Jose Marte Abueg's Ode to Old Nick

Salamander: Ode to Old Nick

Salamander on the wall, melancholy
and soundless, recalling the eve
of May, April day in sudden repose.
In our withered garden, our
diminished realm. Outside
the lone, deep sepulcher
newly unsealed.
Rise, old Solomon,
intone your myths, call in
serpents to bring jewels, stories, gifts.
Summon minstrels, dancers,
magicians to usher in
mists, enigmas, music
in riddles. Wake Sheba once more,
her temple of veils ransack anew
for icons, alchemies, portraits
of essences. Banish the shadows,
ban the unexamined, unearth
our caves. Tame our apes of dead
syllables. Cast out the pale, mute
unimagined. Demolish, old
salamander, this wall
of the unwritten. Let the peacocks
loose to roam, multiply again
in the aviary of your word garden.
Conjure history, texture, prose,
bring forth tale and ritual, weave
legendry and novel, pageantry
and poem—embroider our navels.
Genius lit like a mirror at the midnight
of generations, with Joy, Pleasure,
Aphrodite, or merely us, lay
blue eggs of frail young doves. Viva!
Viva, Old Nick! Open your eyes!

(For Nicomedes Joaquin, 1917-2004)++