• Poetry Snark
  • Sunday, December 10, 2006

    O Deary

    Friends, friends, onea & all, so long has it been & here am I, sunk in the dregs of another fine grenache, my wits quite shattered upon the rocky shoal of drunken logic, & yet I find within me the very fire that burned long ago, unvanquished after so long, preserved in a kind of fromaldehyde of sentiment & logic as a grey mass of brain in a small undergraduate biology fishtank, left for the rubber-gloved hands of inchoate lads & lasses who know no better than to feel in their febrile young fingers the glowing call center of the body electric, yes, yes, the body politic, friends, & who know no better than to judge it paramount when its conversation with the heart is something so much more divine! Yes, yes, like comparing a jarlsburg, say, to a fine cotswald indeed! Ah, but I digress, though feeble have I been, enfeebled, feeblized, enduring feeble-hood, the event of feebleness as dear Quine would have it (oh that rascal of radical indeterminacy! the devil itself!)! But all is well, dear friends, as I will further illuminate, though for the time being I am admittedly entirely inebriate. Dear me! Ah me, Ah my, what have I at my fingertips but drunken nubs!

    Monday, August 07, 2006

    O Sweet Convolescence

    My dearest chappies, such a good while it has been, & I hope that the time has found you feasting at the banquet table of sweet surfeit, a golden fork in one hand & a delicate pastrie hoisted erstwhile in the other. Your host bids adieu to an unwelcome bout of scurrilous proportions, indeed, yes, a rather formidable hybrid of walking pneumonia, the gout & an irritable digestive tract, the details of which I pledge henceforth to keep hidden under lock & key, for the good of your wellbeing, &, indeed, the very efficacy of the world community. I'll here be brief, but pass along the tidings of my merrymakers, yes, yes, B.W. Dictionary himself, friends, & W.C. Rogers as well, both alive & alert & well. All tidings good!

    Tuesday, February 21, 2006

    Cotswald

    The finest double Gloucester, in my humble eye.

    Saturday, October 08, 2005

    O, Anacreon

    Pesky, yes, yes, the little trifles of man upon opening his mouth to speak, upon placing his fingertips upon the charcoal keys, yes, & so absurdly righteous, so rife with passing indignation & a particular breed of intransigence that he will one day surely come to regard as assanine & riddled with youthful folly. O, dear me, friends, but for a draught of cool vintage, yes, yes, so said Keats in a moment of subsuming despair. I think I'll away to madelaines & krumpets, yes, & the oolong which stirs in my blood some forgotten ode of yore. I'll away, friends, & find myself a shore for skipping stones.

    Wednesday, July 27, 2005

    Artifacts

    Ah friends betimes in my silence I wondered at these posts like a lazy Oriental wonders at the slow music of the bamboo rushes in the quivering gust. Then, I often refocused my thoughts on the peculiar hue of green found metallic & shimmering on the fly's wing, too.