Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Lugubrious grubbing through poetry

From Bierce to Bronte, to Shaespeare
Reading poems about the D word;
Not one tells what around the corner will appear
To leave me assured.
Rooted, moored.
I abandon what I can’t apprehend,
Here is what I best understand:

By the sweat of your face
    you shall eat bread
until you return to the ground,
    for out of it you were taken;
you are dust,
    and to dust you shall return.”
COMMENT BY OMAR KAYAK:  The Bible doesn’t not mention how much we humans treasure the “dust” and the costs of the medicine we pour into before it “blows away.”  Prophets and healers of the Old Days didn’t have the high overhead and IT planning. 


  1. Old uncle Wilson is a clever old Elf
    He regales us with poetry in spite of himself
    He appreciates fine things everyone knows
    So Bonnie keeps him up on his toes
    By placing his Grey Goose on the uppermost shelf

    1. You nailed it. Pretty well lost the taste for alcohol. My sugar appetite is unassuaged.. Sign of an alocholic Incidentally, no alcohol is out of my reach even if it takes three chairs and foot stool. Oh, your poetry is pretty good,too.