There is no character,

howsoever good and fine,

but it can be destroyed by ridicule,

howsoever poor and witless.

Observe the ass, for instance:

his character is about perfect,

he is the choicest spirit among

all the humbler animals,

yet see what ridicule

has brought him to.

Instead of feeling complimented

when we are called an ass,

we are left in doubt.


While our curate made his speech

the disguised woman stood as one half asleep

now beholding the one now the other

without once moving her lip or saying a word

just like a rustical clown

when rare and unseen things to him before

are unexpectedly presented to his view



all too often I do not understand your ways

so I simply remain here in my world

I find that if I stay still for long periods

moss tends to grow around my feet

a colorless breeze blows right through me

there is a certain beauty in vagueness



A vile, strange smelling concoction
slowly stirred by a wooden ladle
bubbles madly in an iron cauldron
blackened by countless ancient fires
in a cave beneath mountainous roots
with a meager light coming from coals
over which simmers his noxious brew
a stooped figure continues silently working
accompanied by shadows that dance in time
with swirling motions of his wooden staff

vague light reflected from sooted panes
offer tenebrous suggestions of lidded jars:
jars, pots, vials, vats, that offer no clue
to whatever might be hidden therein
mysteries to make Pandora’s denizens
seem paltry and tame by comparison
faint hints of things that seem to shiver
anticipating in this almost light of madness
created by pallid flames generated by a fire
that seems to burn without benefit of fuel

faster, faster, faster, goes that wooden staff
pinch of this, dash of that, into the boiling pot
as with reckless abandon there begins a chant
a cloud slowly forms not quite hiding a figure
who has now become a prisoner in its midst
a breeze springs from nowhere bringing change
chill is carried throughout this hidden cavern
as heavy silence suddenly becomes cacophony
a fire truck has arrived at long last bringing
relief to Father’s latest cooking catastrophe


once my words burned brightly

cheerful flames dancing figures

then my living took me far away

in my haste I failed to bank my fire

now my days are spent sifting ashes

seeking for just one elusive spark

to help rekindle those dancing flames

a new phrase

we are all familiar with the phrase

made by  Ralph Waldo Emerson

“the shot heard round the world”

about that first shot of the American

 Revolution after it rang out  at Concord

after all these generations have passed

going forward from that fateful day

now a new thought comes into play

as high above us circling through space

astronauts gazing  toward endless space

wondering if the rumor could be true

that someone actually wants to send cows

into space so they can see if milk production

“falls” off during periods of zero gravity

yet you must ask your self if a new phrase

would soon come to be bandied about

maybe “the herd shot round the world”