"aesop" poems
Once upon a time, a woman was picking up firewood. She came upon a poisonous snake frozen in the snow. She took the snake home and nursed it back to health. One day the snake bit her on the cheek. As she lay dying, she asked the snake, "Why have you done this to me?" And the snake answered, "Look, ***** you knew I was a snake."
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
knitting with scissors you run with.
will get you there. but you can't buy a house. i'm sorry.
you might, miiiiight get the Edwardian Tudor for a mansion in false claim
but you keep your gaze, your weary gaze ....and slumber not so sweet, my sweet.
knitting with false gods will get you everything
but Not the Other Thing
that gnaws at the substance of your gut
where the heart resides like a lion
addicted to Aesop Fables -
and dry humors that decimate with bounty
flooding the bleak with our windmills !
you and i are regardless.
knitting with shopping carts and dead batteries. washing ashore.
lick your lips at the foam
of our hysterical event. pitch a ******* tent.
and eat more stars than you came in with.
sew the hole
with a hole and
answer the phone sometimes,
****
i ain't got all day but you might take your time
like an aspirin.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
Here's a story of the tortoise and the rabbit
Petty fights were kind of a habit
They couldn't decide who'd get the carrot
And so they agreed on racing to the jungle pit.
The tortoise made some calls and told the press
He said he's sure of winning the race
The rabbit sneaked in and asked if he's ready for his pace
The tortoise trashed back 'get ready to save your face'.
The race kicked off with much fan fare
Friends of the tortoise were outnumbered by those of the hare
The slow movin buddies were taken aback by the dare
Some even shouted 'this aint fair'.
The rabbit took off and was out of sight,
The tortoise could only take 2 steps which took all his might,
He knew he can put up a fight
If all that was planned just went right.
Miles behind but the tortoise didnt lose hope
cursed his legs, wished everything were a downward slope
the rabbit on the way came across a pretty doe
'Come in boy' she said 'you could use a cuppa joe'.
The rabbit told her he was in a race,
She said 'We dont have time, let's get to 3rd base'
The tortoise skipped the route and to get ahead
Took a bypass through the jungle maze.
The rabbit woke up from the one fine stand,
The doe confessed she was part of a plan
The tortoise could see the finish line
''More than the race, i wanna see the rabbit whine''
With a happy face, the rabbit left her crib
Approached the finish line to welcome the press clicks
And this is how the story was spun
The glory was slow but a deceptive one
The tortoise laughed after the race was done
Asked him 'how does it feel to be the slower one?'
The rabbit said 'I must admit I had much fun'
'Procrastination is in my blood, if i get that I think I've won'
There is a point which Aesop missed
Just calm down and go with the drift
Take what comes with the roll of the dice
As for the happy ending - the rabbit got it twice.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
poor, slumped over and broken strangers
for a penny, share their paltry stories, one by one
snippets and scatters of half-truths and fables,
so raunchy they'd make Aesop blush.
don't deprive me of your salacious souls.
rented sea views with mirrors and doors,
unlocked drawers and white ***** floors,
with freshly dead ***** in claw-footed tubs.
rich luxury rich luxury rich luxury rich luxury
does that second home taste too sweet?
ears swallowed by bubble bath suds
head underwater, eyelids crushed and
stinging from the acrid chemical perfume;
drinking the bathwater in an unclean tub,
tasting notes of freesias and ***** green-blue.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
Tingly under the daisies;
Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
Westernizing—
Romanizing—
Constitutionalizing—
Institutionalizing—
Perpetually searching
And dying
And living,
Watching Death survive
And scythe the frolickers,
The prancers,
The rompers,
The merrymakers.
A rose clamped between his
Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
And he dances so joyously.
“Yes!” say the naysayers,
Confused are the soothsayers,
Lost are the cartographers.
Oh, Utopia!
The monks are extravagant;
The meditations are a farce!
The preachers are beggars
And swindlers and chargers,
And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
Ritualistically sacrificed,
And their blood is spilled, drunk,
Slathered over the ***** man.
The evangelists scream and lie:
“You are all predestined to die!”
Oh, hail Utopia!
Wedded are the girls to the girls;
Wedded are the boys to the boys;
Wedded is Death to Death,
Life to Life,
And Life to Death.
