Planting Rue

Ah, are you digging on my grave,

My loved one -- planting rue?

Thomas Hardy

I think my week of posting poetry in lieu of tongue lashings is finally coming to an end. I am reminded of my favorite joke:

What goes HA HA PLOP?
(answer below)

So, should I continue to post poetry that sustains me when I'm darkest or should I get out the scythe and sharpen my tongue?

Should I laugh my head off at the creeps in the Senate and the constituents they represent who wouldn't vote for the barest minimum in gun control laws, or should I sharpen my tongue and cry out against those who believe they have the right to protect their "liberty" and themselves from -- wait, exactly what? -- with a big ass gun, a collection of guns that they picked up at the local gun show in their godforsaken prairie town. I don't know about you, but I live in the second biggest city in the country, and I'm not particularly afraid. I don't foresee a need to protect my children with a big-ass gun from either a criminal or the government.

Should I laugh my head off at the fact that it'd be easier for me to go buy a big-ass gun and ammunition to protect me and mine from the government than it would be for me to purchase an affordable medication for my daughter with my private health insurance policy?

I just typed a comment on another blog about my own head this week, so heavy with the vile stuff that's happened, that I imagine it falling soundly off and not even bouncing.

Reader, is your head heavy and your tongue sharp?



































***A man laughing his head off.

Next Blog, Planting Rue and Thomas Hardy

Common rue

Do ya'll ever click on the Next Blog tab at the top of your page on Blogger? I just started doing it, and you know what? Every single time I do, the "next blog" is a hard-core Catholic one or evangelical Christian one. Names like Jesus Fever, Got Bible?, Stampin Sisters in Christ, Christian Apparel -- I'm not talking run of the mill fervor, either, but some scary stuff. Guns and God. Is it retribution? Is it a message for me? Is it a warning?

Am I digging my grave?

 Am I planting rue?

Will I rue?

Answer me, Sue.


"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
            My loved one? — planting rue?"
— "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
            'That I should not be true.'" 

"Then who is digging on my grave,
            My nearest dearest kin?"
— "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
            Her spirit from Death's gin.'" 

"But someone digs upon my grave?
            My enemy? — prodding sly?"
— "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
            And cares not where you lie. 

"Then, who is digging on my grave?
            Say — since I have not guessed!"
— "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
            Have not disturbed your rest?" 

"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave…
            Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
            A dog's fidelity!" 

"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
            To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
            It was your resting place."

Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

If you're on Blogger, tell me what happens when you click "Next Blog."

Far from the Madding Crowd

Moon through the window

Moon outside

 

At home by the fire, whenever I look up, there you will be. And whenever you look up, there I shall be. 

--Gabriel Oak

Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy