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A mindless mountain: an ice calf gestating for centuries; birthing asunder, in an unceremonial, engulfing, splashing, plunging roar to pasture with kindred and kin in icy, dark, crowded seas. Afloat!- independent, awesome, bearing a haughty, gladitorial splendor: Sterling white in the iciclely light, heeding naught but wind and wave. Deceptive, but with the brow above the aquatic plains. Hard, brittle translucent--peril to all including self: Drifting aimlessly, a mindless, amorphous engine of primeval power on a mission of self-destruction, heedless of shattering cleaving clashes, taken or given. Frozen and foreboding, doomed to roam Ceaselessly until, surreptitiously seduced by warmth: to slowly bleed, reducing the frigid voyager to more and more of less and less. The last drops dissipated, assimilated until it is naught, but a single tear on the waves and gone. Obedient -- to the end -- To a purpose known to none... ...and the seas are very still once more. |
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My Coo-Coo Clock Just me and my antiques; Locks on doors and windows Against burglar or thief. I'm an honest man And my moral standards high; And to the ten suggestions I religiously comply. My Coo-Coo clock's a beauty Of old world design; At ten she was up for her routine But instead she barfed the time. I took her to the "Clock-Doc" And this my ridiculed ears heard: Laughing like some wild hyena "You got a pregnant Coo-Coo bird?" I explained my problems To the hospital and the unversity; In a huff they threatened lawsuits Accusing me of pornography. I dial emergency at nine-one-one Who rushed to solve my woe; They asked me how I knew, Told them "A little birdy told me so." The judge was not understanding, So hear I perch in jail. And I'll sell a special Coo-Coo clock 'Cause I just can't make bail. |
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Weeds...! Nor is the "weed" less deserving, of spring or summer showers. The French named a tenacious weed "Tooth of the Lion!" Having fought it tooth and claw, the king of the lawn resists denying. A small yellow globe of flower is said to taint a lawn. Yet so hardy it will prosper - long after the lawn is gone. Never an ode or poets praise To a weed so unrefined; And credits not to the flower - power of the delicious poor man's wine. The aggressive green, cooked or raw, Is superbly more delicious; Compared with showy produce greens, and vastly more nutritious. When bloom is gone, a gray seed orb is all that's really there. And on the slightest tease of breeze Dainty seed pirouette with flair. Kindly grant a second look to the "Tooth of the Lion" flying. And somehow - something different see: like the beautiful...Dandelion. |