the paper wasps are at it again

so i’m sitting outside in the heat watching paper wasps dip into the bird bath and head into the holes in the side of the gas grill again. i’ll let them work all day building their perfect little hexagonal condos then when dusk is approaching i’ll light the gas and incinerate their little development to get the grill good and hot for red hot juicy steaks. i just love destroying their little plans. chalk up another victory for dim-witted black bears.

somehow this reminds me of Charles Bukowski….

 

the poetry game

 

the boys

are playing the poetry game

again

putting down

meaningless lines

and

passing them off as art

again.

 

the boys

are on the telephone

again

writing letters

again

to the publishers and

editors

telling them

who to edit and who to

publish.

 

the boys

know that either you

belong or you

don’t.

 

there’s a way to do it

you see

and

only a few know how to

do it

the right way.

 

all the others

are out

and

if you don’t know

who’s out

or

who’s in

well

the boys

will tell you

again.

 

the boys

have been around a

long time:

for a couple of

centuries

at least.

 

and before some of

the old boys

die

they pass their wisdom on

to the younger

boys

so they can put down

meanningless lines

and

pass them off as art

again.

Charles Bukowski – from The Flash of Lightening Behind The Mountain

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