[lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Poem

  • From: david ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Sat, 29 Oct 2005 23:49:57 -0700

Hugo Ball once emerged from a lake, having completely failed to drown himself. He left his jacket in a puddle and his brain, the mother of all muddlers, thrust regrets like gall up his throat, nagged him not to ruin his best coat.

It's true.

A woman I met called Vesper,
born in Bombay,
said her grannie, Annie--
the first to get the name--
cried, when she was young,
as a nearby bell was rung.

Lucky it wasn't a Death Knell.

I heard last week of a man who hit the DADA lode.
He lived in a land where the means arose
right out of the ground
and then they would sidle up,
like real estate cowboys
to catch you unawares.
Politicians there rock,
priests keep their frocks,
but the future's hocked.

A million housewives every day,
pick up a tin of beans and say,
"Bush means beans."

David Ritchie
Portland, Oregon

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