Sunday, September 20, 2020
Saturday, September 19, 2020
Friday, September 18, 2020
2021 Best Colleges in America: Harvard Leads the University Rankings (WSJ)
Where a woman spreads her love
Where a woman spreads her love
her power comes from Christ above.
No king commands the grace we feel
when women use their cordial zeal.
Her spirit soft and warm defeats
the devils in their brazen seats,
and distills upon the weak
peace to spirit and physique.
Thursday, September 17, 2020
Experiments in Collage: Vol. 16
In case you didn't realize it, each of these experiments are postcards mailed to journalists, government officials, and private friends.
Let us find some poison spray
"Hours before law enforcement forcibly cleared protesters from Lafayette Square in early June amid protests over the police killing of George Floyd, federal officials began to stockpile ammunition and seek devices that could emit deafening sounds and make anyone within range feel like their skin is on fire, according to an Army National Guard major who was there." Washington Post.
Let us find some poison spray
that will send those pests away
from protesting all the time;
it is simply such a crime!
Stockpile weapons for the use
'gainst those crazies on the loose!
Heat rays, like in H.G. Wells,
will elicit traitor yells.
Free speech has its limits here,
and should always go in fear.
This ain't Russia, no sirree:
Land of the Bunk and Lynching Bee!
Wednesday, September 16, 2020
Prose Poem: Dead Birds.
I ran into Brad in the lobby of our apartment building.
He was getting mail.
So was I.
"Long time no see" he said, smiling.
"Many moons" I replied.
"Been keeping busy?" he asked.
"Not so much. Taking it easy." I said.
"How about you?"
"Oh" he said, "just hanging around the apartment.
"Haven't been out for a month."
"Nowhere?" I asked.
"Nowhere" he said.
"I keep up with the world online,
like everyone else I guess."
I pulled my mail out of the box,
ripping it nearly
in half.
"Did you hear about the dead birds
in New Mexico?" he asked me.
"Seems I heard something like that, yeah."
"Well,' now he was off and running.
"Well, there's all these dead birds falling
out of the sky -- and nobody knows why"
"Izzat so?" I said.
"Sure" he kept on going. "Scientists
say it's climate change and air quality."
"Canaries in a coal mine" I told him.
"Wazzat?" he asked, looking very puzzled.
"Skip it" I said. I wanted
to go get dinner.
But Brad was not done.
In fact, he was just warming up.
"They can't dig mass graves fast enough
for 'em" he said in what he must have thought
was a sepulchral voice.
"It could cause some kind of avian flu,
on top of the virus" he said.
"Oh, I bet some of 'em are just stunned;
they'll pop right up again and fly away"
I said, easing towards the exit.
When it looked like he was going to
follow me out, to tell me more,
I said in a stage whisper: "Maybe
they'll turn into zombie birds. Who
knows what those crazy scientists
have released into the atmosphere?"
He looked startled, then worried.
Without another word he ran to
the elevator and was gone.
Good riddance.
I don't need paranoid hermits
just before a meal.
The chow mein takeout
around the corner is quite good.
So I stepped outside
and was hit on the head
by a falling magpie.
Then another one fell at my feet.
"Good gravy!" I exclaimed.
Both of the magpies got up,
shook their wings, and looked
straight at me.
I recognized them:
Heckle and Jeckle,
the talking magpies
from my childhood.
"Get wise to yourself, Mac"
said one of them.
"Yes, old bean" said the other.
"It's Area 51 all over again!"
That was enough for me.
I went back inside and took
the elevator up to my apartment
to open a can of sardines.
Tuesday, September 15, 2020
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