T P O

T   P   O
The Patient Ox (aka Hénock Gugsa)

G r e e t i n g s !

** TPO **
A personal blog with diverse topicality and multiple interests!


On the menu ... politics, music, poetry, and other good stuff.
There is humor, but there is blunt seriousness here as well!


Parfois, on parle français ici aussi. Je suis un francophile .... Bienvenue à tous!

* Your comments and evaluations are appreciated ! *

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Equal Time - by The Iceman of Merriam Park


 Subject: Equal time
by
The Iceman of Merriam Park *
-----------------------

Al B's story of his father, a Republican, suggesting they take Al B's vote for a Democrat to the town dump [BB, 5/8/2012] reminded me of a sorority sister of my niece, who, being from Texas but unable to return for the Thanksgiving dinner with her family, was invited to our family's festivities.

During the dinner, she suggested she was a 'good Republican.' It was too easy, but the obvious rejoinder was: 'Oh, you vote for Democrats.'

Needless to say, the turkey, a fitting symbol of Republicans and Democrats, was enjoyed by all.
____________________________________________
* Bulletin Board, Pioneer Press (May, 2012)

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

[Regarding] "Three Blind Mice" - Billy Collins


Billy Collins

 
I Chop Some Parsley While Listening To Art Blakey's Version Of "Three Blind Mice"
by 
Billy Collins (1941-)
----------------

And I start wondering how they came to be blind.
If it was congenital, they could be brothers and sister,
and I think of the poor mother
brooding over her sightless young triplets.

Or was it a common accident, all three caught
in a searing explosion, a firework perhaps?
If not,
if each came to his or her blindness separately,

how did they ever manage to find one another?
Would it not be difficult for a blind mouse
to locate even one fellow mouse with vision
let alone two other blind ones?

And how, in their tiny darkness,
could they possibly have run after a farmer's wife
or anyone else's wife for that matter?
Not to mention why.

Just so she could cut off their tails
with a carving knife, is the cynic's answer,
but the thought of them without eyes
and now without tails to trail through the moist grass

or slip around the corner of a baseboard
has the cynic who always lounges within me
up off his couch and at the window
trying to hide the rising softness that he feels.

By now I am on to dicing an onion
which might account for the wet stinging
in my own eyes, though Freddie Hubbard's
mournful trumpet on "Blue Moon,"

which happens to be the next cut,
cannot be said to be making matters any better.