Duodecinnal

Twelve years have long past 

Since the vows that we swore; 

My lot with you was cast,

With the woman I adore.

Twelve years have long past,

Two children you have bore;

These years are going fast,

Exhausted, busy and sore.

Twelve years have long past,

But I long for still more.

I hope your love will last 

For twelve long years more. 

Twelve years have long past,

My hair growths thin and I snore,

My youth and I stand in contrast,

In twelve long years I’ll be an eyesore.

Twelve years have long past,

Your beauty radiates as before;

Your character still kind and steadfast,

Filled with whit and candor.

Twelve years have long past

And for twelve years more,

I vow my love holdfast 

Unwavering as we originally swore. 

Another Lost Chapter of Herodotus

Across the sea to the West there is a great and industrious people. They labor tirelessly and seem intent on forcing order on the world. Of wealth they have no end. The brightest artificers among them continue to invent new means of order and comfort - they have mechanized almost every function of their lives. One of the particularities of these people is that no matter how easy they have made their labors, they continue to work even harder to make all things even easier. 

Despite their reputation for continuous toil, and even though illness or injury scarcely stops their labor, on the first weekday of the second month of the year the people cease work to observe a holy day. Few men can be found in the factory or the field. Many a fated calf are slaughtered in the days prior to the festival; the fatty portions are placed upon alters and the smoke rises as a sweet smelling aroma. The women also labor to prepare for a feast. Special emphasis is placed upon eating food with the hands only. It may be that like the fasts observed by other peoples, they choose to remember the difficulty of eating without their usual comforts. Nevertheless, the holy day is not a solemn one. The people adorn themselves with clothes, paint, jewelry, and headdresses in accord with their piety. The most pious of them being nearly naked and adorned head to toe in vibrant colors. This perpetration is in observance of a game they regard as sacred and holy.  

As many as are able make a pilgrimage to one of the amphitheaters that have been erected across their land for this game. The rest of the population, either being too poor or living too far off gather together to watch a miniature likeness of the game. The game invented by their forebears, though a point of ridicule by their neighboring peoples, is a source of great pride. The game consists of two teams of men, having proved over the previous year to be the most athletic and strongest, with a many tedium of rules, that seek to posses and carry a sacred pig across the field. The team that carries the pig to the end of the field the greatest number of times, in the allotted time is declared the victor. Both teams, including the people, offer prayers and shout chants in anticipation of the game. Musicians play songs to inspire the athletes, and after the people have feasted and becoming sufficiently intoxicated, the game begins. The festival taking nearly a day of preparation, feasting, and spectating concludes with one team arising victorious over the other. The people who have identified with the victorious team celebrate jubilantly; it seems that they take this as an omen of goof favor from their gods. The people who have identified with the defeated team weep and wail, rend their clothes, beat their chests, and commit offerings for the coming year that they may find favor with their gods. The feasting continues well into the night, and then, the next day, the people return to their toils with scarcely a repercussion from the previous day. 

For the Poet

Congratulations are due,

To the poet who

Graces our thoughts with letters. 

May your hearts be bound together with fetters,

Your affianced and you. 

For Josh

There once was a boy named Josh,
Who thought he was very posh.
He spoke with an accent - ate his crumpet,
And, washed in the house of Bath.

A Night Under the Trees, Illuminated by the Moon

Burning, turning, crackling in the air,
The smoke rises into the air.
The cherry coal, bright in the night;
The time when thoughts take wing and flight.

Oh, soul, thou restless one;
Oh, mind, thou restless one;
Never still, always twisting and yearning.
Hardly content, always yearning and churning.

Quieter of souls, that golden leaf;
Tamer of thoughts, that golden leaf.
An hour of rest - a time of peace;
Thoughts are singled - wanderings cease.

Praise be to God for the rest of man!
Praise be to God for the rest of man!
For, when man stops and steadies his eyes,
His thoughts like the smoke, to God will rise.

Fare-well

There once was a Ririe that moved across the sea.
Wonderlust drove him to see what there was to see:
Birkenstocks, beer, concrete walls,
Minimalist construction and Victorian shopping malls.

He went to fill his head with knowledge,
And there complete his final year of college.
The land of Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer, and Marx
Hosted this young man as he fulfilled his marks.

Their language, too, he learned to speak.
His head grew and grew though his body remained meek.
History, philosophy, literature and the arts,
He mastered through and though all of their parts.

But like all men, his fate is not sealed.
Will passions or Truth his spirit yield?
Will he become mad as a hatter, wagging his finger
Or, be sound of mind, producing thoughts that linger?

For Tommy V.

Ol, Tom is jolly man.
Out-smart, there are few who can.
He shaved his head;
Has yet to wed.
I'm thankful our friendship began.