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P o e t r e e
Fig. 1. Credit: ucscplant.ucsc.edu
T r e e s
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Joyce Kilmer (1913)
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Joyce Kilmer (1913)
Fig. 2. Credit: eslfive.blogspot.com
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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore – While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door – "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door – Only this and nothing more." |
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore – For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore – Nameless here for evermore. |
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And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door – Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; – This it is and nothing more." |
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you" – here I opened wide the door; – Darkness there and nothing more. |
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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" – Merely this and nothing more. |
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore – Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; – 'Tis the wind and nothing more!" |
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Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door – Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door – Perched, and sat, and nothing more. |
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore – Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." |
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Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door – Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore." |
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered – Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before – On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said "Nevermore." |
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Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore – Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never – nevermore.'" |
But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore – What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore." |
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This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! |
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he hath sent thee Respite – respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." |
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"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted – On this home by Horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore – Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." |
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore – Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore – Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." |
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"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting –
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." |
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted – nevermore! |
Fig. 3.
S u m H a i k u
Each a part of one
Everyone a part of none
No such thing as some
Shop Ping
Galleria is a match for mall,
But gal is not,
Another word for moll.
Galleria is a match for mall,
But gal is not,
Another word for moll.
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E V E N T I D E
No single, momentous battle will ever defeat The great evils of the world. When confronted by great good, Darkness does not contend or compete with the light; It shrinks away much as the dawn forces aside the night. Evil never engages in a fight whose outcome Is not predetermined in its favor. Rather it lies complacent, patient, Ever vigilant and opportunistic. Ever awaiting the light’s decline when Once again for a time, Night should rule the day. |
name your domain Each of us is born a king or queen; A ruler who governs a private dominion, And pursues a personal destiny. But it is by the choices made, Our directions taken, That one reigns, abdicates, Or becomes enslaved. |
Fig. 4.
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P R E L U D E
The land of Dragonia An idyllic realm plunged suddenly into chaos. Ripped asunder by a merciless would-be king. Princess Boja, the newborn queen. Rightful heir to a matriarchal dynasty. Protected by Shelldon, an appointed guardian, mentor, and friend. Both exiled to another world called Earth. A refuge safe from the wrath of the fearsome usurper, Dragragon. Once of age, the untried princess and her defender must return home. Face and defeat the invincible tyrant who awaits them. Somehow rescue a domain ravaged and forsaken. An empire where despair and hopelessness rule in the queen's stead. |
E P I L O G U E
The land of Dragonia. A troubled realm freed from chaos, Delivered from a merciless, would-be king. The empress Boja, a queen returned to power. A rightful heir restored as sovereign of a matriarchal dynasty. Accompanied by Shelldon, her mentor and friend. Both back from their exile on another world called Earth. A temporary refuge safe from the Trueblood usurper, Dragragon. Now of age, the queen and her onetime guardian must heal the land. Since the defeat of the tyrant, many new challenges await them. A domain ravaged and forsaken must be restored. An empire where hope and happiness might again reign supreme. |
Lazing with Butterflies
Sleep with swans,
dance with faeries and elves.
Dream of memories yet to come,
Soar from a cliff where the eagle dwells.
Awaken as a flower blooming,
Drink from the morning dew.
Fear not the dark cloud o'erhead that is looming,
Or lightning that flashes while thunder is booming;
They are only passing through.
Sleep with swans,
dance with faeries and elves.
Dream of memories yet to come,
Soar from a cliff where the eagle dwells.
Awaken as a flower blooming,
Drink from the morning dew.
Fear not the dark cloud o'erhead that is looming,
Or lightning that flashes while thunder is booming;
They are only passing through.
Fig. 5.
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Fuzzy & Hairy Yet Star light, Star bright, first dragreature I see tonight. Dragions and dragigers and dragears -- oh my! |
The greatest good for the largest number.
The least harm to the fewest.
Absolute Velocity
SPACE = TIME = MOTION
TIME = MOTION = SPACE MOTION = SPACE = TIME |
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Absolute Rest
SPACE = TIME = NULL-V
TIME = NULL-V = SPACE NULL-V = SPACE = TIME |
Fig. 6.
