adding chewing gum,
to sticky toffee pudding.
Time to seek dentist.
April 28, 2008
April 25, 2008
April 24, 2008
April 18, 2008
April 15, 2008
April 14, 2008
April 8, 2008
April 4, 2008
April 3, 2008
March 27, 2008
March 26, 2008
March 25, 2008
March 24, 2008
March 23, 2008
March 11, 2008
March 10, 2008
March 8, 2008
March 7, 2008
March 6, 2008
February 26, 2008
February 25, 2008
February 22, 2008
February 21, 2008
February 20, 2008
February 19, 2008
February 15, 2008
February 14, 2008
February 5, 2008
February 4, 2008
January 31, 2008
January 30, 2008
January 28, 2008
January 25, 2008
January 23, 2008
January 21, 2008
January 17, 2008
fishing from the other side
as the men in boats
twitched at the slightest of tugs,
they drew sunken boots..
a conspiracy?!?
who told Goldies that fish bite,
off the other side
twitched at the slightest of tugs,
they drew sunken boots..
a conspiracy?!?
who told Goldies that fish bite,
off the other side
January 13, 2008
January 10, 2008
a haiku-couplet?
perky piglet snouts,
slick hunters of street truffle,
tickled by fresh scent
amid barren debt,
will this lush crop yield forth a:
vernal Blackstone spring?
slick hunters of street truffle,
tickled by fresh scent
amid barren debt,
will this lush crop yield forth a:
vernal Blackstone spring?
January 8, 2008
January 6, 2008
An arhythmic sonnet for Mr. Bernanke
Inside Eccles; they surmise, calculate, our hardship, the quiver of recession. Inflation’s pungency they postulate, will a cut of .5 show compassion?
Christmas shoppers to their beseeching eyes
Swell the tills, as aides to scanty credit,
A monster that through hubris we surmise
Left many a lender holding debit
Not today, nor later will a write-down,
Fully expose as a fiend of wall street
For now they will only seek to confound
They are hidden demons, fickle and fleet
The twine of Bernanke’s tightrope snarls, tears,
The woes of inflation and weaker sales
Guide us to Hades’ market of bears
Will he conjure famine from whence glut hails?
Pray Ben be cautious to our sentiment
Hack with your cleaver, let the heir repent
January 4, 2008
January 3, 2008
The western child longs for its oil-mother
Parched lips lament. As
violence thrusts the oil teat,
past hundred. Dismay!
violence thrusts the oil teat,
past hundred. Dismay!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)