Greetings Hairballers,
While browsing through a book of poetry recently, I came
across this poem by Carl Sandburg, published in 1918 in Cornhuskers. I started to
write one of my own and realized it would be redundant. How little the world stage has changed. A few alternations--men to men and women,
newspapers to I Pad and it could have been written today.
Smoke by Carl Sandburg
|
I SIT in a chair and read the newspapers.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Millions of men go to war, acres of them are buried, guns and
ships broken,
cities burned, villages sent up in smoke, and children where
cows are killed
off amid hoarse
barbecues vanish like finger-rings of smoke in a north wind.
|
|
|
|
|
|
I sit in a chair and read the newspapers.
Published in Cornhuskers in 1918
The
Gazette is taking in remainder of July off.
My apartment complex is being tented
for
termites, which I’m told is a Florida thing--like peeing in a cup for food
stamps!
The cat, Benchley, and I have been offered refuge with Barbara
Anderson in Port Richey, about an hour and a half from here. Looking forward and expect to have a good time
reconnecting with friends up there.
Thanks to everyone who offered us a place to stay. It was
getting scary for a while.
Chuck and Suzie, can’t come right now but you’ll have me in Sedona
in November--an oasis of blue in a desert of red. Why am I thinking of the Warsaw Ghetto? Shall I bring my wire cutters?
Have a great July. The
Gazette will be back in August, hopefully with a sense of humor.
Hairballs,
f
|
|
|
|
|
