You see, I have a painting on my wall,
in an elaborate frame.
Every other day,
I set the painting right.
It must be the building’s vibration
that move it off-center.
Now, I can remedy that,
(I think)
by taping the bottom
of the frame to the wall.
I thought about this the other day.
Then;
What if I remedied the ‘problem’?
Part of my waking routine
would be thrown off- kilter.
Maybe, I am condemned to perform
this silly function by the gods
for some grievous trespass.
Am I like Sisyphus,
condemned to push a boulder
up hill, eternally.
Camus thought Sisyphus
cheated the gods,
by being mortal.
That self esteem
is a work-related ethos.
Maybe I am also cheating the gods.
I enjoy the work.
Puma/MMXI ©
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
SPIDERS
Oh what webs we spin,
not as Humans caught in lies.
The Natural world we live in,
we spin only to catch flies.
Puma/MMXI
not as Humans caught in lies.
The Natural world we live in,
we spin only to catch flies.
Puma/MMXI
Thursday, March 17, 2011
MARCH 17th
I hope to kiss
the Blarney Stone,
my Irish friends
have urged me to.
They say the gift
of gab I’ll get,
with a honey
dipped Irish hue.
Me-thinks I should
partake of same,
and kiss the Stone
in that craggy nook.
To tell my friends
that I’m
an Irishman,
via Facebook.
Saint Patrick’s Day
I will proclaim,
in green apparel
that an Irishman
is in your midst,
roll-out the barrel.
We’ll drink the day
and through the night,
toasting all in
our company.
Don’t worry the
morrow, a day off
to ponder,
one drink too many.
On the 18th
I revert to norm,
and to my roots
return.
As my grand-parents
look down on me,
and do a slow
burn.
An Irishman
for a day,
good fellowship
and its mem’ries.
And now I have
many Irish friends,
as many as
I can see.
So in my fine
tenor voice,
I’ll sing again:
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day,
to all you Irishmen.
Puma/MMXI
Copyright 2011/T.Puma
(Voices in my head, verses to be read)
the Blarney Stone,
my Irish friends
have urged me to.
They say the gift
of gab I’ll get,
with a honey
dipped Irish hue.
Me-thinks I should
partake of same,
and kiss the Stone
in that craggy nook.
To tell my friends
that I’m
an Irishman,
via Facebook.
Saint Patrick’s Day
I will proclaim,
in green apparel
that an Irishman
is in your midst,
roll-out the barrel.
We’ll drink the day
and through the night,
toasting all in
our company.
Don’t worry the
morrow, a day off
to ponder,
one drink too many.
On the 18th
I revert to norm,
and to my roots
return.
As my grand-parents
look down on me,
and do a slow
burn.
An Irishman
for a day,
good fellowship
and its mem’ries.
And now I have
many Irish friends,
as many as
I can see.
So in my fine
tenor voice,
I’ll sing again:
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day,
to all you Irishmen.
Puma/MMXI
Copyright 2011/T.Puma
(Voices in my head, verses to be read)
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
ASH WEDNESDAY
I see the spot
on my forehead
through the
looking glass.
I am again
reminded of
my mortality.
After half-century
of Ashes,
it is more symbolic than ever:
as I really don't need
any more reminders.
(or do i?).
Puma/MMXI
on my forehead
through the
looking glass.
I am again
reminded of
my mortality.
After half-century
of Ashes,
it is more symbolic than ever:
as I really don't need
any more reminders.
(or do i?).
Puma/MMXI
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