Friday, August 30, 2013

(ode to bug)

We here salute   the least of God’s creatures,
the  (humble bug),
beside whom   e’en the Humble Woodchuck
doth seem proud.

Nay,  but for the bug,
the Ladder of Nature  had collapsed,
lacking a footing.

Oft kroch ein Käfer kribbelkrab
Am hübschen Blümlein  auf und ab.
-- Wilhelm Busch

And here we have a little poem written by an actual bug.
(Here you can see him actually writing it.)

O Noes !!

O ...  Noes!  Da it-tle bug!
Bug  not  know!   Bug all confused!
Meb-beh   kit-teh    eat     da bug !!!
Allgone bug   go allgone !!!!!!   (runrunrun)

(Fragments of consciousness, like sparks --
nay   like  fireflies
in the dark …)

Thumbnail summary for the busy business-man:

Recent figures released by the Department of Agriculture
reveal that there remain only 934 Americans
who have yet to savor the pleasures
of the pistol-packing, wise-cracking
Murphy Brothers, P.I.s.
If you are among these unfortunate few,
make up for lost time here:


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