Reading: A Literal Looking Glass

7.30 in the morning light hard at work looking for something illuminating upon which to reflect.

(Photo courtesy of my inspiring inspired muse, my wife.)

Clozed, You Klutzes

You say____ know

A healthy____

Leads to a____ mind

And ____-versa but

I ask all you out

____clamoring to get in-

Doors____ of the driving rain,

Why

Would ____body

With an open____ choose

To exercise it

In a____gym?

[Please fill in the blanks and submit your answer via the comment stream.]

NB: For yearz this traffic sign in Megalopolis haz been diligently direkting all interested partiez headed towards Kalamata to stop by and check out their cool indoor stadium/gym—but seriously folks—why would anybody in their right mind chooze to do such a foolish thing if the gym in question waz forever klosed? It's a good thing the Health Center is right across the street from the gym, just in case such a vizit spelled dizaster for those die-hard exercize freaks waiting ad infinitum for the doorzzzzzzzzzz to open.

To One Who Still Thinks He's a Has-been

Friend,

We’ve been there before,

No longer—

No use to say no

Good as we used to

Any longer.

A Not So Simple Desultory Thought

Don’t even

Think about it

How many leaves

Did you see fall before

The one you were thinking of fell?

Rembetiko, Dead and Alive!

Rembetiko'dan by koxuz

One of the reasons why the Greek spirit will never go bankrupt.

(Set volume at full blast, please--loud enough to wake the dead!)

NB: It might take a while for the video to load but hang in there--after all, it's a long way to the netherworld and back.

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Why There Are So Many Bad Poems Out There

Too few poets know when

They’ve started one—

Still fewer know when

They should’ve stopped.

Moderator’s comments: Many poets might find themselves saying many things about this one but I for one am going to stop before I get carried away.

Dawn Finds the Poet on the Watchtower

restless at his post all the night

on the lookout waiting

for the herald the inner

fires burning the rosy fingers

turning in, ward to light.