On the Last Night at the Beach...
Art of the Snowday
2/24/09 on 2/25/09
Letters to Someone Else #1
Letters to Someone Else #2
Correspondence Abandon
__________

From The Family Notebook
__________

Letters to Someone Else #3
"You Are A Coward"
Eight Good Songs, One Good Meal
They Used Time
Downgraded To Hurricane
Blood Bank
The Understudy
Correspondance Abandon
Mis En Scene
Smoke & Monologue

Elvis

has left the building.

James McIntyre, "Canada's Worst Poet"

"...This included his masterpiece and possibly best-known poem, 'Ode on the Mammoth Cheese Weighing Over 7,000 Pounds,' written about an actual cheese produced in Ingersoll in 1866 and sent to exhibitions in Toronto, New York, and Britain:

We have seen thee, Queen of Cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze;
Thy fair form no flies dare seize. "

"Sum Up: The body and its parts are a river,

the soul a dream and
mist, life
is warfare and a journey
far from home, lasting
reputation is oblivion."

. . . but don't worry
you're only disappearing
because sparks disarm
their makers:

and that that
sounded nice
doesn't mean
it's true,
doesn't it?

This Is By A Poet Named Richard Hoffman, Called "Summer Job", and It Reminded Me of What Your Poems Are Always Saying

“The trouble with intellectuals,” Manny, my boss,
once told me, “is that they don’t know nothing
till they can explain it to themselves. A guy like that,”
he said, “he gets to middle age—and by the way,
he gets there late; he’s trying to be a boy until
he’s forty, forty-five, and then you give him five
more years until that craziness peters out, and now
he’s almost fifty—a guy like that at last explains
to himself that life is made of time, that time
is what it’s all about. Aha! he says. And then
he either blows his brains out, gets religion,
or settles down to some major-league depression.
Make yourself useful. Hand me that three-eights
torque wrench—no, you moron, the other one.”

&

Hardy, you have stunned us
into silence you have numbed us.
I guess this is kind of how it was
all around you, mostly.
I read you once at Oxford.
You were sturdy and dull
as a board,
but your sadness was
the lasting kind.
It didn't tip the balance
only showed new shades
of black in the black.
How to live as we grow older.

The Most Bizarre Love Poem Ever?

"1967" by Thomas Hardy

In five-score summers! All new eyes,
New minds, new modes, new fools, new wise;
New woes to weep, new joys to prize;
With nothing left of me and you

In that live century's vivid view
Beyond a pinch of dust or two;
A century which, if not sublime,
Will show, I doubt not, at its prime,

A scope above this blinkered time.-
Yet what to me how far above?
For I would only ask thereof
That thy worm should be my worm, Love!


16 WESTBOURNE PARK VILLAS, 1867.