nEW cAMOUFLAGE fOR THE kNIGHTS OF THE bESMIRCHED cOUNTENANCE

Where I would Like to Live.

Now Where DID I Put That Soap Powder?

Grit In The Gears

The Internet Anagram Server: via Red Dirt Girl, via Princess Haiku

Grit In The Gears:-

Retreat Sighing
Eager Thirsting
Targeting Heirs
Earthing Tigers
Garter Nighties
Hat Registering
A Greeting Shirt
A Tighteners Rig
Greasing Her Tit

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i sing of Olaf glad and big. e.e.cummings

i sing of Olaf glad and big
whose warmest heart recoiled at war:
a conscientious object-or

his wellbelovéd colonel(trig
westpointer most succinctly bred)
took erring Olaf soon in hand;
but--though an host of overjoyed
noncoms(first knocking on the head
him)do through icy waters roll
that helplessness which others stroke
with brushes recently employed
anent this muddy toiletbowl,
while kindred intellects evoke
allegiance per blunt instruments--
Olaf(being to all intents
a corpse and wanting any rag
upon what God unto him gave)
responds,without getting annoyed
"I will not kiss your fucking flag"

straightway the silver bird looked grave
(departing hurriedly to shave)

but--though all kinds of officers
(a yearning nation's blueeyed pride)
their passive prey did kick and curse
until for wear their clarion
voices and boots were much the worse,
and egged the firstclassprivates on
his rectum wickedly to tease
by means of skilfully applied
bayonets roasted hot with heat--
Olaf(upon what were once knees)
does almost ceaselessly repeat
"there is some shit I will not eat"

our president,being of which
assertions duly notified
threw the yellowsonofabitch
into a dungeon,where he died

Christ(of His mercy infinite)
i pray to see;and Olaf,too

preponderatingly because
unless statistics lie he was
more brave than me:more blond than you.

E. E. Cummings

Hmmmm: A rarity... an e.e.cummings poem with capital letters.
-ponder on that.

Thank You Everybody

It's the middle of the night, and I'n really too tired to type, but it has to be said, I've had a great birthday, and I've laughed a lot.
Red Dirt Girl set the ball rolling here.
How she came up with so many great photos amazes me.
Steve's boots were great,
Minx's cake,,,

Oh i can't keep my eyes open.
More tomorrow
But thank you, everybody,
I'll try do a round-up tomorrow

Thank You, I've been smiling all day.

Helium Horses Revisited.

Some of you may recall the announcement by Soubriquet Labs of the July launch of our lighter-than-air horses. Here's the link.
Well, the new, improved product is now available, in show and dressage form. Racing Helium-Horses are in the development stage:- We find that short spurts of jet-aided speed may at present lead to reduced buoyancy, and so we are retuning the DNA code to get a tighter and more calibrated sphincter.
You can enquire about advance ordering, and get on the list, however.
Here is a photograph of one of our show-horses.
We recommend rather heavier shoes than the example in the picture, however, in order to avoid the 'curled-up' stance.
Lighter shoes may lead to inverted flight.

Goats and Bicycles

When I posted my doggerel about tygers and cheesecake, it contained a reference to bicycles that would seem cryptic were it read by someone who had not read:-

The Bicycle
- by Jerzy Harasymowicz

once
forgotten by tourists
a bicycle joined
a herd
of mountain goats

with its splendidly turned
silver horns
it became
their leader

with its bell
it warned them
of danger

with them
it partook
in romps
on the snow covered
glade

the bicycle
gazed from above
on people walking;
with the goats

it fought
over a goat,
with a bearded buck

it reared up at eagles
enraged
on its back wheel

it was happy
though it never
nibbled at grass

or drank
from a stream



until once
a poacher
shot it

tempted
by the silver trophy
of its horns

and then
above the Tatras was seen
against the sparkling
January sky

the angel of death erect
slowly
riding to heaven
holding the bicycle's
dead horns.

(trans. from Polish by Edmund Ordon)


This poem I found on Red Dirt Girl's now defunct poetry blog, and her own response to it follows.

"Today I was posting a poem that wasn’t my own.
About a bicycle, goats and two silver horns.
I sat at the table and started to type.
I realized: I’m wrong!
This poem has some bite!
So I tasted and chewed.
I digested and fed.
I savored and swallowed.
The juices ran red.
Now, his words, they are mine.
They float and they slumber.
They run thru my veins.
They’ve invaded my thoughts.
They live in my brain.
The bicycle image, goats, angel and snow,
I see in my dreams.
Film moving slow.
So this is my poem:
A tribute of sorts,
an ode to a bicycle
and some odd mountain goats."
08/2006 Red Dirt Girl.