Mister Stork

In the lounge room of my childhood
there’s this little wooden box
and when I open it’s varnished lid
up pops a proudly painted stork
a cigarette wedged in his beak
with the promise of something good

“Care for a Peter Stuyvesant?
They’re tailor made for the Jet-Set!
You’ve been on a plane,
and you’re a big boy now,
all of nine, so try one of mine.
You’ll find the taste most pleasant.
Ignition … prepare for take-off.
Never mind the cough.
You’ll soon be feeling fine.”

Curious that neither
of my parents were smokers.
A mostly absent
long distance father
and two much older brothers
all too distracted
by a cold war meltdown
to bother about
a nuclear family explosion
as the Bay of Pigs became
my happy hunting ground
A Lord of the Flies
flying high on the wild side
with some California Sunshine
and a down on his luck
angelic guardian
reluctantly riding shotgun
Yet ever in the shadow
of a brooding Mount Zion
The secret herbs and spices
of a teenage existential crisis
Given no grand plans
and with idle hands
I was left to my own devices
Deep in the groove of a move
known as the Duck and Cover
a street kid refugee
fleeing a world torn asunder
with not a chance
of getting it all together
Is there nothing left
but to become
a living protest?
A performance art piece
of self immolation?
Mister Stork
I need a bitter snort
of your sweetest inspiration

The fat controller
and proprietor of the nearby
convenience store
would sell me a pack of ten
for the handful of coins
that I had begged
borrowed and stolen
As through a smokey dream
I seem to remember
he had a particularly
beautiful daughter.
A friend of my sister
Years later he was found
driving aimlessly around town
with the lifeless body of his wife
in the back seat of his car
cruising with the bête noire
of murder in suburbia

No need for fiction
when life is much stranger
in a neighbourhood
where children would disappear
without a trace
to that whispered kingdom
of overdose
The agents of prohibition
leading us all in a merry dance

“Be careful. Be good.
And don’t go too far.”

With youthful exuberance
and spriteful stealth
I would break into
the empty mansions
of the rich and the infamous
Searching for just a taste
of that elusive good life

But then …
there was always
Mister Stork
in his varnished wooden box
ready to greet me
with a loving embrace
A constant companion
who always made me happy
if even for just a moment
Till the day he came up short
and a beak sadly empty!?
With hand painted eyes
he just stared at me blankly …

“You’ve been chasing toxic thrills,
and I can see you’ve got the chills.
You’re becoming quite a scoundrel.
Perhaps it’s best you go get
some of mum’s favourite pills
and swallow a big handful?!”

All done and said …
there is something
strangely liberating
in being numbered
amongst the dead
by friends and family alike
whilst still alive and kicking
Yet always a feeling
that something isn’t right
that something is missing

All said and done …
It’s been one hell of a fight
with Mister Stork
just out of sight
lurking in his box
waiting to take flight
Brooding over schemes
yet to be hatched,
beyond any doubt
Beware if ever
you should open that latch
But he was never a match
for my Father in Heaven

Now it’s Sweet Liberation
with a key freely given
from a roughly hewn
old wooden cross
All has been returned
that once was stolen and lost

~ by David B. Redpath © 2019-2023

Photography;
David B. Redpath © 2019

75 thoughts on “Mister Stork”

  3. Most beautiful. Mr.Stork is inspiration
    of your imagination. “In a neighbourhood …
    … he just stared at me blankly … “.
    How much sad things for children and youth.
    Inspirational and thought provoking.
    We should take some steps against Mr.Stork.
    Well done, dear!!
    Oh, most heart touching, all lines.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Thank you exceedingly, Aruna.
      I was trying to walk a mile in the shoes
      of someone who no longer exists.
      But there are far too many looking for
      that slow motion painless exit.

      Like

      Reply

      2. A game of shadows
        in the shallows of life.
        As the stork flies high
        we are but running from self.
        Best to close his little wooden box
        and put it back on the shelf.
        He sucks you in,
        only to spit you out again,
        after being well and truly chewed
        With him, your spirit
        is never renewed.

        Thanks for the “Shadow Game”
        inspiration, Rachel ✌️😎

        Liked by 2 people

  9. A profound autobiographical poem, David.

    Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.

    The mysterious Stork in the box of your mind getting you to try cigarettes and then pills.

    This was no stork who delivered babies down the chimneys of rooftops but a stork who ascended up from the furnaces of Hell and delivered lies.

    A compelling testimony to the power of Christ who overcomes demons in all forms.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Yes Chris, I suspect that Mister Stork
      was an emissary for that Prince of the
      air, despite having his wings clipped,
      and being confined to a small box.
      I wrote this story for all those who’ve
      “… walked according to the course of this world, according to the Prince of the power of the air, the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience …”
      ( By coincidence, The Sons of Disobedience
      is also the name of a leading Washington
      far right think tank 😎)

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  17. Steer clear
    of that sneaky little stork
    with his box full of snort
    His box full of shiny will put you
    on your hiney
    I like you much better with a blue
    pin upon your lapel
    Of course your last words are the
    most important off all
    Glad you are amongst living
    With the stories you tell
    That I love to read so well
    Wonderful writing David!:)

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Thanks Stella,
      for your words of grace.
      The Word has preserved my soul,
      despite life’s heavy toll,
      in time and space.
      From the fullness of the heart
      words tumble and flow.
      Love is always the answer,
      where hope and faith,
      are allowed to grow 🙏 😎

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  18. “One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small
    And the ones that mother gives you, don’t do anything at all
    Go ask Alice, when she’s ten feet tall ”
    David, you have an excellent way of making a point. This piece has powerful written all over it. Well done!

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Thanks Anna for the positive feedback.
      Some choose to cruise the heart
      of darkness, Some find themselves
      there, with not much say in it. But there
      is always the choice to depart from it
      … following the light of the Spirit.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  22. Wow, Peter Stuyvesant… unbelievable David.
    You took me back to the 80s. My mother smoked those like a chimney. Crazy and random that you’d mention that.
    The whole piece was amazing and nostalgic. You’re an artist
    💋💜

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Your mum was also a member
      of the globe trotting jet-set! ✈️
      A Peter Stuyvesant coincidence 😎
      Thanks Queen Fiery for your
      positively sparkling comment 🙏

      As they say in the classics,
      if you play with fire 🔥
      expect to get your fingers burnt.
      But I’ve learnt from experience,
      a hot flame can be very nice 💛

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  25. a stunning piece; a tour de force; there is something in the language that reminds me of the hallucinatory passages in Alex Garland’s ‘The Beach’. There is much to take in here, I will read it a few more times during the week. Mesmeric, David 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Thanking you most metaphysically,
      John ♾️ 🙏
      I must admit that I’ve often felt like
      a fictitious Richard combing through
      the flotsam and jetsam of a remote
      oriental beach 🏖️ 😎
      An esoteric existence 🤔 Not to
      mention, my ex is a dead ringer
      for Sal (a.k.a. Tilda Swinton) 😱

      Liked by 2 people

      Reply

    1. Thank you fortuitously, Lia.
      Now that you mention it, that stork
      would take an occasional snort of
      Southern Comfort. Straight up from
      his hip flask … True!
      I always declined his kind offer of a
      swig as I had no desire to catch that
      avian flu 🦩😎

      Liked by 2 people

      Reply

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