If there were angels
I doubt they would read
concerning thwarted hopes.
I'm afraid, alas
they never touch the poems
that bear out grudges against the world.
The rantings and railings
of our plays
must drive them, I suspect,
Off-duty, between angelic-
they watch instead
from the age of silent film.
To our dirge wailers,
and teeth gnashers,
they prefer, I suppose
that poor devil
who grabs the drowning man by his toupee
or, starving, devours his own shoelaces
From the waist up, starch and aspirations;
below, a startled mouse
runs down his trousers.
that's what they call real entertainment.
A crazy chase in circles
ends up pursuing the persuier.
The light at the end of the tunnel
turns out to be a tigers eye.
A hundred disasters
mean a hundred comic summersaults
turned over a hundred abysses.
If there are angels,
they must, I hope,
find this convincing,
the merriment dangling from terror,
not even crying Save Me Save Me
since all of this takes place in silence.
I can even imagine
that they clap their wings and tears run from their eyes
from laughter if nothing else.
Slapstick by Wislaya Szymborska
Yes I make jewelry but as a person of this world I also awaken to the news that seems to become more horrible every day, all stemming from some idiot(s) who decided through freedom of speech to throw a gas tank at already glowing embers, it's hard not to comment on that.
Here's to hope and less laughter from the angels, love Ro