Wedded are the living to the existent.
And the milking babes are slaughtered
Ceremoniously,
Surreptitiously,
Ostentatiously.
Oh, hail great Utopia!
We are all dead and unintelligent:
Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
Stupidity.
Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
Your retardation.
Laugh, laugh, laugh!
Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
Aesop was drunk,
Aristotle was delusional,
Michelangelo was blind,
Beethoven could hear,
Poe was sane.
And I can't read.
They ramble,
I watch.
They sleep,
I watch.
They dream,
I watch.
They sleep-talk,
I watch.
They scream,
I watch.
They choke,
I watch.
They suffocate,
I watch.
Stone-faced, I stare;
Raspingly, I breathe;
Uncontrollably, I twitch;
Inwardly, I rage.
I hope you die, I hope you die.
I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
I want you begging and crying,
I want you blubbering at my feet,
I want you gnashing at my ankles,
I want you writhing in pain,
I want your arm twisted off,
Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
the girl has her face removed
and replaced with a plastic advertisement
for bubble gum
chew on my head she says
with a slick smile
and as she fades down an alley
she is whistling an old
Broadway showtunes
she is reinventing herself from
inside a box of cereal
trips are for hippies
there are gypsy's hanging round her door
selling tickets to the dinner theatre
of her self inflicted dreams
the actors are picketing out front
for better lines
she took the best ones and rewrote them
to resemble the life and times
of sherlock holmes
she disrobes her masked face
and with a cautious shy smile
envelops him with her presence
her planned nature crafted to perfection
without second thought
without hesitation eats him alive from the inside
still hungry she mingles in the crowd
so she can steal their french fries
and **** on their soda's
she's celebrated
and cheered as she mounts the stage
her left handed shuffling fingers
grasping the fundamentals of her mind
but a weak grip on reality's slippery skin
leads one the rabbit hole
to delusions publicly lived
standing in the worlds shadow
talking to yourself
laugh louder than the one next to you
lest they think you weak minded
and the small sounds at your ear
is your free will escaping
she lay down at the end of her day
and with Aesop's fables wished herself
away from this
dinner theatre of the mad
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 5:11 AM UTC
well peasant boy milked the cow proved god
that fed and gave the mosquito,
and the people still desired the flashy bling:
that stole the magpie -
that stole the magpie from the cake
in diadem of whipped cream of having it too;
what the magpie stole, from having it too to not having
it, the magpie with the magpie’s thieving eye
accustomed itself to what is desired being thieved
but not thieved by a magpie:
aesop’s eloquence would have helped here
to compare a silver spoon given to the groom
prior to marriage... as the twinkle in that magpie’s eye
or the antidote in bullet shot at a warewolf
sitting lonesome with the moon, bare-chested in the forest
hearing a creepy sound of a fallen branch breaking nearby
under pressure from a foot - echoing the words:
‘no wild animal comes this close to man in the depths of its niche.’
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
of course i left the shit-holes traumatised,
if i didn't read extensively i'd be
stuck in some slum for immigrants -
i mean, who, in, their, right, frame, of, mind
would teach children the basis
of abortion, among lessons about sniffing
glue (a practice in the Ukraine)
as if the 1960s psychedelic revolution never
took place? only the catholic church,
which loves the ****** of a John Smith...
i might as well be listening to Billy Joel
rolling a ****** Jesus... **** off...
take your little school while i learn
from the stoic Marcus Aurelius... seriously
Ben Hur und Aesop to you too! go on grovel
on your message: gehen nord...
yeah, because the romans were evil to incorporate
Judea into its pond empire...
the north men clashed with the jews in the Holocaust;
head north jesus said... so they headed in fakes...
polnisch hebräisch: Jiddisch Yiddish Jesus Jehovah
the tetragrammaton, ********
like they built the ******* pyramids...
sheep, sheep, sheep; i do better drumming
for the rhythm guitars than anyone,
esp. Billy on the MTV single hit about Australian
bushfire and a long list of names with rock around
the clock of Bill Haley & His Comets and oh ****** days
on the McDonald boulevard.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
The soul has as its sextant the ribs opened wide,
The heart its compass in fluid circuitous diatribe,
When each to zone the geometry of Greek sky
With its powdery fabulism of centaurs and jars
From Aesop’s wine of words, the untimeliness
Of sundials to Charybdis’s bloom of giant watery eyes.
