Posts from the ‘Humor’ Category
Mad lover’s poems
compress a rosy garden
in compost and rain
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
Maybe life is a long lost friend
The love you live to meet again
Maybe it’s real or just pretend
Maybe it has no separate ends
I have just got a new theory of eternity.
“Oh, you hate your job? Why didn’t you say so? There’s a support group for that. It’s called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar.”—Drew Carey
Head of human resources
Weaned in a square barred playpen
Bred for the egg-crate rat race
Gleaned the art of sneering then
The brain is a wonderful organ; it starts working the moment you get up in the morning and does not stop until you get into the office.
“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.” —Ernest Hemingway
Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.
All good books have one thing in common – they are truer than if they had really happened.
“They teach you there’s a boundary line to music. But, man, there’s no boundary line to art.” —Charlie Parker
Hear the cosmic gas sighing
Dark chords bleeding together
Primal rhythms replying
Deep-down blues grieve forever
Music in the soul can be heard by the universe.
In 1920s Charleston, South Carolina,
a scion of its fading aristocracy,
DuBose Heyward, sparks the
Southern Renaissance of novelists,
with the first realistic portrait of
flesh-and-blood Americans of color.
The love’s story’s title is the name
of the principal character, Porgy.
People’s fates are simplified by their names.
We played and stomped the ground on the range we once roamed
Squeezing music in and out made a wheezy moan
Breezes teasing reedy grasses, weaving a tune
Down-to-earth as cow pies on a June afternoon
Work and pray, live on hay, you’ll get pie in the sky when you die.