Lost
in a foggy wood.
all the trees alike,
no long view,
no hint of the sun's position...
(or existence.)
just the vertical stripes of
straight pinetree trunks --
like the bars
of the cell
of a giant --
laid against a fluffy white
backdrop.
I can scurry between
the bars, like a mouse,
but am still lost
and still caged.
Les Fleurs du Mal by Charles Baudelaire
Someone put a tiny, limp-gunned tank
on Danube west bank --
in Budapest, opposite Parliament.
Unsubtle symbolism, indeed,
but worth noting:
The might of violence
made feeble in the face of democracy,
and all that.
So true,
and yet so few
seem to believe it.
We seem to believe
that matching savagery
is the key to strategy
in opposing the extreme,
but then we've really just made more
extremism, haven't we?
The overseeing angels-of-the-angry-kind strain, but can’t generate sufficient force of eye. So, they weep in their failure.
Chained to a pillar on the temple mount, the floggings amount to little more than bloodlettings. The thin fluid rolls away, replaced by thicker and more hardy concoction.
Even the ravenous robed one has no pull. He’s too far from the children and too familiar to the elders.
So the scene replays. It’s a dream scene that will roll over into real life, becoming more vivid and closer to true — no longer a dim facsimile.
One’s only hope is that one’s less evil twin isn’t evil enough.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 