Friday, March 02, 2007

The Power of the Pen

I sharpened my pen, attacked the bad
Bad men. They were still standing when
I finished. I would make them sad,
I thought. They would be sorry then.

They weren’t. I gave them bitter names;
I called their mamas out. They kept
On being what they were. In flames
I sent my pages. Jesus wept,

But they declined. They were afraid
Of neither noun nor nib. My room
Was lit by indignation, shade
Of Johnson’s inspissated gloom

Hooting from where the restless go
When weight has fled. They did such deeds
As penmen perish not to know
And burned the barns and ate the seeds.


Why_why_why said...


Why? I am very curious as to the reason Steve Mueske, Howard Miller, Nevid plus many others constantly read this blog but never make comments. The sheer numbers of computers and operating systems working at this blog is probably reason enough to read.

I wonder why?


RHE said...

Mr O'Why,

You have a problem. May I recommend