Tag Archives: wit

The Last Word: amphigory

Both must belong to neither’s outside in;
besides, it’s either up or down or spin.
And anyway, what’s more is always less,
and wears at Tuesday noon its Sunday best.

What’s done is almost never cooked quite through,
and makes its water difficult to chew;
in circumspect, this marching on the square
leaves enemies and friends left unaware.

When drinking, alcohol against the grain
results in disagreeable refrains:
a slurry-o of words as thick as soup
fit only for a wooden handled scoop.

And neither’s out is destined to begin:
the game’s afoot immersed in bathtub gin,
and anyway, leaves no one to beguile
nor stack the bodies on the funeral pile.

What’s started well is finished half well off,
and left for those pigs swilling at the trough.
I would again, but really, what’s the use?
The one with the last word gets the abuse.

09 JAN 2017

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So-Called Simpleton’s Rag: a ditty

Find your feet and clap your hands!
Dig the rhythm of the band!
There’s no need to understand
or to worry where we’ll land.

Raise your voice and sing along!
Make some words up, right or wrong!
You will find that you belong
right here in this happy throng.

Drain your glass and grab another!
Greet your neighbor as your brother!
Now’s the time, there is no other
out there waiting to discover.

Dance, and by gods, leap for joy!
Every single girl and boy!
Nothing on earth can destroy
gladness, if it’s well employed.

Hop and skip, make hue and cry!
Kiss your cares and woes goodbye!
There is no good reason why
not to live before you die.

It’s not much – not cute or pretty,
neither smart nor wise or witty.
For that reason, more the pity,
no one’s bound to like this ditty.

19 DEC 2012

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I would un-Crowley Rabelais
to taste, unplagiarized
the simple, yet sarcastic truths
that Aleister disguised:

that man, if left the sole device
of acting with free will
would, after some adjustment,
neither harm, debase or kill

but would instead seek Beauty, Truth,
and other worthy aims
eschewing constant upmanship
and endless win-lose games,

learning to laugh, first, at one’s self,
to recognize, and know,
that wisdom’s parent is compassion
freed from the ego.

I wonder, sometimes, why so few
who hunger after power
spend all their time out of control
and memorize for hours

arcane instructions, complex spells,
and pompous, trumped up rites,
the rule of mankind, not themselves,
the target in their sights.

Oh, Rabelais, your rapier wit
so sadly has been turned
into a comedy for fools,
and nothing has been learned.

06 MAY 2005

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