The Festival Of Toast Dirigibles for Heaven leave on time each hour from the tower on the shore. Wing’d people flicker through the flower-towns, feeding as they fly. Today’s great leader frowns from a monument of paper to a war we loved to lose. Electric cowbells chime in the upland meadows where the tractors mate,
The Festival of Toast Dirigibles for Heaven leave on time each hour from the tower on the shore. Wing’d people flicker through the flower-towns, feeding as they fly. Today’s great leader frowns from a monument of paper to a war we loved to lose. Electric cowbells chime in the upland meadows where the tractors mate,
Unlocking Time Winter locked my mind in place As though I were under house arrest. My thoughts, imprisoned, became dreams- Not nightmares, always, but dark enough To leave a trace of fear. This morning there’s a change, as though My sentence has been served, and I can go Not wholly free, but less constrained. The
What Do You Miss? The Elysian Fields Retirement Home is a large, slightly run-down three-story building with a wide verandah overlooking the sea. Set out along the verandah are several lounge chairs, and seated in them are eight old men and two old women dressed in bedroom slippers and white terry-cloth robes. In front of
Choices I have a grim little manual entitled “Worst Case Scenarios,” which presents the reader with a series of awful situations, and challenges her or him to pick the least dreadful one. In the spirit of that manual, here are a few tough choices of my own: 1. It’s your daughter’s Bat Mitzvah celebration, and
A Drinking Song Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye. That’s all we shall know of truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh. – William Butler Yeats
The new diminutive occidental municipality’s law-enforcement officer and sheriff ambulated out of the disreputable gin-mill saloon, shrugging aside the lady of the evening who sought to impede his progress by clinging to his forearm. “Fill your hands, you low-life, utterly deplorable, mannerless scum-sucking scion of a female dog!” he yawped in stentorian tones to the
The Ides Of March Leaden sky, snow drifts, Birches bend and hemlocks groan. When will spring wake up?
Limbaugh Rush Limbaugh spewed hate Like a river in spate. He vomited rage Against feminists, gays, And the liberal press. I have to confess, When I learned he had died, I laughed till I cried. And it won’t make me blue When The Donald croaks, too. I know that’s unfair, But I really don’t care.
The Art Of War Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt. If you know your enemy and you know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and