A Pith Zany

And what he did last just before his personal power rose and surged then tweeted out was check his e-mail. “Heaven will be full of spam,” he decried, “because everyone wants to be there, while hell will be whiteout, an empty inbox.” “Or the other way around,” I replied. “Oh, that’s pithy,” he said. “And…

Two Poems for Christmas and the Feast of the Epiphany

Epiphany In the straw burrow farm mice. Get a little closer and you’ll see Nits in baby Jesus’s hair, lice, And a house snake in the olive tree. There’s beer on the breath of the three Sage men sitting under the olive tree, Playing games of cribbage, Ushering in a new age. The pieces are…

The Sick Roses of Suburbia and the Epiphany of a Picture

I knew the Oregonian “Metro” columnist Steve Duin lives not in Portland but Lake Oswego, but was unaware the writer from this banana belt suburb, protected from Portland’s East Winds, would feel protected from precinct prowling. I enjoy his columns, something I’ll miss when newspapers disappear, for the daily columnist is today’s “…voice of the…