ROBERT FROST WAS NO HELP TO ME
Three roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel all three
And be one traveler, long I stood
And gazed down each; but take none I could,
For in this trilemma, there was no Frost poem to guide me.
By taking one I was missing a double.
Oh why did he not write a helping hint for me?
Maybe I’m stirring up a lot of trouble,
Just inflating a big hot-air bubble,
But those other two could have set me free.
By taking none, the immobilization of me
And my dithering reconnoitering,
Especially in a dark wood where no one can see,
Brought in the police and judiciary:
And I was locked up for suspicious loitering.
I shall be telling this with immense frustration
Sometime hence no matter what I’m doin’.
The three roads led to utter consternation
And ultimately to penitentiary isolation -
And that has been my ruin.
Entered in Frank Herrera's Contest
The CrossRoads of your Life
Categories:
trilemma, funny, parody
Form: Narrative
Slain without swords they are
Though the airy wordly air
They inhale yet in graceless lack
Behold in the colony of wretchedness
Naked children begging alms
From brothers-not brothers
See as flies soar above sores
On their broken soles pus to lick
From the leaking flesh of starving souls
Don't their ribs tell the origin of bones?
Aren't worms molesting their intestines?
Don't they a place share in the supreme likeness?
Deserted cold gutter-side is their safe haven at night
And without meals they exit in multiple batches
To account for the trilemma of their ragged souls
Categories:
trilemma, death, life, sympathy,
Form: Pastoral