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From: Alfred Lehmberg <Lehmberg@snowhill.com>
Date: Sun, 16 Mar 1997 10:00:12 -0600
Fwd Date: Sun, 16 Mar 1997 16:47:50 -0500
Subject: Alfred's Odd Ode #110

Apology to MW #110 (For March 16, 1997)

Do I dare? Do you care? Have you looked through my window?
Are you brave? Do you crave more than tired innuendo?
Do you stare? (Are you bare?) Do you pray for sound sleep?
Do they hound you? Can they pound you? Have you waded too deep?

Well, look through this eyepiece, and see what is seen.
It=92s a light show, it=92s a fright show, it=92s a perilous scream.
Drop congestion, infestation, other useless contraption.
Imagine you=92re living in the other guy=92s *mansion*.

				~

Look =96 ! . . .quiet, but thirsty, your mother was mean.
Your dreams were to rule as a maniac queen.
You keep all the science from the lowly unwashed.
You power your garden with spirit you quashed.

Look =96 ! . . .inside deepest space where the heart is the faintest.
There lives a bad god who requires a mad pain fest.
It ensnares the sad traveler in a web of faux pleasure.
Then comes torture, and bleeding, and horror=92s own measure.

Look =96 ! . . .still in space, at a world with graced flatlands.
It has mountains, and forests, and oceans of grasslands.=20
It has life without strife; it grows willowy tall.
If you had to stay here, then it=92s not a bad call.

Look =96 ! . . .as if blessed with a thankful gestalt,
You stand just inside the rumored black vault.
What=92s _on_ those low tables; what sits in those stalls?
And your eyes, or your mind, make no sense, not at all.

Look =96 ! . . .then he puts his old hand on her brow.
He has loved her for decades, but her time has come now.
He is scared to the bone to go it alone,
Too soon she=92ll be gone, and he=92ll walk along home.

Look =96 ! . . .there=92s the weak force at the *core* of the atom!
It=92s a glue that reality needs infinitum!
With his sister the strong force he holds matter=92s sway,
Or the world, and all thought would just all blow away.

Look =96 and there=92s Lehmberg, a`bang at his keyboard.
To his left is a rocket, to his right is a broad sword.
To his front is an eagle, Class Rocks, and wrought metal.
To the rear is a past all unsealed and inspectable.

Look =96 and there=92s Rogers awash in safe dreams.
He counts, then divides into piles, scant beans.
Convergent, accepting of skeptical blather,
Ignoring the evidence of a type he would rather. . .

				~
=20
But that=92s enough looking through the eyes of a muse.
As it takes you up high, and then sings you the blues.
Bewitched and betrothed, you=92re abused by religion;
You=92ve come to a crossroads of strange new decisions <g>.

			Lehmberg@snowhill.com

"And with the refrain, thrust home!" =96 Cyranno.


--=20
"I cleave the heavens, and soar to the infinite. What others see from
afar, I leave far behind me." - Giordano Bruno, while burning at the
fundamentalist's stake for the size of his nose.