Found Poems, News & Politics, Poetry

No God is He

This another found poem, this time from the Iliad, Book X (steal from the best, right?). One year 24 days 16 hours 48 minutes 14 seconds to go.

No God is He
(a found poem)

In his soul he found best counsel,
to contrive some right device
for the warding off of evil.

Then, over wide waters come,
and raised his strong hand
and as a god was honored
and glad the loud war-cry.

Good counsel help and save.

But none should undertake this deed
The ships have turned
and turned again
The sacrifices set
in his heart,
not in ours.

One man devised terrible deeds
Wrought on sons and daughters
No god is he.

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Sweet

When I left the house this morning, the air smelled sweet and wonderful. That would never happen in Muncie. I don’t know if it’s because there are so many trees here or because the wind patterns take Gary’s air to Muncie. Whatever the reason, it always seems to smell good here, especially in the early mornings. Muncie, not so much. I lived there for almost 20 years, and I don’t recall ever thinking the air smelled sweet.

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Stay Weird, Freecycle

Someone posted to the local Freecycle group, offering a bag of table clothes. My table could use a sporty new pair of jeans, I think. Or maybe a hoodie.

There was a message to another group, in reply to a post containing a link, asking for the link to be reposted. The link, of course, was in the unsnipped portion to which the person was replying. And even if it weren’t, why can’t people just go to the group archives and look up the old post? What is wrong with people?!

Crankypantsing

Black Thumb of Doom

Coworker 1 asked me to water her plants. I warned her about the Black Thumb of DQQM, but she was unimpressed. That’ll learn her.

Then, the next day, the uber-boss asked me to water her plants, and while I was explaining to her why that was a horrible plan, Coworker 2 walked up, butted in, and asked me to water his plants, too. What the hell is wrong with people? Can they not see that mine is the only cube unadorned by green, growing things? And it’s not like I’m the only person working this week.

I’m secretly hoping that Coworker 2’s plants do croak. I wouldn’t deliberately harm them, but if my Plantular Death Ray has to be focused somewhere, it may as well be on his plants as anyone else’s. It’d serve him right for being a buttinsky.

Coworker 1: She left specific instructions to water them on the 26th, and to give the first plant half the container of water, then to split the second half between the other two plants. I did as she said with the first two plants, but the third one is low enough for me to see the dirt. And it was wet. I have a feeling that someone–custodians, perhaps?–watered her plants before I did. I should have felt them first, to see if they were actually dry. Damn! So now, two of her plants are surely swimming in an ocean of water.

Uber-boss: One of her African violets is actually flowering. Please, if there is a God, it will not be dead when she returns.

Coworker 2: Three spider plants, which would be just about impossible for anyone else to kill. We’ll see. I have to water them again on Friday, so it’s early days yet.

Pets, Photography

Boxering Day Blogging

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I’ve tried a few times to teach Harriet to sit in the spinny chair, but she’s wanted no part of it. No way, no how, won’t even put her front paws on it. Today, I gave it another shot, and we achieved dog-in-spinny-chairness. Yay!

She now knows how to get up and off on command (she knew both commands, but she thought the spinny chair should be excepted), even when it’s not being held steady for her. She also learned how to sit on it long enough to have her picture taken.

Good girl!

Altered Books, Art, Collage, Found Poems, Poetry

The Departed & The Chosen

The Departed & The Chosen

The Departed & The Chosen
collage (altered Polaroid, map, anatomical illustration, and child’s dress pattern) with Neocolors II in altered book
9 3/8 x 11 3/4 inches

The Departed (a found poem)
Our departure
cost nothing less
and offered freedom
from entanglement.

The Chosen (a found poem)
The chosen
arranged
according to the measure
of influence and power.

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Harry and David

I’m cat sitting over the holidays, and my first stop was tonight. The owners received Harry and David fruit boxes, and had extras, so they left some for me and the sitter who’s taking the second shift.

Oh. My. I thought I didn’t like red delicious apples. I periodically try them, but they are always mealy and dry, and without fail, they taste like a wad of old newspaper. Not these, though. I just had the crispest, juiciest, most flavorful apple ever. EVAR!1!eleventy!!!

Harry and David, I LOVE YOU IN ALL CAPS!