Paul McKeever’s Minimal Maxims and Bon Arrows, volume 1, issue 7

September 14, 2009 by  

20081029paul Truer words have never been said, even in response to a lie.

Godly fire never shone
For brilliant spark fell but on stone.
Where hid paper, where slid pen?
What distraction stunted ken?
What grand wonders failed to be
For lack of mark or memory?

The Folly of the Tax Department: in many jurisdictions, the penalty for keeping the wealth that you produce peacefully is worse than the penalty for turning yourself in for mass murder.

O Beard
It’s not so plain to see.
Do I hide you or do you hide me?
Are you this man’s soul, in manifested form?
Or does my soul shine only when you’re shorn?
Fine blades
drawn across my face:
Virtuous slice or bloody disgrace?
If I take you off, what then may one infer?
That I’ve naught to hide, or cherub mask prefer?
O Beard
Let’s make it plain to see.
Sometimes show you, always show just me.
So I’ll groom you now, and leave me as I be,
But we’ll sever relations in a month or three.


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