On a Friend’s Gift to Deianeira

Perhaps it is some true essence,
This spiced verbena.
“Oh, it does seem like a nice fragrance”
Offer it then to Deianeira,
Who knows its sense.

 

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Epigram on the image of a Tudor Lady

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Photo from: tripwow.tripadvisor.com

A simple music composes a noble look
(For so it was)
Ever fair, tuned and in time with her Nature.
They say, long ago,
A sailor, an errant adventurer, once mistook
His self-desire for the net of her gentle capture
(For gentle it was beneath the rolling above),
But deep, his shallowing deep, was her love.

An Epigram on Wittgenstein’s Philosophy

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Two players at chess mind the board,

Utilizing the customary forms,

To move pieces backward and forward,

In hopes of success or reward,

And thus are the pieces in a language used,

Even when honoring a muse.

But language may lack system,

And therein a new game is bidden,

By philosophical spirits,

Who take up the task and square it.