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  • mistermuse 9:20 pm on July 12, 2020 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Age before beauty, bald, , , ,   

    PRIME RHYME, NO FIB (AND THAT’S THE RIB) 

    How about something I’ve not done for some time:
    Post a post so sublime, it don’t do nothing but rhyme.
    If I chose prose that’s verbose — longer than a rose is not a nose —
    What woes ‘twould expose, such that who knows how big it grows?

    Thus I propose, pun in hand, to avoid overflows
    And sink to new lows, to the confusion of my foes.
    So, friends, meat my poems that may stop on a dime;
    Just remember this tickler: not all ribs are prime.

    I WILL ONLY STOOP SO LOW

    I don’t do windows;
    I don’t do lawns —
    But when I doo-doo,
    I do do johns.

    AGE BE FOR BEAUTY

    Bald is beautiful —
    Or, so they say —
    But my head is only
    Bald half-way.

    Thus, I look forward,
    The more I age,
    To looking better
    At every stage.

    POST MORT ‘EM

    The world, it go to pot;
    Life literate is shot.
    O, woe is my bon mot….
    Bon mort, and thanks a lot!

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     
  • mistermuse 12:04 am on October 7, 2019 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , bald, Bald Is Beautiful, , clip joint, corruption, , hair loss, haircut, , , Lost Horizon, , quid pro quo, , Rudy Giuliani, ,   

    BALD AND FREE — HOW CAN THAT BE? (subtitle: The Bald And The Beautiful) 

    Nothing makes a woman feel as old as watching the bald spot increase on the top of her husband’s head. –Helen Rowland

    • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    Oct. 7 is BALD AND FREE DAY, but personally, I’m not sure what one has to do with the other. I’m mostly bald, all right, but how free is a married man like me? Of course, I’m just kidding — my wife lets me out of my cage for an hour a week, even though I keep getting balder….and making her feel older. Maybe I shouldn’t be using that hour to get a haircut.

    HEADLONG RETREAT

    As the years go by, my barber
    Takes less and less time with my hair
    Which only serves to remind me
    That there’s less and less of it there.

    To be sure, I’m not the only one whose predicament may become a hair-raising experience:

    That gave me a headache just watching it. If only I could trust the dubious ads that involve spending my moo-lah to get to the root of the problem, I might risk springing for mo-hair….but snake oil aside, there must be a less painful way to restore a Lost Hairy zone:

    Hmm. I wonder whether that great humanit-hairian, Donald Trump, would mind parting with some of his spare hair if I could dig up some skullduggery by his political opponents? For example, much corruption has been reported in the Caribbean nation of Hairti — and it’s surely a lock that all of the Democratic Presidential contenders are involved. All I’d have to do is send my nosey friend, Fruity Giuliani, there on behalf of our Pres with a quid pro-boscis that the Pres of Hairti can’t ignore.

    On second thought, if Agent Orange went to my head, my wife might think I’m losing it along with my hair. I might as well keep to my cage, skip my weekly trip to the clip joint, and try to console myself that, after all is said and done….

    Now, if I can only convince my wife.

     
  • mistermuse 12:04 am on June 17, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: bald, democracy, elitism, essays, hair, newspaper clippings, , , Sydney J. Harris, The arts   

    HAIR AND OTHER CLIPPINGS 

    I usually don’t wait until the end of spring to do spring cleaning. I usually don’t do spring cleaning at all. It just so happens that I came across a forgotten bunch of saved clippings from an era when people still read newspapers — the 1970s — and I happen to be someone who hates to toss things out before finding a use for them….even when the chance of that happening is about as remote as finding a use for the clearing on top of my skull where dense foliage once grew. Oh, if only I’d kept it (that lush growth, not my skull), because what I’ve saved by not needing hair tonic has been more than offset by the need for sun screen.

    Anyway, I know that the only way I can bear to part with these historic paper documents is to preserve them here in paperless form, which makes the spring chickens among you the beneficiaries of the ancient wisdom you were deprived of. I only regret that time and space preclude more extensive excerpts than the quotations which follow.

    One of my favorite scribes back then appears to have been the somewhat somber syndicated columnist, Sydney J. Harris:

    The best argument for democracy is not that we are morally good enough for it, but that we are not morally good enough for anything else.

    No class, as a class, is to be trusted, whether it is a class of color, or religion, or economic level. The excesses of the French proletariat in the Revolution were as great as the ferocities of the aristocracy. Stalin’s regime was worse than the Czar’s he supplanted. The Christian church under Constantine persecuted the “pagans” as viciously as the Romans had persecuted early Christians. Etc. 

    One reason — perhaps the chief reason — that governments of all kinds go bad is that, with a few notable exceptions, the men who get political power are those who want it the most. The only man who can be trusted with authority, said Plato, is the man who does not want it; but his opposite is almost always the man who gets it.

    It is the image we pay homage to, more than the substance. In Shakespeare, nobody takes the fool seriously, even when he says the wisest things in the play. Dress him in judicial robes, and when he opens his mouth, no dog dare bark.

    Next is an uncredited article dated June 1, 1978 titled College Students Treat Religion Sardonically,  which reported some of the classifications listed on religious preference cards turned in by students at U. C. Berkeley. These included: Seventh Day Agnostic, Frogonian of the Latter Day Saints, Hedonist, Porsche Fanatic and First Fundamentalist Christian Church of the Prolonged Suffering and Gooey Death. It would be interesting to learn, 36 years later, how many of those responders remain faithful to the religion of their student days.

    Finally, there is this from a 1978 article by Harold C. Schonberg titled Elitism Is Good For The Arts:
    Intellectual activity, of which the arts is one manifestation, is and always has been elitist. Demagogues and yahoos do not like this; they would like to drag us down to their own level. We live, after all, in democratic America, where all men are created equal. But surely the Founding Fathers did not expect that phrase to be taken literally. They meant that all men are entitled to equal rights, which is a different proposition entirely. For all men are not created equal, and the Founding Fathers, a group of elitists themselves, knew this perfectly well. If all men were created equal, we would all be Newtons, Einsteins, Beethovens or Rembrandts.

    Or mistermuses.

    NOW I can pitch those old newspaper clippings. Well, maybe I’ll still save that last one.

     

     
    • Michaeline Montezinos 1:42 pm on June 20, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      mistermuse, I am sending you this message from my new home in Florida. It is so beautiful her that I cannot begin to even describe it! I love our new apartment which is huge yet just the right size.
      I have read your poems listed above and I did enjoy them. Your were Numero Ono on my list to contact.

      Like

    • mistermuse 2:18 pm on June 20, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Hello, Michaeline – glad to hear you’ve finally gotten moved into your new home in Florida. You’ve left behind some very hot, sticky weather, but it’s probably even hotter and stickier where you’ve moved to. Oh, well, at least you now have a nearby ocean to jump into for relief.
      As for poems, maybe you’re referring to my June 6 post, THE PERFECT POEM (which it is, whether it is or not – get it? Ha ha). The only poem I’ve posted since then is the short one in the post which follows this one.
      Gotta run. My wife says to come look – there’s a deer in the back yard.

      Like

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