When reading Chekhov with an actor's eye And finding written: “Traraboomdeyay,” I wondered what Chebutykin meant thereby, And what, if anything, he wished to say. And just what Ronald Hingley heard him sing When he transcribed the singing from the Russian. Was he deliberately altering The onomatopoeia for discussion To draw a parallel between the … Continue reading September 27: Headcanon
Author: libbyweber
September 26: A Roll of the Dice
Four cups, five dice a-rattle, then upend The cup and sneak a glance at what's beneath, And hope those private faces don't portend An easy-to-guess lying through one's teeth. For bidding on the pips you don't possess Is risky, but an awful lot of fun, For when the bid is called, whether success Or failure … Continue reading September 26: A Roll of the Dice
September 25: Acquainted With the Sunrise
Encountering a snapshot of the past, Can generate nostalgic introspection, As one finds things that render one aghast But also joy in those small imperfections, Because it means that it was truly real. As you grow chronologically apart, From your work, objectivity anneals Reproachful mind and then forgiving heart. It's sad that it's so easy … Continue reading September 25: Acquainted With the Sunrise
September 24: She For He For She
A he for she means that the he's for me, With masculinity, a he can be In favor of a she's equality And I'm for him who is a he for she, A he for she seemes elementary Since codifying feminimity, Will limit every he as well as she. In patriarchy violent cruelty Can visit … Continue reading September 24: She For He For She
September 23: Testing
As one who rides the bus to work each day, I'm quite familiar with that type of rider Whose seat-bound bag is often in my way, And whose splayed knees expand his quarter wider. I'm hardly shy- I meet his eyes and smile. He acts surprised to find I wish to sit, Oblivious to the … Continue reading September 23: Testing
September 22: In Which I Am Self-Deprecating and Meta
When so much happens in a single day That fourteen lines cannot contain it all, I must cut ruthlessly joy and dismay That seems on recollection more banal Than simple pleasures, grumpy anecdotes, From which my pithy aphorisms spring; Fun to extemporaneously quote, Thus needful, therefore to those words I cling. But my desire to … Continue reading September 22: In Which I Am Self-Deprecating and Meta
September 21: Day of Rest
Can one be said to truly be alone When one is being laid upon by dogs Until they bark at passers-by unknown And neighbors out for their respective jogs? No. Solitude's the proper name for this, Now liberated from all obligation, Except for those I've chosen. I don't miss The trappings of external expectation, But … Continue reading September 21: Day of Rest
September 20: Steps in the Right Direction
I so look forward to each Saturday Not just since sleepings in the days enhance, But also since I plan two hours to play And sweat with those who also love to dance. We work the choreography, then drill The basics, stretch, and run the dances slated For upcoming performances, instill The staging so we … Continue reading September 20: Steps in the Right Direction
September 19: Dead Men Tell No Whatsits
West County be me dialect, me gait Is not unlike the rolling of the swells, And this wide world I'd circumnavigate To take a richly laden caravel. I give no quarter, nor expect I none From vessels I attack, and I'd be blowed To see me salty crew mates thus undone By craven coves who … Continue reading September 19: Dead Men Tell No Whatsits
September 18: Boast With the Most, or In the Mead Hall
The hallowed land of Lincoln was my home, My father's house of mighty logs was built With watchful eye the acres I did roam Preventing blameless blood from being spilt. Each day as I would tread the twisting trails, I sent a dozen songs out on the breeze- My merry music made the wicked quail … Continue reading September 18: Boast With the Most, or In the Mead Hall
Libby Weber 