Crossword Blues

Returned to doing crosswords today. Was reminded of this poem gathering dust in my vault, more than seven years I think. Thought this was occasion enough - also since now it's nearly two years since I put anything up here. Renaissance Post!

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CROSSWORD BLUES

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That morning I was out in the garden,

Body in chair, newspaper in hand

My mind none knows where

for it was lost in thought.

So many right, yet so many left.

So many acrosses, I was feeling down

Was it hell or inferno?

Ere come flying did this crow

Blacker than night

Darker even than the mind

of the grid-setter so cryptic.

Twinkle in eye, mischief brimming

the crow, he perched on the arm of my chair,,

looked through icily, said

“What have we here, boxes?

Light boxes, dark boxes,

Shaded boxes, numbered boxes

but filled, lettered ones so few.

It is, I see, that which Nature she abhors!

As to how to fill these blanks,

I’m sure, you have no clue!”

Thus spake the crow.

To these words offence I did take,

For though no master, I was no slouch

And I taught him the perilous

ways through the Holy Grid.

About how a tree was an unetched three

And how the ear was the sense organ of time

About how Al ever managed to operate the lever

And how confused fears made you feel safer.

Thus I explained to him at length

About clues- cryptic, quick, hidden

and other literal sorts you know

the rowdy, wordy anagrammic clues

and funny, punny homophones.

At this juncture,

I paused my lecture.

Not because my pupil was perplexed

rather `cos his were unflexed!

The insolent indolent crow,

he smiled a knowing smile

Not in the least awed

(I know) for now he guffawed

and then he cawed,

“Mere wordplay!

The CrossWord, tis but an eternal truth

The Beginning, cross words were heard

no sooner than God made woman.

Then so many battles, so many wars

when all people did was cross swords”

(How words could this get, I thought)

“And I believe Christ’s last utterings

are now to be had as the Cross-Words,

The End!”

Oh, the way he punned it

I knew he was no crow ordinary

Really, he was some pundit!

And then went flying did the crow.

There was nothing left to do

But to bid goodbye

and jot those immortal thoughts down.

For these crass words

I am not to blame.

(Though the excuse is lame)

These were but the crow’s words!

- Thomas Jay Cubb