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mango-van-rasp
An antidote to ennui, My friends of age, perchance With hands held high and feet askew Take note when old men dance. Cast off care and bend thy knee O, thou poetic host, Students of Dylan, Derlith, Frost And Bill, the Holy Ghosts. When banjos bang the Bluegrass beat With rhythm ye entranced Release thy souls thus freed my friends Step high in old men's dance. Double shuffle, heal and toe Ceili, reel or clog Kilted, combed, go Strip the Willow And dance the epilogue. With children, friends or wife, embraced, Or maiden once romanced Or all alone with heart, my friends, Rejoice when old men dance. Mango VanRasp 11/2/19
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Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 11:10 AM UTC
Just Like BillMonroe and EmmyLou
It makes a salad it does of its leaf while green It smells of cocoa it does of its root while roasted It pours a wine it does of its flower when fermented It forms a sail it does of its seed which sails away The harvest is best it is of its hoard upon the dun When the poet plucks the plant he does while dodging cough and sniffle And the wine is best it is when poured on April sun.
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Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 12:29 PM UTC
Dente de Lion
Last night my house was Hoo-ed Through brick and wall and window pane. It was exactly half passed two When I heard that large eyed feather brain Proclaim his amorous design. That persistent devil Hoo-ed and Hoo-ed And drew me to my frozen porch To view his pleasant pulchritude Spot-lighted by a moon beam torch While perched upon a wintry pine. "Hoo-Hoo to you." I cried. "She's gone and you'll not find her here. But you can stay and Hoo all day If you think that she'll appear To seek who Hoo's upon my house." Then, back to bed I crept And heard him Hoo and Hoo and Hoooo-oo Till asleep my dreams concept An owl in silent glide pursue Across my frosty lawn a mouse.
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Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 5:13 PM UTC
Last Night My House Was Hoo-ed
On your birthday, Charles Darwin, answer me this, How is it that membrane becomes a skin And whiskers bud from it And glands evolve within? And how is it the slithering worm Sprouts fins then stumps and flippers To quit the deep and waddle up and down the scree? And what selects a folded cortex Complexing ever more To advantage the organism O'er those which came before? So, you two hundred ten today In wondering reason begged To explain away which had come first The chicken or the egg. You said it's about selection Which leads to genesis Of traits that favor fitness Breeding that instead of this. And wish that I could ask you What spark of thought aflame Kindled tindered theory Which still burns and bears your name? And one more simple question, Charles Darwin, if I may. Since the pastoral economy Of meat and grass and milk Eclipsed the hunter-gatherers And the others of that ilk, Among these things, Charles Darwin, All those things you guessed, Which came first, Charles Darwin, ...the baby or the breast?
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Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
On Your Birthday, Charles Darwin