I Have To Call My Liar
Entry for 2017-03-25

I have to call my liar.
I have to find out where I stand,
whom to sue for two hundred grand
or whether to start out higher,
to go into court with brimming eyes
and, later, compromise

Before I get much older,
some tortious taunt flung up at me
from the jowling jaws who prowl my tree
will fill a manila folder
with all of the proofs that I require.
I have to call my liar.
Vlad the Impaler

Proposition X
Entry for 2017-03-22

I've always thought "X" should come after "Y" in the alphabet, at least in Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Texas (and Hawaii if they ever learn to spell it correctly). Don't you agree? This being a democracy (or, for republicans, a republic), the issue should be decided by popular vote. Proposition X will be on the ballot in May if I can get enough signatures. So far I have one, possibly two. If you're in favor, talk it up.

Entry for 2017-03-20

I wish I knew more goths:
visible goths, prosperous goths,
high goths and low,
goths to talk to and be seen with,
goths to sing, goths to sit around,
tell gothic tales, goths to ring
bells of gothic cathedrals,
strenuous goths to climb
trees, trample barberry,
waving their arms, yelling,
ferocious goths to run
half naked through the woods,
goths to worry the huns

The Great Chain of Being
Entry for 2017-03-18

Father Cog
taught me everything I know;
for example, the Creator,
quintessentially a peach,
would insist
on inventing every being
that could possibly exist
on the hierarchic chain:
     devil, dog,
lobster, angel, saint and sot,
there were purposes for each
though not all of them were caught
by Father Cog,
who, no matter how he tried,
learned at half the speed he taught,
so he soon ran out of reasons
     and he died

There's a great chain of being
in the sod.

When a spirit is released
and the earth accepts its prize,
down the strata of existence
from bacterium to grub
comes the feast:
breeding humus, feeding roots,
every lichen gets its shrub,
every chub that nibbles shoots
     comes to dinner.

Seedlings sprout and saplings rise,
bumblebees are jamboreeing,
creatures every shape and size
through the great chain of being:
true salvation for the sinner.

Decomposing, man ascends,
     resurrecting from the bog,
and his destiny unlimbers
as he lumbers up the timbers.
In the branches, birds are singing,
"Father Cog!"

Oral Genesis
Entry for 2017-03-16

Excerpted from Please and Thank You (filed under "Articles")
In the beginning is the word—the first word—ordinarily "Bap" or some such utterance, but Baby receives few smiles and precious little strained applesauce for that. Instead, Baby is given gentle, soothing, grinning suggestions from Mother and Father for alternatives to saying Bap. Say Ma-Ma? Say Da-Da?
Finally, Baby begins to learn: one is expected to say the expected, and that is what brings on most of life's rewards. Words other than the expected words are not words at all. They are noises. There is neither glory nor applesauce awaiting a person who merely drools and makes noises.
If Baby says "Glrrch" or "Syzygy" or "Cogito ergo sum," those are just noises—failures to pronounce Mama or Dada or Bawbaw—and thus education begins. Out of the mouths of babes, wisdom is recognizable only when it is the wisdom rehearsed there by prevailing adults: parents at one stage, teachers and preachers at another, and greater authorities later on.