Monday, September 24, 2018


I know not why I little songs still sing
When I do fear they do no little thing,
Nor anything at all. No joy they bring
In making them. No benefit they bear
In being read, no notion that they care
Who them do see of which I am aware.
I still press on, though; I’ve no other way,
And even if few care what I might say,
And even if I hate myself for play
When so much work does e’er remain to do,
And time not at it is time I soon rue,
I think I must this project carry through
Of writing verse in Stupid God’s despite--
I’ve nothing else with which to make wrong right.

Sunday, September 23, 2018


I look out on the world and feel despair;
The Stupid God does spread, and few do care,
And of them, fewer still will think to dare
To work against the spread--and I’m not one.
I end before I even have begun
To weave a net to catch it, or to have spun
A thread from which a rope might yet be made
To make a net; I see how it is frayed
Before I start, and I am grown afraid
That, should I cast a net of little worth--
Of value, I hold my works in a dearth--
I should be quickly brought hard down to earth,
Where I have beaten been too oft before;
I think not I could endure it much more.

Saturday, September 22, 2018


I know I erred. What irks me is not that,
But rather when those who have idly sat
And watched my struggle, folly to combat,
Say that I was a fool to take my path.
Perhaps I ought to feel Fortuna’s wrath
Because I did not much better math
When setting out, a child although I was--
But youth should be for folly no good cause.
Credulity should give any age pause,
And I was credulous, should not have been,
And would not, had I it to do again;
Perhaps I would thus find a better end.
But Stupid God would doubtless find a way
To take in toll what few would gladly pay.

Friday, September 21, 2018


More fool was I to go without my eyes
Full open and to find a rude surprise
Than would have been the case were I more wise,
But fool I was, and trusted others’ word.
I put my faith in what I from them heard;
What they said may as well have been a turd,
For years and pains have flushed that hope away
That I once held from hearing what they’d say
In times now gone, when I in light of day
Did find myself and throve. Now that is gone,
And I know well that I do not belong
Where I had hoped once to find myself strong.
Such was the work of Stupid God on me,
And it on others I too often see.

Thursday, September 20, 2018


I’ve done the bit in which I try again,
Repeating what I’ve done with no clear end,
And it has done me little good. But when
I left off doing, I felt no ease of heart;
I felt compelled to play the martyr’s part,
And soon enough, I tried, again, to start
To do as I had done before. But I
Did find no greater peace of heart thereby,
But fared the worse for being now less spry,
And so more hurt, and slower, too, to heal,
And slower to ignore how I do feel
When treated as if what I’ve done’s not real.
But Stupid God has ordered it be so,
And so it is in every place I go.

Wednesday, September 19, 2018


Too like the one-eyed one in his last days,
When ‘gainst the serpent he himself arrays
And charges forth, ‘mong somber-most displays,
I toil on to fight the Stupid God.
I strike against it with too small a rod
To injure it--or even it to prod--
And feel its mass reach out, encircle me,
And no way out remains through which to flee.
I know not what results thereof will be,
But I have my suspicions; none are good,
And I have not the thought they ever would
Be so, nor expectation that they could.
If spear that fails not fails in such a fight,
How much more failure when I lack such might?

Tuesday, September 18, 2018


If, by my verse I can put forth a call
To doff malaise, off apathetic pall,
And the advance of Stupid God to stall,
Then I’ll have done a part, but not enough.
Already have they started them to stuff
And garnish and from them peace to slough,
As Gorlois did ere e’er was Arthur made
And Igraine had her loving trust betrayed;
They have much stock for fighting well in-laid,
And words alone will not them overthrow,
And that they won’t, the tyrants well do know.
They see themselves in no mere Jericho;
In truth, no god will come to shake the walls
In which the Stupid God has too-full halls.

Monday, September 17, 2018


I well deserve to be where I now stand,
To watch as Stupid God compels the land
And sea and sky to bend to the command
Of small-hand orange-face’s teeming horde
Who rage as bidden for no real reward.
I cower, bolt doors, and my windows board
As if against a storm I cannot fight.
There is no candle that can give a light
Sufficient to illumine the whole night,
And I have but a candle. Folly now
Does come forth once again in force; somehow
I had thought it hindered. Far too proud
Was I in thinking I could use my voice
To fight against it--yet I have no choice.

Sunday, September 16, 2018


That I my limits know is no great grace,
The less so, given that which I now face,
As do all with whom I share common place.
Instead, they bid me stand off to the side,
To watch aground while others take a ride,
Exulting while I seek my shame to hide
At feeling fear and knowing I dare not,
At having learned too late what I was taught
Of being tightly by my thinking caught
And knowing what will come to me if I
Might stretch out arms and so attempt to fly,
Rising from the ground to touch the sky.
I cannot throw myself at ground and miss;
Too oft my studies bluntly showed me this.

Saturday, September 15, 2018


I know I will be called upon to make
Things right that others will, ofttimes, forsake,
And I know it will fall to me to take
Up tool or weapon, that task to address.
Already I feel how its weight does press
On me and seek thence further to progress,
And I know I do not suffice to bear
That weight with what it merits for its care;
The strength to do so has been with me ne’er,
As how I act when faced with challenge shows.
I am not one who, beaten back, arose
Again to vanquish they who once opposed,
But by the other fighter was laid out.
Much cause have I my worthiness to doubt.