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  • amolosh
  • Aug 12
  • 1 min read

Updated: Aug 13

Roaming in desolation’s veld.

I came across an antique kraal,

Rock-built, that had endured since Khoi

Who’d occupied that place, then gone,

Kept cattle there, before their fall.

In the rubble, an odd gray stone,

Roughly carved in a doughnut twist,

A torus, pierced by some old fist.

 

I snatched this up and took it home,

Path leading to infinity;

It’s daunting cherishing the new—

Best keep old things like this in view.

So take your pick and make your way!

Life, too, is an objet trouvé.

 

ree

*Brakrivier, ca. 1950/51. Not the Great Brak but a small one of that name somewhere between De Aar and Britstown.



Tuesday, August 12, 2 025

 

 
 
 
  • amolosh
  • Aug 9
  • 1 min read

"So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth."—Revelation 3:16


I'd feared myself to be lukewarm,

Suited to feed the monstrous rout,

Indulged in by the vasty swarm.

I now see, though, that I am cold.

What's more, in fact, this cold is good,

A balm for breakers of the code.

Run slow, you horses of the night.*

Run slow. Just keep the route in sight.


Don't buy the text of any creed,

But take from all that which you need.

The cold may likely know the heat;

Fate falls beneath an idiot's feet.

Damnation figures in the good.

Get it? I should have hoped you would!



*Ovid, Amores 1.13.40: "Lente currite noctis equi"; famously quoted by Christopher Marlowe in his play The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus (we read this passage in high school). The lines here were prompted by the similar discovery that he is "cold" by Thomas Mann's protagonist Adrian Leverkühn in Mann's novel Doctor Faustus (p. 139 in John E. Woods' translation).

 
 
 
  • amolosh
  • Aug 8
  • 1 min read

Dogs are easier to love than people.

—Joan Rivers


Truckle, fawn, cower, toady, shrink,

Or cringe before the latest news—

Ersatz, a substituted fraud,

Not life.  Prequel on video.

You never know how far they'll go!

I've grown to hate the endless strings

Of voices on the radio

Making sense of senseless things.

The friendly walkers with their dogs,

What do you think they really think,

Advancing calmly in the light,

Entelechy* their line of sight,

Assuming what the future brings,

Guessing it might be . . . alright?


*In Aristotle's philosophy, the soul or force that “realizes or makes actual what is otherwise merely potential” (Encyclopædia Britannica).

Friday, August 9, 2025

 

 

 
 
 
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Photo by Peter Dreyer

 Cyclops by Christos Saccopoulos, used by kind permission of the sculptor.

Copyright © 2023 - by Peter Dreyer

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