I often wondered how Tolstoy found the time,
To write War and Peace,
I am now confident I know how,
In fact I am sure I know how,
He wrote it when for a hospital appointment he did show,
With no cell phone to help the time flow,
So he borrowed ink and feather,,
To put a few words together.
The writing seemed to take forever,
And more words he put together,
Until the whole story was down on paper,
For his secretary to gather together,
While he was wheeled into theatre.
I'll never walk Lagos's streets, for there I might not find German restaurant in which
To eat, or Russian grub? Or Maori food.? Or
Polo playing..Now dont think me rude.? But
If I arrived and they did not have
Chaucer plays or Tolstoy? I would
think them mad.? At least mono-cultural that most henious crime, in the west its been uncovered umpteen times
I hope some camera crew or even two do make a
Visit to see if such horrors are true.? No
Phantom of the opera in Eskimo.?
A real bad sign i'll have you to know,, yes they must be lectured if such is the case..Even berated! Right in their face.) And their
Land transformed, that they become much
More civilised.? Should that be the in
your place
Face.' Or faces of many? cause thats how its been for fifty pointless years on.' In the attacking of the
working western dream.)
So its three out of three.' From Tolstoy
i see, though I cannot meet him.'
My estimations
Already greet him, he questions the vehicle? Of shakespears position in a the Literal strastophere' he probes at what; why.? To me its clear.' Well clearer than the
Authenticity, of many writes and plays that
Be? Credited to this personage, a pen for hire..I Must here see' encouraged by the king, and others he espoused, crossdress and also sordid scenes.' All true not work of my pen.' Much such; from his quill did stream.? Or maybe less.? He was' or is not? Though Oxmoronically rendered' to history, and students, as universally ubiquitous extended; quite as can be,
the effect of many a smeared ink blot.)
Leo Tolstoy
He stands—among the tallest Names—
That Time has learned to say—
A Mountain robed in Mortal ink
Where Centuries still pray—
The Page becomes a Parliament
Of Souls that seek their way—
He ruled the Nineteenth Century’s heart
With Armies made of Thought—
Where Peace and War went hand in hand
And Love was dearly bought—
Where every Breath of Mortal choice
By Destiny was caught—
Anna walks the iron Thread
Between Desire and Law—
Resurrection lifts the Ash
That Guilt had turned to Straw—
And History kneels quietly
Before what Conscience saw—
In little Rooms of Narrow tales
His Judgment still appears—
Alyosha tends the hidden flame
That burns through all our Years—
And God, who waits beyond the bars,
Counts every human tear—
Few Voices press so hard on Life
And ask it—what it means—
He carved the Heart from Mortal clay
And showed us what we’ve been—
A Witness robed in Russia’s snow
Where every Soul is seen—
In Memoriam: Owen the Pheasant
Lost at an auction in Vermont betwixt a first edition Anna Karenina and a bitter divorcée named Ruth.
There once was a pheasant named Owen,
whose plumage was splendid and showin’.
but a flatlander brute,
with a camo jumpsuit,
won him cheap—next to Tolstoy—unknowin’.
Sorry Art Of War
Somebody Said Tolstoy
Discovered The Meaning Of Life
That Can't Be Right.
Well, I Assume He Revealed
What He Discovered.
Half-Wit. Asssssumed.
I'm Afraid To Look.
I Thought I Had...
And It's Probably
Not It.
Of Course.
Sorry.
Jerk.
Who?
-Gray Squirrel
05-11-2025
Abracadabra did not work for joy
Her references backed by Leroy Tolstoy
She threw the spells out and went with her soul
Succeeding with the monsters, her ultimate goal
Instinctive chants from her expanding diaphragm
Jeepy Jappy Jumble Jolly Jee Jam
She snapped her thumb and the elixir lit red hot
Neon green too, then it began to dance and trot
Slivers of light darted left and right through the air
She could feel empowerment from everywhere
Abracadabra might work for the others
But she needed direction from her ancestral mothers
The room began to hum, whistle and sing
Pink curtains were jumping, chandelier did swing
Jeepy Jappy Jumble Jolly Jee Jam was the perfect chant.
For 7th daughter of 7th daughter, witch Millicent.
"Yeah, Tolstoy,
the guy could write like he was carving his name
into a mountain.
