Thursday, January 5, 2012

The Wife (2010- Sad Attempt at humor)

Stricken with grief, the wife
Lies prostrate on her bed. A
Single strand of beads, a flower
Or a surprise nicety is what I
Didn't get. Torn is her
Flowing gown and dull her
Hair, a few hours of extravagance
Sounded only fair. "A heartless
Villain you are!", quoth she.
Not a kiss, gesture or a
Trifle for me? With tears
In her eyes and heart of
Dismay, on gravel steps of
The mansion, defiant she lay.
Tried and tried I, to raise
Her thus, so she sits beside
Me without ruckus. The neighbors
Took turns to steal my pride,
Jests and blames they hurled
To comfort my sordid bride.
Stones here and eggs there
Threw the urchins at me,
All for I displeased their
Generous aunty. I know, I know
Where all this comes from. Muffins
And cakes for snotty kids simmer
In the kitchen. Alas! For I had only
Sought a peaceful life and a loving
Wife and a dwelling, an abode.
But, here I am a doleful male,
Naked in the butt with draconian
Blame. All of this and much more,
Coz I forgot my wallet and had
Left the door!

The Mundane

Rise above the mundane. Ok... so if life is then a bread where do I find the intellectual yeast? The self cant produce that continually. The self has limits in that its limitless and digresses into producing other products of human pursuit and thought. So... The yeast. Where is it?