Tag Archives: poetry

Tsk Tsk!

One of my graduation presents–isn’t it hysterical?

derian

derian2

Mean Teacher dish by John Derian

Beware!  Beware children of the Bay–whether San Francisco, Marin, Peninsula or East!

¡Mean teacher is here!  

Beware! my tight curls, sharp hairsticks, heavy leather-bound volume,

Beware! my mutton sleeves, corsetted waist, pursed lips,

Beware!  my unsympathetic eyes and disaffected pointed finger!

I     WILL     SCHOOL     THEE

and it won’t be fun

no it won’t be pretty

Beware.  Mean teacher is here.

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Ride the Rimpletide

I am loathe to offer description here.  If you would like to read some good writing, please allow me to draw your attention to the following links.

“The Moire Effect”

moire

“Personal ontology of rimple?!?!?

rimple

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Filed under Autobiography and Memoir

This Is Just To Say

I have not

written the warm up

that the children

should do today in class

 

and which

you were counting on

using

for today.

 

Forgive me

dinner was delicious;

pumpkin pasta

and fresh salad.

After William Carlos Williams

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Day 2

The Chimney Sweeper 

from Songs of Innocence

by William Blake

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry ‘weep! ‘weep! ‘weep! ‘weep!
So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curled like a lamb’s back, was shaved: so I said,
“Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head’s bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.”

And so he was quiet; and that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, – 
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.

And by came an angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins and set them all free;
Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.

Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;
And the angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy,
He’d have God for his father, and never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,
And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm;
So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.

Holy Thursday

from Songs of Experience

Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduced to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!

And their son does never shine,
And their fields are bleak and bare,
And their ways are filled with thorns:
It is eternal winter there.

For where’er the sun does shine,
And where’er the rain does fall,
Babes should never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.

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Safe subjects.

I’m really in love with these new bath salts.  They are coconut and lemon verbena scented.  And they do not turn my bathtub green.Shakti (energy)

It even comes with a quote from Rumi printed on the label.  

For purchase visit here.

This s. smells HELLA GOOD!

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