I’m sorry about not keeping up my blog posts, but everything got interrupted for me this summer when my congenital heart murmur (leaky valve) finally began to exact its toll. I spent a few days in hospital, have been home now for three weeks. Doing fine but not doing very much — and that looks to be the way it will be for a while.
Pard is a great help in not getting anything done except lying around more or less ornamentally. I am learning this art from a true master.
So I won’t try to keep blogging, though I miss it, and hope maybe I can post something now and then. Even if it’s just silly poems. Like these.
I tried to write a distich
but it turned antagonistic
and tried to rhyme with biscuit
and I don’t know how to fix it.
So I try to write a tercet
such a pretty little verset
but no matter how I nurse it
it’s another quatrain, curse it!
As I was walking by the sea
I met a Phor that said to me,
“O will you be my Simile?”
I said: “Although it pains me sore,
And probably will pain you more,
I’m not, and do not, like you, Phor.”
So I went on by the sea-side
And met a Morphosis, who cried,
“O Simile, come be my bride!”
I sighed: “Whatever change you bring,
I’ll wear your transubstantial ring,
For I love you like anything!”
So, in alternate woe and bliss,
Sometimes like that, sometimes like this,
I live as Mrs. Morphosis.
He wears a striking suit of black:
Long sleeves in front – short pants in back.
White is his tie, and white his shirt,
Immaculate of stain or dirt.
On his white stockings, from the rear,
Two ornamental spots appear,
Serving to lessen the albedo
Of his unusual tuxedo.