ETHIC: a thing, it seems, describing a system for others.
ALIKE for self? Hardly. Self is under the rule of self. But they? From
BIRTH they owed it to be good, to be right, to serve a higher good.
SLAIN, though, the good for self. Good is what the self wants.
Category: contributors
The other Ralph
The bloke who comes to add the GROUT
is, truth to tell, a little STOUT.
He bends like an elf with RIGOR
Mortis, and tells me that his name is RALPH.
Ralph
STOUT is what he’s become, in latter decades.
GROUT and tile is what he does in a day’s work,
RALPH. You need a re-tile? Call Ralph.
RIGOR and care, and speed. That’s Ralph with tile.
The jaundiced eye
Some politicians would sacrifice their VOTERs
on the ALTAR of expediency, politicians who are
SLEEK in style and
TRITE of tongue.
Role Model
SCOUR the world for own advantage.
BLUSH never, say sorry never, admit other views never,
WHINE, claim persecution, slap twice for every slap.
ELIDE at every turn every glint of good a life might reflect.
Ear-drumming
I BLUSH that we, as humans, easily accept the
WHINE, the relentless head-drilling drone that
SCOURs our ears of Nature’s sounds as here we
wait on the frigid East Wind-facing hELIDEck.
Forsake the Surface
TRITE is easy, so is
SLEEK. Surfaces are everywhere. The
ALTAR of Surface always bears a flame.
VOTER will vote for simple and easy. How do I dive into depths?
The Lull of Plush Living
QUASI ok life is mine, but there’s the rub.
PLUSH life, enough comforts, enough pleasures to feel plush. Yet:
CHUTE of life is one way and steep. So which to emphasize?
SOAPY baths, long and plush, or a cold shower that wakes me up to present, to eternity?
Sodden brain
The
sudden PLUSH of rushing shower water
CHUTEs down on me, and shoot! suddenly
I’m SOAPY. It’s too much. The plush and the chute
make me QUASI, or some might say, queasy.
Nonsense
The
DEUCE! My once perfectly-structured
CHEST has grown, or rather my tum; I cannot get my
PARKA on. My wife, she says I am a foodie
BEAST, a bottom-feeding sluicer-upperer, a garden
SHRUB that spreads beyond its designated space, a
SPINY anteater of a man, sucking up everything on my plate.
NOISY! She says, as I eat, holding her ears. My
CREDO is: ‘A man cannot fully grow a
BUSHY beard without food and food abundant.’ A
YOUNG child would see through this nonsense, a child
BELOW three even. A sticky-faced child seated in a high
CHAIR. The deuce! I cannot get my parka on!
[The result of unexpectedly missing two days]