To know oceans by the dry riverbed of my pulse,
To scale only as high as the sparrow’s tomb of my heart.
Jun 15, 2020
Jun 15, 2020 at 5:05 PM UTC
pop songs made us feel *****
so we coerced ourselves into penning curse words
and eating them in a closet we thought
had been Anne Frank’s- only that war had been across the
Atlantic & our grandfathers now only knew military agents
of strange orange colors.
we’d pin up torn-out posters & record some daily static to replay
wondering if our laughter could insulate us forever
or if our mother knew it hurt us too when she would sleep all day.
now I just eat apples (you tell me they make your mouth itch)
& when I worry- its just a thought of you, hating your thighs and
feeling lonely.
now we talk of how evolution kills off too many
unable to weather clamoring silence; empty mirrors.
at bedtime, our father would read us Aesop's fables with pensive eyes
& an antique ego he kept from his ancestors’ childhood
so we learned long ago that
clarity comes
(but at a solitary price).
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
1
well, there's this turkey
in the bush and it sees a tree
and there is seized with a great desire
to reach the topmost of the branches;
but no matter how it tries
it can only land on the first branch
"Try a little of my droppings, "
says the bull below the tree
*"My droppings are packed
with vitamins and lots of energy"*
2
"Thank you, Mr Bull, "
says the turkey
and eats some of the droppings
and straight feels the energy
and flies up to the first branch
and it goes to the next
and higher on to the next branch
And on and on
with so much zest and power
till at last the turkey reaches
its desired goal - right to the top
3
And from afar in the field
the farmer sees the turkey
and he shoots it down with his gun
"Will be good for dinner this day! "
he says
And the moral of the story in Aesop style:
******** might get you far and high
but someone will smell it sooner or later
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 8:01 AM UTC
Classes start today; summer's met its end,
The books lie waiting once again upon the shelf
To share the lie that education is the path for everyone
To happiness and wealth.
Those who will and those who won't succeed
File in and settle down, day one,
Segregated, aggregated in their rows of need,
Stamped by labels and by scores.
The gauntlet lies before them:
Papers, deadlines, speeches, tests
To find the laurel winners.
And to **** the needy rest.
"Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed,"
Old Emily once said, and she'd be right to say it once again
About the battlefields in every school I've been.
This fall I'm taking time to hear
My students' goals and dreams,
Their challenges and hopes,
To say "I see you with my eyes."
I hope to see their hopes arise.
The race is to the steady, Aesop said,
The plodders beat the plotters in their way,
If we who have the gate keys in our hands
Encourage strugglers to stay.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
three knocks at three O'clock
three bears out of shop
an Aesop goldilocks
(small frock and yellow socks)
ad hoc broken locks
Three cold porridge bowls
one poor girl with the hair of gold
should have done what she'd been told
to find in that horrid household
three bears dead and cold
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
Maybe this is my life.
Maybe all this pain
and heartache
and depression
is a part of who I am.
Maybe I am the dark clouds
that still allow the light to show through them.
I am alive so that I may
show others that there is a shed of
light even in the darkest rooms.
My heart is filled with holes
and my mind and body are
a canvas of scars.
But maybe that's who I am destined to be;
a lesson in survival.
I am proof that the injured are brave
and that the broken can seem whole.
I am 2 am and the fear
you have of loving.
But I am also the sweet
and the beautiful;
I am the delicately broken
and the permanently fragile.
So when I extend my arms
or form words with my mouth,
they are not for the demons.
They are for the losing team,
the insomniacs,
the heartbroken,
the lonely,
the scared,
the ones who wish they could forget.
I am your Aesop's fable telling you
that survival is real
and that it is worth it.
