…and never the twain shall meet

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It’s not exactly Kipling… but this blog is likely a little low brow for..

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
Fuck ’em up son. Wu for life. 

Wait a second did you just splice ‘Ol Dirty Bastard into Rudyard Kipling ?

I did. And I am not ashamed. Okay, maybe a little ashamed.

Like 1%.

 

The revenge of the Black Llama

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Once upon a Wednesday dreary

back when women were scarce… and sheep still quite leery

There rode into town, riding a black old Llama, a wandering Berber

whose name was Mustafa

The Llama looked tired, his eyes were all glazey

The Berber was a tad hefty and pretty damn lazy.

He dug in his spurs, as he hit the poor Llama, he was somewhat foul tempered

and was craving a shawarma

‘You damn miserable cur I should have gotten a camel’ raged the Berber as he dismounted and then booted the mammal

He tied the sullen beast outside to a post

and then stalked off into town to go find some toast

 

It was the straw that broke the Llamas back.

He was angry now. And that was that.

There is nothing quite as scary I can tell you right now

As what that Llama did to Mustafa in the middle of downtown

 

Mustafa came back feeling content… and quite fat

He didn’t even notice the Llama was angry, until it spat…

but it didn’t end there for that was not his fate

for years of abuse had filled the Llama with hate

it bit him, and knee’d him and trampled his ribs

and alas to this day Mustafa will never have kids

 

So if its not quite clear to our dear readers as yet…

Please treat your Llama with the utmost respect

 

 

(I’m getting sleepy so I might edit this in the morning)

Poem two in my Ode to the Llama series.

Find the first one, here

Llama Poetry

I’ve recently (I am really late to this particular party) realized there are A LOT of people writing and self-publishing poetry out there. Some of it is really good. (some of it… I don’t understand, but wandering around scowling and confused is not that unusual for me)

I’ve also just finished Legends of the Samurai by Hiroaki Sato. The samurai class appreciated the duality of being both martial and cerebral and spent as much time contemplating verse as they did practicing their sword form. And while I am neither particularly martial, or particularly cerebral… I thought I would give it a go anyway…

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There once was a man from Peru.
Who owned several pairs of shoes…
And a habitually angry Llama.
Yes, that too.
The thing was a beast! 
It wasn’t that bad…
IT TOOK THREE OF MY FINGERS YOU MISERABLE LAD.
A finger and thumb are all that remain, of that chance encounter in the pen that day.
Oh Ned won’t you please, relate for me that tale, of you and that Llama, on that fateful May day.
Well… The Russians were marching… of that I am sure…
And I heeded not the warnings of local (and ancient) lore
I reached out to pat it… But little did I know, the thing was of violent temperament…
And I was a little slow.
It lashed out… quick as a flash… and that… as they say, was that.
Oh I howled and I cried for all that it helped…
My fingers it swallowed with a smile and a belch. 
So should you ever go down to the pens one day…
Remember old Ned… and turn the other way.

 

Not exactly Robert Frost with his divergent thoroughfares…  but I’ve giving myself a gold star on my forehead for effort. Yay me!