Mijn Nieuwe Armband

Dan niet euthanaseren me!

Shorter Leda and the Swan

Reduced to a Haiku.

Gods and mortals, eked
From a woman's loins; Great God:
He flipped her the bird.

Original can be found here.

Utterly Predictaible

Really.

I knew this was going to happen.

H/T to Keiran Healy at C. T.
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Haiku Wednesday - Inhibition

Inhibition

Why think outside the

Box, but let inhibitions

Box in how you act?

But wait - there's more!

I hadn't written a sonnet in a while, but was reminded recently about this one by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Her musings here are not fanciful. Besides being a genuinely great poet, she was both bisexual and wildly promiscuous.

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why (Sonnet XLIII) 

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,

I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more. 

I wrote this response - or parody, if you want to see it that way.  I was especially taken with the imagery of the tree, and tried to use it to good effect.  I also tried to keep her end-rhyme words, but couldn't quite make that work.  I did keep the same rhyme scheme, and rhymes.  By some odd coincidence, it also fits today's haiku theme.


What lips my lips have missed, and stayed too dry:
The breath of comely girls, and young - or plain,
Their damp breath uninhaled. But now the rain
Makes the air moist tonight, Not ghosts that sigh

In forlorn memories of sad goodbye.
And in my heart there stirs a quiete pain
For girls untouched, unkissed, without a stain
Who never thrilled me with a midnight cry.

What memories has a lonely barren tree
Of lovely birds who flew past one by one
Whose brief beguiling echoed "Nevermore?"
No memories of nests it's never known.

The Summer-song unsung holds fast to me
In Winter's age, more precious than before.

Copyright 2010 JazzBumpa 

Synchronicity

As a companion piece to my last post, here is a rather too-long, nicely performed, moderately amusing, and totally wrong-headed take on the Dollar.  H/T to Naked Capitalism.

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What the Hell? Friday Part 2: The Free Market Fairy

Adam Smith didn't quite get it right.  It isn't the INVISIBLE HAND that magically restores all markets at all times everywhere to perfect frictionless efficiency, it is the wand-waving of the FREE MARKET FAIRY.

I'm pretty sure I can't take total credit for this startling discovery. It flowered in discussions here and at Bad Tux's place. If he didn't have a visible hand in creating this notion, he at least encouraged and nurtured it in not-too-subtle ways.

I will, however, stake claim to the idea that the visible manifestation of the FREE MARKET FAIRY is an image of Milton Friedman in drag.

Full credit to BT for actually locating his (her?, its?) picture.

Free Market Fairy

Wave your wand, for rational,

Efficient magic.

What the Hell?!? Friday

Yes, it is Christmas.  But, it is also Friday.

So - what the hell - it might also be  C’thrishm’sh!
 
Which could mean a visit from  Sog-Nug-hotep 
 
It's possible, isn't it?  Just, maybe, with enough love and craft, that, "On this odd day squid may abide with you?"

May you be blessed with a ten-tentacular day of cheer, love, joy and mollusks.

Friday Doggerel* Blogging

                          TIGER!**

Tiger, Tiger burning bright

With endorsements left and right,

Inquiring minds now want to know

Everywhere you come and go.

In what distant bed or lair

Do you toss? Why do we care?

With each Hottie you aspire,

Our imaginations fire.

Now what inviting body part

Twists the sinews of thy heart?

When you twist with thy sinews

We see it on the evening news!

And when you seek to roam again

In what furnace is thy brain?

The dreaded iron in Elin's fist

Is treacherous. Good thing she missed!

When you stand upon a tee

Do you expect to hit a tree?

And when the last hole has been made

Do you plan to crash your Escalade?

Tiger, Tiger burning bright

With endorsements left and right

Inquiring minds now want to know

Everywhere you come and go.

Copyright JazzBumpa. All rights reserved. Yep - even for this.

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* Or, in this case, possibly catterel
** Counterpoint. Or, more bluntly stated.

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Sunday Music Blogging

Mamma!

Anyway, you can never have enough Muppets!
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Wednesday Poetry Blogging

To Mary Shelley

O Monster mine, that life were here
In your dead eyes bringing fear.
To give you voice, so like a lizard
Croaking to its scaly mate.
In the slimy bog disconsolate!
Voice as a howling winter blizzard!
And your brow broad . . .
As the . . . sky.
Taken from a poor dead guy.

Monster mine, come to life soon,
This quest has taken me so far;
Tonight under the clouded moon,
With lightning from the western star
Thou, monster art art to me.

Oh, monster mine, when life is thine
The Castle echoes, "Frankenstein."


Alas, another pastiche*, modeled after a love poem** by Percy Bysshe Shelley, written to his wife Mary in 1818, the year her famous novel was published.

Copyright JazzBumpa.  All rights reserved.  Wrongs, too.
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* Composed rather spontaneously*** on 8/17/09.
** (Sigh) Is nothing sacred? Actually -- no.
*** Yeah, I've still got it.**** Whatever "it" is.
**** Maybe I missed a vaccination.