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Sighs, short and infrequent

Eliot was wrong...


April isn't the cruelest...


No the cruelest is the first week or so of Spring Training when baseball's back and yet it's not.


I mean talk about your mixing of memory and desire.


Yeah, and then clutch the broken image of Tek in tears where the sun beats down and, well,


Here, there was to be heard / no complaint but the sighs...


Che l'aura eterna facevan tremare.





...and now for something completely different

What does an Australian say to the waiter at the end of a meal?

Check, mate.

I hate it when H.B. gets all smart and literate. I feel much more comfortable here when the humor is lowbrow :)

Tek being all emotional gets my "nadis flowing" (yay, old Soxaholix strip/comment reference). AWESOME strip today; The Wasteland is one of my all-time favorite poems, alongside Yeats' Second Coming and Keats' When I Have Fears... And it's funny- I ALWAYS say February is the cruelest month because football is over and baseball yet to begin... but it applies for early March too. Always darkest before dawn, home stretch and all that, kids....

Through the looking glass
Spring reflects on winter snow
A March hare leaves tracks

Last September was a pretty cruel month. Sure hope September 2012 is a hell of alot better.

Am I still allowed to follow if I don't have 3 favorite poems?

Poetry gets my nads flowing ;)

I don't think I even know 3 poems, unless I count the one about the guy from Nantucket.

See Chris,everything seeks it's own level ;O

As so 180 from yesterday and perhaps esoteric, this is proof of why this creepy site is the best damn thing on the interwebs.

And, hey, HB go fuck yourself for being too smaht. (Channeling my inner Doug)

I thought I would never see,
A year as bad as 2003.

But the year of the chicken brest,
Has put my faith to the test.

Two hundred million we did pay,
But like chumps they did play.

A team that in summer won,
But in September they were done.

Was it too much to ask,
That they bent their backs to the task?

Of beer and chicken much was made,
Upon Tito the blame was laid.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But our hope now lies with Bobby V.

with humblest apologies to Joyce Kilmer...

My favotirte poem is "Send in The Clouds" by David Bermaman and the Siver Jews

h.b. needs to show the readers he passed lit 102;-)

The funny thing is I have this suspicion I've written the exact same "april isn't the cruelest but the time between camp starting and games starting is" them before.

But I'm not going to look... Schrödinger's cat and all that.

In other news I have zero ambition today. Nothing interests me.

Ernest Lawrence Thayer?

Is it beer cart yet??

Passed lit 102? I think he's teaching it.

The Man from Nantucket is really from Pawtucket.

I am the man from nantucket. Or so says the t shirt in my drawer. It may be a mistake.

No beer cart yet. Bob's pointy-haired boss will soon call a meeting.

A poetry writer called Hart
Awaited with patience the start
Of one beisbol season
Portending not pleasin’
When suddenly Bob screamed BEER CART!

I'm having a grand mal meeting seizure. Good Lord, people do love to talk and talk and talk about irrelevant things.

Anyway, have a great weekend all.
Time to hop into my Hyundai.
Enough with endless meetings here.
Hopefully we'll have something fun to yak about on Monday.



I assume people from New South Wales are permitted to vote in the Pine Tree State*.

(* I looked it up)

I defer to the distinguished gentleman from the great state of Maine.

Lou Clinton: Surly but electable.

Its such as you read my mind! You seem to know so much about this!

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