D R A G O N E T H I C S
The Dragon Vows of Honor
No dragon will throat fire in anger or with malice against another.
No dragon will steal platinum, the holy sustenance of dragons, from another.
No dragon will take the life of another, be they dragon or non-dragon.
The Dragon Oaths of Conduct
No dragon will interfere in the affairs of others, be they dragon or non-dragon.
No dragon will spread rumors about others, be they dragon or non-dragon.
All dragons will honor the lives of all others, be they dragon or non-dragon.
No dragon will throat fire in anger or with malice against another.
No dragon will steal platinum, the holy sustenance of dragons, from another.
No dragon will take the life of another, be they dragon or non-dragon.
The Dragon Oaths of Conduct
No dragon will interfere in the affairs of others, be they dragon or non-dragon.
No dragon will spread rumors about others, be they dragon or non-dragon.
All dragons will honor the lives of all others, be they dragon or non-dragon.
In the beginning,
So shall it be, In the end. |
Rapping the Rapture
Prithee that more there be,
More than either you or me. Prithee kindness reigns supreme, That mercy parts the gloom. Prithee wisdom shines its gleam, And grants us grace Amid impending doom. |
C O S M O P O L I S
Worlds far away,
Galaxies so far, far away.
Places to visit,
but seldom to stay.
Worlds far away,
Planets without a past,
No tomorrow or today.
Lands quiet and pale,
Painted in rainbow hues of gray.
Worlds far away,
Where stars shine extra bright.
Realms of unending day,
Of skies without a night.
Worlds far away,
Galaxies so far, far away.
Places to visit,
But seldom to stay.
Galaxies so far, far away.
Places to visit,
but seldom to stay.
Worlds far away,
Planets without a past,
No tomorrow or today.
Lands quiet and pale,
Painted in rainbow hues of gray.
Worlds far away,
Where stars shine extra bright.
Realms of unending day,
Of skies without a night.
Worlds far away,
Galaxies so far, far away.
Places to visit,
But seldom to stay.
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The Time of Ends Pray the One Omnipotent be, For Chaos and Woe, Weigh upon Thee. |
Fig. 7.
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M O M E N T U M S
A timeless point wherein decision is freely made Without apprehension, unreflectively and directly integrated. No longer subject or object, nor observer and observed. A phenomenon, an awareness without parts, without summation. |
A rose by any other name might be a chrysanthemum.
Hunting Hunters
Woe unto the souls of those,
Be they mistaken, Who steal what is not theirs to take, Who oppress the weak, Who murder what would struggle to live, And who, in their blind arrogance, Presume to know the will of God. |
Mankind's Best Friends
The bad news is that Heaven may not exist.
The good news is that if Heaven does exist, Both humans and animals probably go there. The really bad news is that if there is a Heaven, It's probably only for the animals. The really good news? If you’re kind to animals, You might go to Heaven. |
Fig. 8. The Murphuffleupagus.
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DEATH is more TAXING
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R u e M o r g u e My greatest regret in life Is being trapped amid circumstances where I am forced, Absent all intent otherwise, to kill many living beings. Especially the smallest and most innocent With whom I share this thing called existence. Thus far I have seen no indication That I am either worthy or deserving of such power. |
Critique of Cynical Reason
Perter Sloterdijk (1947-)
The atomic bomb is the Buddha of the West,
A perfect, detached, sovereign apparatus.
Unmoving, it rests in its silo,
Purest actuality and purest potentiality.
It is the embodiment of cosmic energies,
And humans share in these,
The highest accomplishment of the human race and its destroyer.
The triumph of technical rationality,
And its dissolution into paranoia.
Its repose and its irony are endless.
It is the same to the bomb, how it fulfills its mission,
Whether in silent waiting or as a cloud of fire.
For it, the change of conditioned states,
Does not count.
As with the Buddha, all there is to say is said by its mere existence.
It is not a bit more evil than reality,
And not a hair more destructive than we are.
It is not only our unfolding,
But a material expression of our ways.
It is already completely incarnate,
While we, in comparison, are still divided.
In the face of such an instrument,
Great listening is called for,
Rather than strategic considerations.
The bomb requires from us neither struggle nor resignation,
But experience of ourselves.
We are it.
A perfect, detached, sovereign apparatus.
