Wednesday 28 September 2005

(incomplete and undone)

Morning came quickly with transitory light
Questions slept on wake clothed in shape
Seeking answers over cantalope and tea
In the problem with me.

The grip of manmade affection
Woven round our frame by name,
While self love in the marrow of our bones
Uses the power of anger kicking at birth.

Monday 26 September 2005

All in the fall

When diving off a boat, in the drop from a tree, by a misstep from sidewalk to subway, men make leaps every day. Of both good and bad effect, he risks his life limb by limb to achieve a common good of work for wages, work for the job's sake, working to lift up those who can't help themselves. Whether we enjoy it or not, the work must go on; the services must be rendered that satisfy our coffers and fill our neighbour's need.

Wednesday 21 September 2005

Fasting or Feasting

What matters the body to the man except for the fact that the one cannot walk the earth with out the other? The fasters wax eloquent upon their personally experienced fact of health and longevity from their controlled regimes, while the feasters run for the full taxing of every cell in the sacred name of pleasure, and neither the worse for trying. We try to gain life, or we try to lose it. Either way, we fail in the bold attempt to catch the best of life. The reward of the dutiful eludes his grasp; the pleasing of the hedonist endures upon repetition. For what do we seek, but to be repaired like the well worn shoe? The body, it renews while dying every day; the heart, it mends from every blow while softening from the impact. We don't really want to lose self--but to remake a new one out of the best of the old.

Friday 16 September 2005

Adding to the Family

Two adoptees from an unknown Enidian's discard pile today: Oscar Wilde, a biographical tome by Richard Ellman and the burgundy hardbound edition of World's Classics: Tennyson to Whitman.

But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
............................The Lady of Shalott?
Lord Tennyson