While we're on the subject of alternative headgear

and Thanksgiving, I would like to present this recent discovery from my daughter's closet.
I don't know if Dionysius himself recommended it, but it is good to be nice to your mother-in-law, in any event.

A little something I learned from Dionysus

Songs for the New Depression: Papa Stay and Fight

Papa called me to his side
And told me plain and clear,
“Son, you know my time has come
I have to move from here
Though it breaks my heart to say it
I fear I must take flight
I cannot stay here on the farm.”
I said, “Papa, stay and fight.”

He said, “The land has turned to dust
And there’s no grass or grain
And though all day it thunders,
There’s hail instead of rain
The livestock is all starving
And stricken down with blight.
I cannot stay here on the farm.”
I said, “Papa, stay and fight.”

He said, “The water’s noxious now
There’s nothing left to drink
The creek here runs as red as blood
The fish died, and they stink
The sky’s covered with locusts
The day’s as dark as night
I cannot stay here on the farm.”
I said, “Papa, stay and fight.”

I said, “Papa, we Auerbachs
Have always worked this land
We’ve built the house and barn
With our hard-working hands
We’ve suffered and we’ve struggled
And toiled with all our might.
The farm’s your home”, I said to Papa.
“You must stay and fight.”

He said, “My body’s swollen
And covered with boils and sores
It’s time to cross that river
To a home on the other shore.
And there I will be healed and whole
And bathed in gentle light.
It’s time to go, I can’t stay here.”
I said, “Papa, stay and fight.”

Toy Piano

The show is over
Ended bleakly
No brass band
And no soprano

Out of tune and
Playing weakly
Tinkling on a
Toy piano

Our song still plays on….

Today's Verse: 17 November 2009

Something slipped
my mind
slipped just
out of reach
then out
of sight
then
forgot it
partly
entirely

On the edge
Around the periphery
Obscured by rocks
In shadows
Darkness

Glimpse movement
recognize it
the instant
fleeting
gone
again

Not forgotten

Dig the classic T.

Peter and Jim, thank you for the kind birthday wishes. You make an old roundhouse man's eyes fill with water. I had a delightful Election Day weekend: Juliana took me to Yosemite National Park, where the schedule was more or less the following: early afternoon, hiking; late afternoon, drinking wine; evening, reading Moby Dick. It could only have been improved by the company of old friends.

Happy Birthday Johny!

I hope you're being treated well
From morning until night
That pleasure and fulfillment tell
The story of your life

I hope your noble spirit soars
Through depths to breathless heights
Encompassing the earth and more
Exulting in its flight

I wish that I could be this day
In your cherished company
To wonder at the way we are
And how we came to be

Though far away, you're in my mind
Your presence I perceive
First Jim, now you, have crossed the line
What next shall we conceive?

Half a Century

At half a century
our thoughts begin to tend
towards how we may support ourselves
when colder days descend

At half a century
through spectacles we look
and must resort to stronger ones
when we would read a book

At half a century
one feels assorted aches
and some of them may have to do
with thoughts of past mistakes

At half a century
new lines on face appear
and what we've made ourselves to be
becomes a bit more clear

At half a century
old questions still remain
they rattle round and round within
a more hard-wired brain

At half a century
a friend is still a friend
and may God grant you many years
before your years shall end


Happy Birthday, Johny!

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