A real heavyweight.
He saw the whole circus of life and didn’t blink.
Kings and peasants, love and death, all rolled into one.
Maybe too serious for his own good,
but that’s what made him real.
The man had guts,
a vision too big for most people to stomach.
When you ou read him, you felt it deep."
I wish I could hear
your voice
one last time
“Hey”
you would say softly
“I love you”
you would quote
literature by heart
Tolstoy,
Steinbeck,
Vonnegut
and then
you would
quote something of mine
“because I know you by heart too”
you’d tell me
in that style you had,
you would say softly
«??????»
(“Prashai”)
one of our little
rushing secrets
“goodbye”
and
“forgive me”
in one phrase
but you never told me
these things
and then you were gone
because of my words
and did I ever
forgive myself?
to lose sleep over
a person or per thing just
sleep dream best not worse
-OR-
to lose sleep over
a person or per thing then
just stay up and worry
to put one or thing
to sleep one is bored to sleep
or euthanized pets
-OR-
to put somebody
to sleep read H*'** P**'** <--told Tolstoy keep writing
verbosities yikes/writes
rocking to sleep use
back-forth-motion helps ~ OR
use real rocks ~ they'll sleep
I've looked for a gift to bring you,
but nothing seems enough.
Can flowers be painted;
can the sun be made brighter?
Can rivers flow faster,
or stars be whiter?
Words have become my enemy,
while silence is wrapped in melody.
Perhaps, just perhaps I can make you smile
when telling you that you are pure and beautiful as a lily of a Nile.
Did it work, did you smile?
Being all the time happy would be living a lie.
This one smile, this moment of joy,
may it remain, ‘If you want to be happy, be.’ as said Tolstoy.
I often wondered how Tolstoy
found the time to write War and Peace.
I am now confident I know how,
In fact I am sure I know how.
He wrote it when for a hospital appointment he did show,
Without a cell phone to help the time flow,
So, he borrowed ink and feather,
To put a few words together,
The waiting seeming to take forever,
More words he put together,
Until the whole story was down on paper,
For his secretary to gather together,
While he was wheeled into theatre.
“Art is the medium by which a person, having experienced an emotion, intentionally transmits it to others” – Leo Tolstoy
A bleak monotonous landscape,
Had been her outlook for years.
She so vehemently longed to escape.
The young woman fought back tears.
Christina’s world was internment.
Trapped in a body with muscles decaying.
Poor dear lacked discernment,
Her will to walk, her spirit not obeying.
Muscular Dystrophy restricted her being.
Crawling helplessly across the field,
The horizon beyond is all she will be seeing.
Determined to create an impenetrable shield.
To separate her from her crippling disorder.
Forcing herself daily, her bent limbs to be unfurled.
In spite of her debilitating marauder,
In pain Miss Christina Olson seeks to view the world.
Alexandra Tolstoy, lost it all, the bamks just
Threw her to the wall, held her funds
Locked her out, her fault?
Her Russian husbannd no doubt.!
Although he'd left for many years she took
The hit, expetienced fear; according to some
Info held she lived in Monaco sone records did
Tell, sh'ed visited twice..is domiciled U K, her
Absent man had alimony not paid.' Despite these
Facts it was claimrd otherwise on the flimsiest of
'False; facts' some company filed, not much of a
Bank of records in truth.' Then She got some air to
Tell her truth, nat-west did a u-turn paid her money
Yet the story morals are hardly funny, so be aware
Of subjective 'truths' watch out your info is not
Fool-proof, fact checking' today? Is as we know.'
Not real kosher, yet why is this so..?
Pick a book I'll read it
Any one will do
I always want to have something
That I can do with you
Montgomery, Smith, and Tolstoy
Weren't too complex
But didn't you say Shakespeare,
Was who you wanted next?
How'd you do on Wordle?
It was pretty hard today
Oh, I see you got it
Three tries? What can I say?
How about Sunday's crossword,
Do you have some time for it?
I'll go across and you go down
'Til it's finished, we won't quit
Need song ideas? I'll pick some
Then you decide which ones
I'll play anything you want
I'll take it as it comes
All I'm trying to tell you
Is for me it means so much
That you would do things with me
And share a common touch
Of things enjoyed together
That we both like to do
Like two birds of a feather
I'm the red and you're the blue
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