may.”

Jane appeared suddenly and touched John’s arm to calm him…
“Darling, invite the man in… this IS John Greystoke; my husband.”

Being loath to do so, he did still for his beloved…

“Thank you ma'am… sir…” he nodded at both as he passed over
the threshold, “I surely appreciate this; it’s very cold today.” Once inside
his eyes shifted about the sparse antechamber as he stomped the snow from
his boots and removed a heavy cloak…

“Would you like something hot to drink,” Jane inquired cheerfully after
taking his cloak and pointing him towards the study; “coffee, or brandy perhaps?” 

“That would be lovely, ma’am, oh yes, both together please…”

“WHAT IS IT YOU WANT?” John demanded [again] after Jane departed…

Sandston was visibly shaken with the brusque tone of his inquiry…

“Well sir… uh … Lord Greystoke,” he began with downcast eyes,
“I was hoping to engage your services for a most crucial,
And, possibly, dangerous enterprise…”

©richard lloyd cederberg

Click Here For Page 1 of the Series

Other Works by richard lloyd cederberg:

Poetry
Other Story-Poems
Essays
Flash Fiction
Short Stories

~*~

Website Home Page