December 05, 2007

Dearly Beloved….

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of November. It died silently in the passing of night, and we shall miss it dearly.

I have little excuse for this. All I did was do a show or two and some essays. I'll try and keep this blog for the winter.

Here's some of the stuff I did in November for ICW. To start with, a malediction or cursing poem.


Most would be content

To live at peace, in ease

Of simple pleasures,

Never striving or demanding

How others should act.

Not you.

You would measure virtue with a ruler,

Say, ‘Here you miss the mark,

There you need more effort.

You lack the precision needed.

Try again with more passion.”

But who are you?

Who gives you right to command

With no franchise in yourself?

Why not measure yourself with your

Harsh rule?

What punishment could serve you, toad?

The proscriber should be neatened:

Extremities removed. Fingers and toes,

Then hands and feet.

To pin your arms up, people would say

‘Such a right angle! Set that square!’

And plant a compass in your heart.

But to correct your gluttony?

Maybe it’s fitter to choke on excess

Let your pleasure become your gag

Of heavy bondage.

No: to be stretched and torn in two

Is the fate of a hypocrite like you.

Ok, there's that one done. The second half of that assignment was to read this poem again and write its antonymic equivalent, blessing someone. It wasn't my best work, but if there's room in someone's heart for this, enjoy.


Some can’t be usurous:

To die in war, in spite

To knowing hardships?

Always yielding or bending –

‘Why are you idle?’

- Are they.

You don’t value sin on the Bible,

Ask ‘Where do they gain a loss

Where they want less slack?’

You have a faith, desired,

Won. Never without some reason.

But who are you?

What steals their wrongs of conquest

By one poverty of their souls?

How can you love others at one

Sweet whim?

Why do I demand much less

If you achieve charity?

Which blessing would be unfit from them, dear?

A liberator must be freed.

The innermost gained, heart and mind,

Then grasp and soul.

To pull their legs down, I would ask

What’s this wronged, smooth flow, this circle

Or seed? A compass in your heart.

And from sancitons, their charity?

Certainly that’s excess: from breath of poverty

Deny their penance, being their voice

For light relief.

Yes: to be loosed and saved as whole

Will be a blessing by this saint of all.

I know that it is not a masterpiece. No hating please, just submitting what I came up with.

Working on some projects at the moment. One of them a Cassandra project I may have mentioned before, the other is just the editing of a previously written story.

Will talk later.

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