Take it from a butterfly heart
that never stopped beating,
even after its wings were clipped.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
items
title - author - (read / unread)
songs of war
and peace -
afghan women's poetry
edited by sayd bahodine majrouh
(yes)
the cantos of
ezra pound
ezra pound
(pending)
the unbearable
lightness of being
milan kundera
(yes, albeit
given to someone)
the man in the
high castle
philip k. ****
(yes, "
" " ")
do androids dream
of electric sheep
"
men without women
ernest hemingway
(yes)
a moveable feast
ernest "
(yes)
for whom the bell tolls
ernest "
(partially, university
assignment)
a passage to india
e. m. forster
(no, i prefer the actual cuisine,
dash of cinnamon, cumin
cloves, cardamon and i just
read: a short-cut to india)
the outsider
albert camus
(yes, lost the book somewhere)
frankenstein
mary shelley
(yes)
aesop's fables
aesop
(yes, good enough
for zeno to
paradox achilles
with the turtle, i.e.
aesop's fables
were primarily based
on the behaviour of animals)
dr. jeckyl & mr. hyde
r. l. stevenson
(no, a literary
version of the beatles'
yesterday, conjuring
for money anyway)
iron in the soul
jean-paul sartre
(the other two titles
of the human comedy
i don't remember;
i have all respect for
sartre the novelist -
but none as a philosopher)
treasure island
r. l. stevenson
(yes)
i'm the king of the castle
susan hill
(yes)
jane eyre
charlotte brontë
(yes)
on the road
jack kerouac
(yes)
the bell jar
sylvia plath
(yes)
fiesta: the sun also rises
ernest hemingway
(yes)
the ordeal of gilbert pinfold
evelyn waugh
(yes)
five plays
chekov
(stuck to shakespeare
and russian
existential macabre)
the existential imagination
edited by frederick
r. karl & leo hamalian
(yes, esp. the extract
about socrates)
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Straight back chairs and tiny round tables,
Nearby Homer and Aesop's fables,
Stoic posture and wire-rimmed glasses,
All gather together after classes.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 10:11 PM UTC
Why do we laugh at 'cartoons,'
other than because they are funny
Is it the hopeless pursuance of...
catching a Tweetybird.....or
a Roadrunner.........or
Yosemite Sam outwitted by a rabbit....or
Michigan J. Frog singing "Hello My Baby!"
Think about it-
we are laughing at ourselves -
After all, it's their human traits and foibles
we gave them......that make us laugh.
"Blame it on Aesop, he started it!"
r. riddle: September 01, 2016
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
If not born into this confluence
From the cesspool of the waiting room,
Then elsewhere.
My consciousness schools me.
My ego insists.
I am, and was meant to be.
But logic countermands hope.
The fairies and angels are indexed
In the collected works of Aesop.
I am a network of synapses
Bleached into the soil.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
We have no business meddling with unicorns,
fantasy beasts, and lands afar.
The make-believe things do not believe in you.
They have no weapons of war.
They pose no threat to the American Dream.
Besides,
they are perfectly capable of harming themselves,
and our work here has only begun.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
war is starting, a blood bath but drains no blood scar’s beyond repair kills whats most important ,sounds of a crying conscious asking for help a louder and darker voice choking those who ask for savior, how can i? how can i?, darkness what have you done, should i serenader to hell, is hell the answer to my freedom or is my twisted mind who is controlled by the lord of darkness, Homer, Aesop, Hesiod, Sappho, Solon, Aristotle what should i do? i beg, lead me to find a way to get my conscious stronger lead me as you led heros, fill my heart with courage as you filled thy, battle of the heavens or is it what we call a weak alibi to stay in darkness.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
When I was younger I read Aesop's fables.
In it is a story about a father, son, and donkey.
The father and son try to please everyone they come across.
They end up falling off the bridge, and killing the donkey.
The moral is that you shouldn't try to please everyone.
I don't try to please everyone.
There are certain people I try very hard not to please.
But I do try to please some people.
And I rely on those people's opinions very much.
If I don't please them.
I don't please myself.
The problem is I sometimes pick the worst people.
....Like whoever I have a crush on at the moment.
And I hate it.
I hate that I need certain peoples' approval
For me to approve of myself.
Nevertheless, it still happens.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC
we did the red riding hood proverb (how it ever became
a proverb, i'll never know, Aesop must have
seen the dentist for the first time) of:
matthew 7:15 - watch out for false prophets;
they come to you in sheep's clothing,
but inwardly they are ferocious wolves.
my advocate also said: watch put for true prophets;
they come to you in wolf's clothing,
but inwardly they are laughing foxes.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
There is a man
Who likes to pretend
That he's pure and holy
When really his mouth only spews out baloney
*These hands of mine,
a thousand men have bested
and thrice that the ladies
they have pleasured!*
This man likes to wear all white,
And on his head he props a halo.
