How are the Mighty Chopfallen!

“Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.” I like to think I have a healthy ego and positive self-image–but I do hope I’m not quite so full of hubris that I can’t admit when I’ve failed or fumbled or simply that I’m simply a silly buffoon, just like pretty much the whole rest of humanity. Yet maybe believing that is just another sample of my shallow vanity. I don’t expect you to accept my assessment, just that you’ll give me a bit of leeway, considering that there may not be a lot of room in my tiny mind for ordinary wisdom and classiness. Not really sure I can get a completely clear picture from my angle here on the floor. I’ve fallen, but I can get up!To be Honest

It’s true that I have fallen down
more often than a chef’s soufflés
(or poor Pierre crashed into town
in air-ballooning’s early days,
before he noticed heat would crown
the heights but cold air caused malaise . . . )
Meanwhile, I stumble, flop and crash,
careening like a loosened wheel,
my dignity thrown out like trash–
but had I grace and nerves of steel,
I’d likely still keep this my fashion–
nothing better proves I’m real.

Dragons Aplenty

Just because we are so sophisticated, so soigné, so exceedingly modern and advanced, we regularly assure ourselves that we have nothing left to fear and know everything that we need to know. This, of course, is sheerest hubris and hypocrisy, not to mention a steaming heap of pre-composted compost.

With every supposed advance comes a whole phalanx of new demons and monsters of every stripe, tailor-made to frustrate our every effort to be cool, calm, collected and couth. And every chink one of those new dragons makes in our homemade armor is perfectly designed to let in a healthy herd of all those beasts and daunting trials we so hoped we had slain or at least left behind. Such is our nature; such is the nature of purported progress. I suppose scary monsters will never be extinct.

I'm Wilfred, and I'll be your monster for today . . .

Three Little Words

Three words strike fear into the heart

And with a sense of doom impart

Their horrors in the modern breast—

On hearing them, we grow distressed

And fear for love and life and limb

And see our happiness grow dim—

There is no palliative retort

When we are told: Call Tech Support.