I. Byron and I Meet Henry VIII in the Underworld

“There’s Henry—king once Henry Number Seven
departed like a bird that’s migratory
to dwell in Hell, oblivion, or Heaven
or maybe controversial Purgatory.
(Let’s hope his lucky number helped to leaven
his soul and make it rise to peaceful glory
though what’s required of one who leads or reigns
is apt to merit everlasting pains.)
 
The Eighth was cherished by the pious Pope
as grain is by a city-dwelling pigeon
‘til his divorce received a papal “nope”,
which made him father Anglican religion.
With changed belief, some people couldn’t cope,
but of remorse, he never felt a smidgeon.
One had to seem to ridicule and scorn
the system held supreme when he was born.
 
In time, few people seemed to think it odd
to be eternally at war and strife
with those denying it was willed by God
to change a nation’s form of afterlife
because a king desired a different broad
to serve his craving for a fertile wife.
‘Divorce thee,’ holy God was heard to say,
and England’s king was willing to obey.
 
‘Three Catherines plus two Annes and Lady Jane’
is not a modern television show
or lyrics to a musical refrain
but wives on Henry’s list. Although not low,
the number might’ve soared if Henry’s reign
weren’t ended by ‘the fate all undergo’—
which is a fancy way of saying ‘death’,
a state that’s known to take away one’s breath.
 
To torture, Henry’s shade is now subjected:
the Lord of Hades says, ‘The earthly plea
to be divorced must always be rejected.
The ring you gave to each on bended knee
ensures your wives and you remain connected
throughout the rest of cold eternity.’”
I thought to ask if Henry’s wives approved,
but George insisted it was time we moved.
 
II. Byron Discusses Elizabeth I

“His famous child, Elizabeth the First,
was never his intended royal heir,
but though her mother Anne was killed and cursed,
Elizabeth possessed a gift that’s rare:
she rose to reign, a ruler far from worst,
despite a youth that’d drive some to despair.
Though, like all people, Bessie had her flaws,
she helped advance her struggling kingdom’s cause.”
 
My guide’s nostalgia caused my mind to ponder
the art of world dissecting and division
into “our land” and “countries over yonder”.
The human race has marked with great precision
where people may and may not dare to wander,
and when the boundaries require revision,
the sage solution favored by this race
is wiping people off the planet’s face.
 
 
From Brit to Yank, from Japanese to Haitian,
the people occupying Planet Earth
insist their land’s the “greatest ever” nation.
They think the place in which they’re given birth
deserves the crown for moral education
and serves to judge the other cultures’ worth.
But sense of national identity
may lead to cultural rigidity.
 
III. Byron and I Meet Santa Claus in the Underworld

“There, dead of sorrow fed by sad defeat,
is Santa Claus, beloved of girls and boys.
His elves and he no longer could compete
with companies that specialize in toys,
whose makers overseas can barely eat
on wages earned for bringing children joys.
The War of Toys was one that Santa lost
by failing to reduce his labor cost.”
 
The empty sleigh on which he sadly sat
reflected eyes bereaved and desolate.
He didn’t look too merry, jolly, fat,
or [please insert a clever epithet].
From slippered feet to faded Santa hat,
He’d weigh not fifty kilos soaking wet.
The times had weighed so heavily on him
that Santa Claus was supermodel-slim.
 
“I was as close,” said Santa, “to my elves
as any sword is to its sturdy hilt.
They put a part of me and of themselves
in every crafted toy they ever built.
But now our toys aren’t found upon the shelves,
And elvish sweat’s no longer being spilt.
Yet, folk who left the elves without their jobs
are often heard to call them ‘mooching slobs’.”
 
“But Santa,” said my ghostly guide,
“what matters is what people can afford,
not whether toys were made with elvish pride.”
“Your head’s as empty as a swollen gourd
with little more than putrid air inside,”
A red but not-so-jolly Santa roared.
Then after finishing some breathless panting,
the saint began a round of angry ranting:
 
I’d loved him well as any other child
and hated seeing Santa mope and grieve.
Throughout our talk he’d never laughed or smiled.
It was apparent that he’d not relieve
his pain by raging like a beast that’s wild.
To mend his mood, I asked of Christmas Eve
and hoped the change of topic would delight
a man who’d lived to do his work that night.
 
He shouted, “So, you really want to know?
You’ll hear of every groundless accusation,
of trials that I had to undergo,
of endless months of loathsome litigation
I faced each time I moved my little toe.
In short, you’ll hear a tale of defamation.
Attend me well, for now I will begin
a catalog of my alleged sin.
 
We’ll start with fusses made about my deer.
One group demanded that the deer be freed
From ‘cruelly flying for one night a year’.
The group declared I’d treat the cervine breed
as harshly as a heartless overseer,
who liked to whip a back to make it bleed.
and, when I showed the loving care I gave,
they said, ‘A happy slave is still a slave’.
 
Another group that gave my rear a spank
was less concerned about them being free.
Although I’m German, not the least a Yank,
‘Support Detroit and auto industry’
was screamed by every Cletus, Bob, and Hank
who ever claimed a love of liberty.
‘It’d help the people selling cars and oil
if cars, not deer, did Santa’s Christmas toil’.
 
Another set of folks proclaimed me vile
and said my list of Naughty and of Nice
appeared to be a voyeuristic file
for cats who prey upon the baby mice—
in other words, the creepy pedophile
whose virtue is a mask to cover vice.
They also claimed I robbed their privacy
and was committing data piracy.
 
And nearly every place I’d try to go,
protesting packs would keep me from the door
while crying, ‘He’s a sexist so-and-so!’
They thought I’d called some little ladies “whore”
because I often chanted triple ‘ho!’
which was a jolly laugh and nothing more.
It seems a man who’s merry in these times
is apt to be suspected of some crimes.
 
Paul Burgess

If you have any thoughts about these extracts,  Paul Burgess  would like to hear them