The morning person loves the return to Standard Time. The extra hour in the morning is gold. Sure it gets dark an hour earlier but when the day’s work is done the morning person is thinking of bed anyway.
The poet sees his poems as
His children and descendants
The reader is the jury-judge
The poem, the defendant
When someone brags up some certain thing
As though he’s its promoter appointed
My expectations grow unreasonably high
So skip it. Be not disappointed
People love tracing their family tree, but why? If you could be transported back to say 1066 to meet your relatives, it would be…awkward.
Hwæt, how’s your Old English?
Taste and intelligence are completely unconnected, as is the desire for order. So a person’s character will be as random as a spin of the slot machine.
The empire that killed Christians collapsed long ago, but its ruins have gotten into the water to the extent it’s hard now to know where to go or what to do to be a martyr.
Being a martyr once meant something noble. Now it means bringing everyone around you down.
My ego self asks
Did you see me today?
My deep self replies
Get outta the way!
I am a broken up road
Not in this life to be fixed.
Let others walk on my good parts
While the Lord smoothes my ditch.
Love is doing what makes the other happy while saving dirty looks for off camera.
You've brought me back to Elementary School Religion classes and all the fabulous stories of the martyr saints. Sebastian, Agnes, Bernadette, Maria Goretti. These days, I worry that Democracy is at stake.
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