A Bun Dance: Word Play for the Day

Abundance:

What a feast of mental imagery!

Definitions yielding themselves:

a. a*bun*dance: Medieval merriment, in which buns are an intrinsic part of the festivities. May include games (such as bun eating contests), the playing of the song, “Hot Cross Buns”, or the mass movement of many derrieres.

b. a*bun’dance: Rare. Conjunction for “a bunny dance”, in which bunnies do as bunnies do, yielding a multitude of bunnies.

Oh, such fun! Please do join in. :)

A Pox of Poodles

A Shiggaion of Kris, which she sang to the Lord
> concerning Rita and Loralei, the Poodles.
>
>
> Oh, Lord, who hath a sense of humor,
> Give ear to my words; consider my sighing.
> Come quickly to help me, for on all sides I am
> surrounded by poodles.
> Their snufflings rise up to my neck. They tickle.
> By day and by night, their barking pursues me;
> they are ever with me - when I sit, and when I rise.
> They flood my bed with muddy paws, and my couch with
> fleas.
> They hear cars drive past from afar.
> Their eyes never cease roaming to and fro across the
> kitchen floor, seeking what they may devour.
> The cat trembles.
> The neighbors moan.
> Is there no rest for the weary?
> Why do the house pets conspire and the poodles plot
> in
> vain?
> Surely, O Lord, you have heard my cry.
> Away from me, all you who have long snouts and sharp
> teeth.
> He who digs a hole and scoops it out will fall into
> the pit he has made.
> I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O
> Lord, make me dwell in safety.
>
> (a semi-plagiarism of David)
>

The River Merchant's Wife

I am haunted by the words of this poem by Li Young Lee. It is perhaps the most lovely, patient tale of deepening love and terrible longing I think I have ever read. I find it astounding - so very quiet.


The River Merchant's Wife


While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married my lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.

Tr. Ezra Pound