Possibilities

One of the secretaries at work loves Obama. She says his speeches are so fine, they show her the possibilities. And I think that may be his appeal to a lot of people.


As Emily Dickinson said:

I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –

Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of Eye –
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –

Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –

A Poem for McCain

I won't vote for McCain. He's a conservative, and I'm not, and that's the end of it. I respect him as an opponent, however, which is more than I can say for some of the other Republicans.

Here is a poem by Lewis Carroll that reminds me of McCain:

Father William

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white,
And yet you incessantly stand on your head -
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"
"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old, "said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door -
Pray, what is the reason of that?"
"In my youth, "said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment - one shilling the box -
Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old, " said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak -
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"
"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my Jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -
What made you so awfully clever?"
"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think l can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off or I'll kick you down stairs!"

More Politics

New Hamphire has spoken, and in the interests of fairness, a poem for Obama:

by Edna St Vincent Millay

Thursday

And If I loved you Wednesday,
Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday—
So much is true.

And why you come complaining
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday,--yes-- but what
Is that to me?

Politics

I love the political process. It would be a better game than football if there wasn't so much at stake. Poor Hilary. The media had crowned her invincible and inevitable, but now that Iowa has spoken, they are writing her off as finished. Neither bit of hype is true. And what about Huckabee? As someone said on TV this morning, all the Republican pundits in the the country are looking around saying "What the Huck happened?" Huckabee is pretty much an idiot in my book. His views on taxation alone are enough to show he doesn't know what he's doing. I've had enough prayer in the White House. Let's elect someone who is competent.

Any of the Democrats would do.

And now, a poem for Hilary:

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day.
You little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.

Shoe Envy

I saw a woman go into the coffee shop yesterday wearing tight blue jeans turned up at the bottom, a form fitted black T-shirt, and a pair of high-heeled, pointy-toed, ankle strapped red shoes. She looked radiant. I know it was the shoes. A woman could conquer the world in shoes like that.

When I was a child I wanted a pair of red shoes. I saw them at the shoe store, shiny red shoes with bows on the toes. I could have been a princess in those shoes. I could have been a ballerina. But my mother wouldn't buy them for me. "Only whores wear red shoes", she said.


My mother definitely bought shoes in the "stump-along-like-that" category, as in the following poem:

Frida Wolfe
Choosing Shoes

New shoes, new shoes,
Red and pink and blue shoes.
Tell me what would YOU choose
If they'd let us buy?

Buckle shoes, bow shoes,
Pretty pointy-toe shoes,
Strappy, cappy low shoes;
Let's have some to try.

Bright shoes, white shoes,
Dandy dance-by-night shoes,
Perhaps-a-little-tight shoes;
Like some? So would I.

BUT Flat shoes, fat shoes,
Stump-along-like-that-shoes,
Wipe-them-on-the-mat shoes
O that's the sort they'll buy.


The working girl in this poem must have taken off her red shoes:

e e cummings

raise the shade
will youse dearie?
rain
wouldn’t that

get yer goat but
we don’t care do
we dearie we should
worry about the rain

huh
dearie?
yknow
I’m

sorry for awl the
poor girls that
gets up god
know when every

day of their
lives
aint you,

oo-oo dearie

not so
hard dear

you’re killing me