Didactic Doggerel

This Makes No Frankin Sense

The boswellia papyrifera,
A tree that grows in Ethiopia,

Produces frankincense, a curious resin
That has a bitter smell but isn’t poison.

In Africa and in the Middle East
It has embellished many a fine feast.

It’s used, you see, to make the air smell sweet.
For something bitter, that trick’s pretty neat!

They put it in the perfume lady’s dab
Behind their ears when they go out to gab.

In China it is said to cure a sneeze,
A cold, a colic, or a worse disease.

With all these uses you won’t find it funny
That frankincense is worth a lot of money.

Boswellia’s a scraggly, scrub-like tree.
It wouldn’t rate a glance from you or me.

They knife its bark to make the resin bleed
To where the blade has done its dirty deed.

Once and twice it strikes, and one more time.
The tree is overtapped to make a dime.

Its seedlings are consumed by cattle herds,
Reducing the supply by halves and thirds.

Collectors burn grasslands for greater ease.
They kill the saplings to get at the trees!

The lunacy defies belief. Good gents,
This positively makes no frankin sense!

Reference:
http://www.usatoday.com/tech/science/environment/story/2011-12-20/frankincense-endangered-
ethiopia/52130102/1

(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

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Five Quotes About What

Fried okra is not a vegetable. It’s cornmeal in drag. (jmn)

He’s determined to shoot himself in my foot. (jmn)

The student decided I wasn’t serving his needs and resolved to take it out on himself. (jmn)

It’s hard not to feel the way you do. (jmn)

“Nothing slowly happens.” (Pound)

(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

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Written in the 70s — On the Song

*On the Song of Songs*
Bernard of Clairvaux
B
You are my subject, scraped from the womb.
Will we cross in Limbo, sad progenitor and aspiring heir?
Who will survive?
I have been scoured from your mother’s eyes
as resolutely as the tides tear their pound of continent.
You came in a blush of sheets[,]
A curious tongue fathomed her, found you between her lips[.]
Do you get me or shall I father you?

(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

70s-12
Written in the 70s, 70s-12. (Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)
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Written in the 70s — Can peace

Can peace and beauty (opulent) be immoral? Grosse Pointe Shores. Lake Ste. Claire.

(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

70s-11a
Written in the 70s, 70s-11a. (Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)
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Written in the 70s — I admit

I admit that’s bad, but not *that* bad. I may breach decorum occasionally (like now), but I try mightily not to breach good taste. I’m sure you can handle the above; being a diffident sort, I wasn’t sure *I* could (the translation, that is; the neck I could handle!). Isn’t this fun? Languages are a dodge.
Darling, you touched me so deeply; your loving is as generous as the description of dying on the lips of an agonist. Unspoken tears claw your eyes; the undertow –; I would simply break in you and leave my best[.]
Clouds like white poodles in the windows.
Carter: “Love must be aggressively translated into simple justice.”
Arrived Detroit Thurs. July 15, 1976.

70s-11

Written in the 70s, 70s-11. (Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

Written in the 70s, 70s-11. (Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

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“Woman With Automatic”

This gallery contains 1 photo.

Woman With Automatic.

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Five Quotes About …

“What I teach you is nothing. What you learn by doing over and over is where the learning begins.” (Simon Michael)

“Writing poetry is much easier than reading it.” (Guy Davenport)

“Write hard and clear about what hurts.” (Hemingway)

“It is only the dead who have seen the end of war.” (Plato)

“…And continuing to occupy our chambers in the Faubourg Saint Germain, we gave the Future to the winds, and slumbered tranquilly in the Present, weaving the dull world around us into dreams.” (Poe, The Mystery of Marie Roget)

(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

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From Memory

“A Refusal to Mourn the Death by Fire of a Child in London,” poem by Dylan Thomas
poetryfoundation.org

This poem is an antidote to the “thoughts and prayers” mantra. It reminds me of Millay’s “Dirge Without Music” in that it challenges shopworn formulas of mourning. When I discovered it — lo many moons ago — I was captivated, first, by its syntax: Four sentences  with their periods.

(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

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Social Math — UK

Gerry Rattigan is the publican who operates the Thane of Thoth, the watering hole popular among the better sort of denizens of Chichesterton-Upon-Hogg — though, to be sure, it’s also the only such establishment in the village. Gerry customarily nicks for himself a generous tip from the large-denomination note Sir Alistair Chichester drops nonchalantly on the countertop to cover his daily consumption of bitter. The purloined gratuity comes to thrice the wholesale cost of bitter (three shillings tuppence the pint — toss the tuppence in odd years owing to the Regency Levy exemptions for baronial preserves) summed to twice again that multiple.

Question: What does Gerry’s outrageous windfall for his simpering service amount to in a fortnight?

(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

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Didactic Doggerel

The Smallest Black Hole

You wonder what you’d find in a black hole?
Your other sock? A dime? A baby mole?

I’ll tell you where you will find none of those:
In Cygnus X-1 only darkness shows.

A star one hundred times our own Sun’s mass
Collapsed upon itself and turned to gas.

It tore a hole in space I cannot find
A way to understand in my own mind.

A place I cannot draw or get my eyes on,
Where all is lost on its event horizon.

A place where things fall in and go bye bye.
No peep, no burble, not even a sigh

Comes back to notify us of their plight.
Nothing gets out from there, not even light.

Things disappeared for eons. No one missed ’em.
They had been swallowed by a binary system!

Now they’ve found a hole that’s just a baby,
The smallest yet, the smallest ever, maybe.

An X-ray pattern comes from gas white-hot.
It lets them hear the “heartbeat” of the tot.

They hear its heartbeat. Just imagine that!
If only they knew where your sock is at!

References
http://www.forbes.com/sites/alexknapp/2011/12/17/nasa-satellite-may-have-found-the-smallest-known-
black-hole/
http://www.forbes.com/sites/alexknapp/2011/11/19/new-data-provides-a-complete-description-of-a-black-
hole/

(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)

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