On Resolve

A biting blade can make a wreck

Of a life, when falling on a neck.

Well, that's the price if you play and lose the game.

But Minias, it has been said,

Just bent and picked up his own head - 

And anyone who'll live must do the same.

Three Dialogues

On Truth
-  It's the truth.
-  No, it's your truth.
-  When people say that, what they mean is that it isn't their truth.
-  Okay then, it's not my truth.
-  Your truth doesn't exist.
-  Well, yours doesn't either.
-  Correct.

On Doubt
-  I am observant.
-  No you're not, you're not devout.
-  Are they opposites?
-  That's not what I said.
-  Is that what you meant?
-  Perhaps.

On Faith 
-  Perhaps.
-

A Poem: "On Quitting Cigarettes Cold Turkey"

Patches?  Patches?
We don't need no stinking patches.

                                       by Emmett M. Hogan

Should Have Sprung for the Frosties

How is Harrod's pricey muesli? Only so-so, it seems.

(Nice work, Zack!)

Poem of the Day

Copyright law be damned: I love poetry and want to share some of my favorite poems on this little blog o' mine. Here, for my inaugural installment, I want to share my favorite poem by the great Polish poet, Nobel laureate, Cold Warrior (however reluctantly) and humanist - Czeslaw Milosz.

Veni Creator

Come, Holy Spirit,

bending or not bending the grasses,

appearing or not above our heads in a tongue of flame,

at hay harvest or when they plough in the orchards or when snow

covers crippled firs in the Sierra Nevada.

I am only a man; I need visible signs.

I tire easily, building the stairway of abstraction.

Many a time I asked, you know it well, that the statue in church

lift its hand, only once, just once, for me.

But I understand that signs must be human,

therefore call one man, anywhere on earth,

not me - after all I have some decency -

and allow me, when I look at him, to marvel at you.

Czeslaw Milosz, Berkeley, 1961