Some are for pleasure, some are for pay-
I notice there's no list of things I should say.
Words are made by volunteers.
We do what we must do, most of the time,
Work, wander and worship, Caritas and crime,
And reserve to our liberty, those minutes most prime,
Selective invective toward each neighbor who hears.
For what is a man, but the sum of his grousing,
Over healthcare, despair, law, whiskey or housing?
A man in his grief, like a cat in her mousing,
Pursues his own nature and forgets his own fears.
And so, today, providence finally has granted
To we who rose upright, made fire and ranted
The means to pronounce our fretting unslanted,
By blog, bloodless bluster and unsalted tears.
WEBLOG, n. A personal chronicle of universal stasis.
This volunteer loves to grouse over all mentioned but whiskey--just not personally important though the volunteer could grouse over prohibition or drunks....
When I bitch to my blog I don't mean I want to make money off the blog but because it exists
But Dawg! Nobody wants to read about Paradise, or even Purgatory! They all skip straight to Hell!
"unsalted tears", I like it!
Bravo on the poem - I loved it. My blog isn't a rant today. But perhaps it is only because the brain cells I usually use are still sleeping.
weblog, a meme on steroids
Can't top Tom. Well done.
Good poem as usual Doug.
Saw a good bumber sticker yesterday: Wag more, bark less. (I'm thinkin' about trying that.)
Was that bumper snicker on your boss's car, TLP? Oh, right, you're retired. Sounds like an Executive Order to me ... which won't be satisfied until Ph.D.s pay the bosses for the privilege of working. Mark my words: the 14th Amendment is in jeopardy.
@ Amoeba, I'm good with barking at the government. I'm trying to be less critical of everyday stuff. Like the b*tch in front of me at the grocery store today. Can we talk about that? She was really...oh, sorry. She was fine.
BTW, have you read Deer Hunting with Jesus?
Read it, TLP? Quilly and I have, er, done a little better (or worse, depending on your POV) than that ...
Those minuted most prime and becoming most elusive.
We shall over come. We Blog.
I'm liking your poem, Doug. It probably is too philosophical for me but then I'm the old traditional sow's ear.
I do like your sporadic, occasional rhyme. I am sure I missed some of it. But it has very nice construction for what I can find.
And just GOLBEW to you (shortened to golb).
others wonder how
the data miners
are combining their skills
my only thought
is it to profit
Understood, Pia. A blog is a great audience and a patient one.
Inky dinky do, Amoeba.
Ariel, you'd like unsalted blood less, I imagine. Like creamy peanut butter.
Terry, your blog is never a rant, I don't think. Great photos.
Absolutely, Icy. A memememe.
TLP, much of your charm is in the bite.
Amoeba, the penumbra of the 14th amendment allows for citizens who feel exploited.
TLP, the person in front of you in line is always your enemy and the person behind, your friend.
Amoeba, elk hunting with Jesus?
Cooper, this is how we assert our leisure.
Golb be unto you, friend Jim. Thanks.
Bear, either or neither are fine with me. If they come for me, I won't tell them where you live or what crimes you may have committed. Smoke away, up there at 221b Baked St.
Wish we could share a virtual Whiskey.
Virtual whiskey we can share, Nicole. In fact, I can hold my virtual skinful of it.
But nonetheless other-directed, like all expression.
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