The Return to Timbuktu, New Poetry for Part Deux

Of course all good stories must come with a sequel, so let’s see what that would look like.

Me and Tim Went Huntin’ Too
(The Return to Timbuktu)

Me and Tim, some months gone by,
Still dreamin’ ‘bout those gals, oh my!
Mae and Belle, and sweet ol’ Sue,
Who left us high on Timbuktu.

“Let’s go back,” ol’ Tim declared,
With his mullet slicked and chest hair bared.
“Pack some beer and fancy boots,
We’ll bring cologne, not just our hoots.”

We hit the trail with hopes held high,
Underneath that country sky.
Brought a speaker, set the mood,
With outlaw jams and campfire food.

Reached the bluff ‘bout close to dark,
No gals, no tent, no telltale spark.
Just a note nailed to a pine:
“We’re off dancin’ down the line.”

“Well dang,” said Tim, “they’re gone ag’in,”
Then tripped and cussed his flask of gin.
I laughed so hard I near fell flat,
Right into a pile of coyote scat.

But just as dusk began to bloom,
We heard some hummin’ cross the gloom.
Out the woods came Belle and Mae,
With Sue ridin’ a bale of hay.

“We figured y’all would try once more,”
Belle said, winkin’ with a snore.
“We like a man who keeps on tryin’,
Even when the frogs ain’t fryin’.”

We danced again and drank our fill,
Played truth or dare on Buster’s Hill.
Mae dared Tim to kiss a frog,
He kissed a toad and blamed the fog.

We howled and hollered through the night,
Till the moon gave way to mornin’ light.
And this time when the gals did leave,
They handed Tim a souvenir sleeve:

A matchin’ set of camo thongs,
A mixtape full of breakup songs,
A map marked “Next Time: Bring Some Friends”,
‘Cause the redneck tale never ends.

So if you hear a tale or two,
Of strange romance on Timbuktu,
Know it ain’t ‘bout maps or town,
It’s ‘bout love that knocks you down.

Of course, for the Yale crowd, work like this is best done as a Shakespearean sonnet.  Try to keep the tempo with me.  Early Modern English is a little anachronistic, but pretend you’re in an open air theater, enjoying Shakespeare under the stars.

The story of Tim and Buck, as told by Shakespeare, creates a very different flavor:

Timbuktu Revisited: Redneck Rendezvous, Act Two

When Tim and I, some moons had waxed and waned,
Didst dream of those fair nymphs, a sweet unrest!
Of Mae and Belle and Sue, whose charm unchained
Our rustic hearts, then left us sore distressed

On Timbuktu, that bluff of lonely height.
“Let’s seek them forth!” cried Tim, with lustrous hair,
And chest displayed, a most unseemly sight.
“With brew and boots and scents beyond compare!”

So to the trail we trod, with hopes aloft,
Beneath the vastness of the country sky.
A speaker’s tunes our yearning did engraft,
With outlaw songs and victuals piled up high.

But dusk did fall, no maidens did appear,
A note alone did pierce our hearts with fear.

“Gone dancin’ down the line!” the script did say.
“Alas!” quoth Tim, and cursed his potent gin.
I laughed till prone upon the earth I lay,
Where coyote droppings formed a pungent din.

Yet as the twilight did its hues unfold,
A gentle hum did through the darkness creep.
And lo! From woods did Belle and Mae behold,
With Sue astride a hay bale, fast asleep!

“We knew,” said Belle, with wink and stifled yawn,
“Ye’d try again, though frogs refused to fry.”
We danced and drank till early streaks of morn,
On Buster’s Hill where jest and truth did lie.

Mae dared poor Tim a slimy toad to kiss,
He blamed the fog and claimed a fleeting bliss.

We howled and roared till Phoebus did arise,
And when those maids did bid us their adieu,
A parting gift did greet poor Tim’s wide eyes:
Two camo thongs, of matching, verdant hue,

A mixtape filled with sorrow’s mournful sound,
A map that read, “Next Time, bring lads galore!”
For redneck love knows not a fixed profound,
But wanders wild and ever seeks for more.

So if ye hear a tale, both strange and true,
Of Timbuktu, where hearts and humor blend,
Know ‘tis no place upon the charted view,
But where love strikes and journeys never end,

And though no map its wild location shows,
‘Tis where true redneck romance ebbs and flows.

This can definitely be hard to read if you’re not used to Shakespeare.  Do me a favor, go catch a live performance of a Shakespearean comedy (not a history or a tragedy – these can be heavy and dry).

To finish this sequel, I want to try the story in the style of Dolly Parton:

Timbuktu and Me (and Tim, Too)

[Verse 1]
Me and Tim, some months gone by,
Still dreamin’ ‘bout them gals, oh my!
Mae and Belle, and sweet ol’ Sue,
Who ditched us both on Timbuktu.
Tim said, “Bro, let’s make it right,”
With his chest hair gleamin’ in the firelight.
“Pack your boots and beer, let’s ride,
We’ll bring cologne this time, not pride!”

[Chorus]
Oh, love’s a rodeo in camo boots,
With tangled hearts and busted roots.
Outlaw jams and moonshine dreams,
Ain’t nothin’ ever what it seems.
On Timbuktu, the stars still shine,
But the gals will leave you every time!
So saddle up, and don’t ask why,
You’ll find your heart where coyotes cry.

[Verse 2]
We hit the trail with spirits high,
Neath that big ol’ country sky.
Had a speaker and a skillet too,
Cooked beans and beef like cowboys do.
Reached the bluff as night fell near,
No girls, no tent, just pine and beer.
A note tacked up on a cedar tree:
“We’re off dancin’. You missed the spree.”

[Bridge – Spoken, Dolly-style sass]
“Well butter my biscuits,” Tim declared,
Then tripped on his gin and cussed the air.
I laughed so hard, I near passed out,
In a pile of scat, oh, there’s no doubt!

[Verse 3]
But lo! What’s that across the ridge?
Three gals hummin’ near the bridge.
Belle and Mae, with Sue in tow,
Ridin’ high on a bale of snow!
“We figured y’all would show again,”
Belle snored and winked like a freight train.
“We like men who keep on tryin’,
Even when the frogs ain’t fryin’!”

[Chorus]
Love’s a dance on Buster’s Hill,
Truth or dare and cheap refills.
Mae dared Tim to kiss a frog,
He smooched a toad and blamed the fog!
On Timbuktu, the fire burns bright,
Till the dawn puts out a lengthy night.
We laughed and howled till we were sore,
Then they left us gifts and nothin’ more!

[Verse 4 – Breakdown]
A camo thong in a souvenir sleeve,
A mixtape full of “Please don’t leave.”
A map marked “Next time, bring some friends,”
This ain’t where the fairy tale ever ends.

[Final Chorus – Big, sparkly finish]
Ooooh Timbuktu! That wild romance,
Where you lose your pride and find your dance.
The gals are tough and sass is free,
And love don’t come with a guarantee.
So if you hear a tale or two,
Of strange ol’ love on Timbuktu,
It ain’t ‘bout maps or where you roam,
It’s ‘bout findin’ a mess you can call home.

But we’re not done yet.  The story has not reached its end.  Class dismissed until next Monday.