Unmoving, it rests in its silo,
Purest actuality and purest potentiality.
It is the embodiment of cosmic energies,
And humans share in these,
The highest accomplishment of the human race and its destroyer.
The triumph of technical rationality,
And its dissolution into paranoia.
Its repose and its irony are endless.
It is the same to the bomb, how it fulfills its mission,
Whether in silent waiting or as a cloud of fire.
For it, the change of conditioned states,
Does not count.
As with the Buddha, all there is to say is said by its mere existence.
It is not a bit more evil than reality,
And not a hair more destructive than we are.
It is not only our unfolding,
But a material expression of our ways.
It is already completely incarnate,
While we, in comparison, are still divided.
In the face of such an instrument,
Great listening is called for,
Rather than strategic considerations.
The bomb requires from us neither struggle nor resignation,
But experience of ourselves.
We are it.
Fig. 9.
d i n o s a u r i a , w e
Charles Bukowski (from 1992)
born like this
into this
as the chalk faces smile
as Mrs. Death laughs
as the elevators break
as political landscapes dissolve
as the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
as the oily fish spit out their oily prey
as the sun is masked
we are
born like this
into this
into these carefully mad wars
into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
into bars where people no longer speak to each other
into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
born into this
into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
born into this
walking and living through this
dying because of this
muted because of this
castrated
debauched
disinherited
because of this
fooled by this
used by this
pissed on by this
made crazy and sick by this
made violent
made inhuman
by this
the heart is blackened
the fingers reach for the throat
the gun
the knife
the bomb
the fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
the fingers reach for the bottle
the pill
the powder
we are born into this sorrowful deadliness
we are born into a government 60 years in debt
that soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
and the banks will burn
money will be useless
there will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
it will be guns and roving mobs
land will be useless
food will become a diminishing return
nuclear power will be taken over by the many
explosions will continually shake the earth
radiated robot men will stalk each other
the rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground
the sun will not be seen and it will always be night
trees will die
all vegetation will die
radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
the sea will be poisoned
the lakes and rivers will vanish
rain will be the new gold
the rotting bodies of men will stink in the dark wind
the last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
and the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
the petering out of supplies
the natural effect of general decay
and there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
awaiting the next chapter.
Fig. 10.
C H O I C E S
People climb tall, dangerous mountains just because they're there.
They also do so just because they can.
People often take the lives of animals just because they're there.
Creatures that creep and crawl, slither and wiggle.
Living entities who were here long before ourselves.
And will likely be around long after.
People sometimes decide to let the small things live,
Not just because they choose to do so,
But just because they can.
D e s i d e r a t a
Max Ehrmann, 1927
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
E v e r R o s e s
No peer hath the rose.
With its sweet perfume for the nose.
Where its buds yearn to bloom,
do not pick even one.
Not until each is done,
let her stay while she waits
So silent in her throne.
You may just forget,
and then with regret,
Feel your skin get pricked by a thorn.
You say, "Ouch!" from the pain,
wonder what was the gain,
from stickers that cause others to mourn.
Roses mean forever,
They are ever for us to name.
They will always have their thorns,
but prickers without a rose? Never!
Nor a love can she ever sever,
together but ever torn.
No equal hath the everose,
The everose blooms forever.
Its buds and blooms in Spring are tethered.
So beautiful is this, thy God's creation,
with blossoms that are His elation,
Still she waits, but is never weathered.
No rival hath the everose,
not in any of Nature's seasons.
Go look, then touch, you'll feel and find,
The stems and thorns, buds and blooms,
Where thrones are seats of silk cocoons.
Reflections in a drop of dew,
The real beauty of the everose is you.
With its sweet perfume for the nose.
Where its buds yearn to bloom,
do not pick even one.
Not until each is done,
let her stay while she waits
So silent in her throne.
You may just forget,
and then with regret,
Feel your skin get pricked by a thorn.
You say, "Ouch!" from the pain,
wonder what was the gain,
from stickers that cause others to mourn.
Roses mean forever,
They are ever for us to name.
They will always have their thorns,
but prickers without a rose? Never!
Nor a love can she ever sever,
together but ever torn.
No equal hath the everose,
The everose blooms forever.
