Playing catch-up again.Class warfare from a heteronym, a pro-alienation poem, and comparing comparisons.
April 20th:Class warfare? They started it.
Poverty and Plenty
In God we Trust, but when banks totter,
faith’s securities lose some interest.
Sparrows don’t file timesheets,
lilies don’t write progress reports —
but then, their rain isn’t metered
If the rich could buy the sun,
roofers would be pale.
Two bourgeoisie, over beer, brag
of their proletarian roots. The true
working class, sirs, doesn’t long to be.
The lean dog has as many fleas
as the fat, but they bite harder.
April 21st:it’s too long, and hammers the point in too many times, and it’s not a very original point.
Yes, But Alienated From What?“This world is not my home” — Albert E. Brumley (hymn lyrics)
“I’ve had troubling dreams.
In this one, it seems I travel through a world
where everything suffers, but not all rejoice;
where desire is a thirst, not a river;
where creature eats creature and is eaten,
but none gives itself gladly;
where to add is to divide,
and one and one make two, not one;
where a battle to the death is final,
and fought in hatred and fear;
where space is full of things without life
or character, horribly named inanimate
objects; where one person makes another
into a small stone for use
in wall, weapon or trinket,
or to be thrown away;
where sorrow, anger, love and mirth
are not many colors in a single shirt;
where people haunt the lives they’re given
without creating their own, and don’t hear themselves
cry over themselves, as I cried
over my bed tonight,
calling me back.’
April 22nd: a bit too abstract.
Apple, to Orange
When you say something or some-
one is “beyond compare,” aren’t
you comparing her, him or
it to all those others who —
to turn the phrase around — “can’t
compare to” your beloved?
Sui generis is my
favorite genre, but it’s a
crowded one, a bulging sack:
it can’t hold everything we
cram into it, something will
fall out — there it goes now — oh,