On Trying to Read Heidegger’s Being and Time
What is worth noting about such rarefied
reasoning is that so much needs to be clarified.
Deconstruct This
How high he climbed up a tree
in his study Of Grammatology!
Two Short Poems about (Post) Modern Philosophy
July 8, 2015 by at 9:28 am
Three Very Short Poems about Scenes from Scripture
July 2, 2015 by at 1:04 am
In the Days of Noah
Because of our sins, the antediluvial
age gave way to one more pluvial.
Tithe—Or Else!!
If you don’t, you’ll fear a
finish like Ananias and Sapphira.
What About Some Fresh Towels?
What’s worst,” they said to Moses,
”After the thirst, is the hyperhidrosis.”
Two Short Poems about Morphemes, Bound and Unbound
May 13, 2015 by at 12:59 am
Lament for an Augment
My favorite juice to drink
is Cran-Raspberry,
but if asked what I think
of the capitals and hyphen,
I would take my pen,
affix a Yuk! and gasp, Very!
Amidst Endings and Beginnings
For that first, lost syllable, the word sample
is an excellent example of aphesis,
not unlike apocope, when Mrs. (old, ample)
is remade (please don’t laugh) a Miss.
Five Short Poems about the Sixth Commandment
April 29, 2015 by at 9:28 am
By Their Silence or a Certain Anxious Patter
For the observant boniface
Adultery is commonplace.
At a Motel Near the Airport
As one fly said to the other on a strip of glue,
“Nice place you picked for our rendezvous!”
Again the End of Him
She knew it had to be a con
when he said, “I’ll call anon!”
Always More to the Story
Re: their daughter and the groom,
Dad had a shrewd sense
of just who had screwed whom.
Mom tried to show prudence.
She Herself Enjoyed a Glass of Wine
But every date they’d had so far was a vinous
affair of inebriated intimacy—a big minus.
“impactful”
February 1, 2015 by at 3:34 pm
Al Michaels just said it during the Super Bowl pre-game. I guess it’s here to stay.
Pending
July 12, 2014 by at 9:45 pm
12 July 2012
A slipper hangs from tiny toes: Our Lord –
A little child – has seen His cross and spear,
Has sped to her whose heart will know a sword.
She holds Him close. Her gaze is dark and clear.
They hang in golden silence…. Twitterings
Of careless birds bring day. Dawn fades the dark.
The clockwork clicks. The hammer hangs, then rings.
The planet turns, and swings along its arc….
The morning sun glides silent up the sky.
The moments pass beneath its sightless ray.
Some few hang solid like an ambered fly;
The rest, like Polaroids, fade fast away….
The noonday sun hangs high. Three things are all:
The point, the palm, the hammer poised to fall.
RIP OED
June 30, 2014 by at 3:39 pm
Webb has a set. Scholars will be knocking at his door when the (other) Web unravels.
Google Alert: Catholic Arts Today
The good people at the Benedict XVI Institute for Sacred Music and Divine Worship could not help but cast a curious eye on the strange and shadowy world of Catholic art, and for whatever reason, they saw fit to take note of my little poem “Leaving.” I’m tickled pink.