Its buds and blooms in Spring are tethered.
So beautiful is this, thy God's creation,
with blossoms that are His elation,
Still she waits, but is never weathered.
No rival hath the everose,
not in any of Nature's seasons.
Go look, then touch, you'll feel and find,
The stems and thorns, buds and blooms,
Where thrones are seats of silk cocoons.
Reflections in a drop of dew,
The real beauty of the everose is you.
H E R M I T
Lindsey Jane
She’d be like Emily--
A hermit spinster--free
Of poppycock and lies,
Delighting in her ‘me’.
Her friends would fauna be;
Her dreams security.
She’d shutter out sharp eyes--
And shun society.
T o E t e r n i t y
Lindsey Jane
He cast them gently on the wind --
To eternity and the stars beyond;
Now ponder that -- the path ahead --
Might they still breathe, yet so long dead?
Lindsey Jane
He cast them gently on the wind --
To eternity and the stars beyond;
Now ponder that -- the path ahead --
Might they still breathe, yet so long dead?
U N B E A R A B L E
Lindsey Jane
I am the Moon Bear
no moonlight shines in prison
the moon is weeping
I am the Sun Bear
there are no bars on the sun
I burn behind bars
the moon grows dimmer
the sun is growing hotter
free the moon, free the sun
no moonlight shines in prison
the moon is weeping
I am the Sun Bear
there are no bars on the sun
I burn behind bars
the moon grows dimmer
the sun is growing hotter
free the moon, free the sun
On not allowing Chinese Philosophy to Confusi-us
There is a thing confusedly formed,
Born before heaven and earth.
Silent and void,
It stands alone and does not change,
Goes 'round and does not weary.
It is capable of being the mother of the world.
I know not its name,
So I style it the way.
I give it the make-do name of the great.
Being great, it is further described as receding.
Receding, it is imagined as far away.
Being far away, it is described as turning back.
Lao-Tse, Tao Te Ching
(China, circa 600 B.C.)
Only Sometimes
Adrienne L
The thing about passion
consigned to writing
is that most of the time
you are still alone: only now
you're far more aware
of your loneliness.
Yet it does stop me,
but only sometimes,
from being not so alone
with you.
consigned to writing
is that most of the time
you are still alone: only now
you're far more aware
of your loneliness.
Yet it does stop me,
but only sometimes,
from being not so alone
with you.
Only Sometimes, Part Deux
Adrienne L
Sometimes . . . I think, without expression.
You insist on being
a traveler in my life.
Yet still we imagine
-- perpetual love.
I am not a stopover, layover
kind of woman;
nor are you a stopover, layover
kind of man.
Just sometimes . . .
so I put my thoughts to words.
You insist on being
a traveler in my life.
Yet still we imagine
-- perpetual love.
I am not a stopover, layover
kind of woman;
nor are you a stopover, layover
kind of man.
Just sometimes . . .
so I put my thoughts to words.
Cat Chow
Adrienne L
I made you a cake
just like you always dreamed.
White frosting, chocolate center, I baked;
I even threw in raspberry filling!
Little purple cows, instead of pink roses.
No Moxie on it, to ruin the décor.
I left it resting as I had words to compose --
A card for your cake, and a poem; a birthday galore!
I finished my sappy poem when
I heard a funny yowl.
On to the kitchen I did skip,
Hitting my shin -- ouch!
I hopped on one leg, fearing a prowler.
Rounding the corner, with shocked eyes I did see:
My cat licking your cake's frosting!
I yelled, "Get away from that, Callie! You awful, awful cat."
But she didn’t hear me, I don't think.
So I waved my arms and took out a broom,
Stuck it between her tongue and a half-eaten cow's ear.
She ran away, but stopped close by,
To lick her paws with a contented cat-sigh.
I looked at the cake; I had labored so hard,
Trying to make it perfect; you'd been waiting so long.
But other than the blurred ear of a purple cow,
Which wasn’t too marred,
I thought, whew, at least I can fix this . . .
All I need do was replace the wonky-eared cow,
Then box it up for shipping, to my friend, Yemassee.
Though far from perfect now,
He'd never know his cake had been cat chow.
Nor will he notice how I didn't add,
Not even one can of Moxie!
recycle kindness
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