He hides his forked tongue in plain sight
With which he claims to be a fine ole fellow
*These friends of mine
All shapes, all colours, every walk of life
All indebted to me
Oh! Without me,
they couldn't survive!*
But like the viper in Aesop's fable
Your trust he repays the only way he's able
With your paramour he'll try his luck
Rejected he'd say "All I wanted was a free ****
*No matter, for with any luck
The old lady will let me out
There are girls who've taken my buck
And they'll take it again without a doubt*
So of this false angel be wary
A conscience he has not
Web of lies and deceit his main plot
For he has no friends only quarry
***Here lies A
Certainly a class Act
For when the reaper came to play
You can be sure no one wept***
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
why would ever thought become a therefore of being, a parallel pairing, well, i can imagine why, uncertain thinking gave birth and girth of uncertain being, but uncouple thinking from being and couple it to knowledge, how sooner the reminders encountered whereby expressing thinking with being as equal is lost, and thinking after the divorce from being finds a second partner, namely knowledge: and the men who stare at goats? sooner thinking and knowledge coupled than thinking and being, i do know that the former example eradicates thinking per se, but it also leaves us with pure intuition / knowledge / automation, which means less concern for a subsidiary of broken bones and unaffected brains to be worth a coupling - the former attempt eradicates this shadowy narcissism that the latter invigorates with how the outside is already defaulting the inside with c.c.t.v.
you will not eat the fruit
of the tree of knowing good from evil,
since upon eating the fruit
you will not think -
you will know but will not think -
and this will be a demise
you will claim to be supreme
as the foremost expression adequate -
thus upon eating the fruit
the wages of your labour
you will know more than you desired,
and will too think less than
could be inspired - not a question
of writing a pillar-like autobiography
but a question of writing a biography at all..
to eat from a tree of knowledge:
whether dual or by mono inspired -
serves no bearing -
hence the modern fable akin to brothers
Aesop and Grimm,
that he who eats the fruit of the tree of knowledge
will not eat the fruit of the tree of thought,
hence the dichotomy rather than a duality,
hence the monism rather than the monasticism -
and he who eats of the tree of knowledge
will look upon a pauper in a scene of
agricultural foreboding with much insolence -
for he who eats from the tree of knowledge
whatever the vector, whether into zenith
of good, or whether into the zenith
of evil, will know neither being reached,
for thought will become the orient conjunction
of or being accumulative:
that good (thought) will be as puzzle-muddled
with evil (knowledge) as may be allow -
or as the Libra testifies - that knowledge is
evil and thought via continuum narratio is good;
but still gladly i too fabricating celestial bodies
with a lifespan of cats aged prior to 30 (if pedigree).
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
My partner and I had tickets to the show last night in Chicago. After 7days in the hospital my girlfriend's 89 year old grandma was to come home with hospice care to follow. Instead of a splendid concert experience I knew I had to be there for her fam to ease the tough pill to swallow. Grandma Monica shed the shell, saw it bagged up and hollow. I was able to provide hugs and love, along with the opportunity to speak about the flow of energy. I like to remind myself and others to speak to the "deceased" for in my own scope it's been therapeutic for me. Haven't been this heavy in a long time. The rain and gray are beautiful, relaxed in the lack of sunshine. I've visualized our meeting many times, I look up to you being a fellow sayer of rhymes. I appreciate the way you've spent your mind. It wasn't until a couple days ago I realized one of the impossible inserts may have been signed. Thank you for your shine, highlighting the design of divine. The life you've made manifest helps others feel breaths inside their chests. Two legends yesterday were laid to rest, so now I look at myself and decide to clean my mess.
Gotta reconnect with my descendant sandwich before the organic ingredients are digested and appear to vanish. To those I want to know, you are one of my favorite artists. I laugh but could totally see some sort of apprentice partnership. Doesn't look like I'll make it this tour...and one of my cats just puked, gonna go skip aesop rocks in my ripped up Lugz boots.
Much love,
Ryan
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC