Thursday, January 2, 2014

Thucydides And The Dandelion

Thucydides and the Dandelion

I had a brown sparrow
who thought she was an owl
and a raccoon who thought  he was

Thucydides. His treatise,
The North American Refuse Wars,
(593 pages, illustrated by paw)
has become a cult classic.

I had a dandelion
who thought she was a rose.
She died because
she had fluff instead of thorns.

~January 2014

55 pieces of blowing fluff for     the g-man

A nod to Mama Zen, who works the phones  for Socrates.

Bust of Thucydides, Public Domain via wikimedia commons
Dandelions, by Jean-Francois Millet, 1867, Public Domain via


  1. Holy Peloponnesian War, batman! And to think that only military historians, rhetoricians, and the odd (and I mean odd) classics buff didn't just buy the Cliff Notes version.

    That's some productive squirrel. ~

  2. This is wonderful, Hedge. I love it. Hardly any people can pronounce (or even spell) Thucydides in the 21st century, never mind a raccoon.
    And, like M, I mean odd.

  3. I thought I was Aeschylus and dropped a big ass turtle on a bald guy's head...
    Damn Girl, I need the acid that you're on!
    Loved your Bizzaro 55
    Thank You Hedge for a fantastic year of Surrealism to the MAXX!!!
    You Rock The Sooner State.
    Have a Kick Ass Week-End

  4. Please remember to come back after 8 and post that you are up...:-)

  5. i am rather fond of dandelions....i would take them over roses any day...
    though hey we can be whatever we want to be eh? or maybe we should
    understand what we are not? smiles.

  6. Who says you don't do "funny?" Though I confess to feeling rather sorry for all those here--delusions of grandeur die hard. Great 55. K.

  7. I think I'd rather think myself into a long book than getting killed for lack of thorns.

  8. My oldest daughter used to sit in the field and fill her basket with dandelions - the yellow "flowers" always made her happy. You DO know your mythology - I just stumble over the names. (your vacationing garden is quite beautiful)

    1. Thucydides was all too real, though I'm sure many who've tried to read him wished he was a myth. ;_) Happy New Year Margaret, and thanks for not making fun of my amateur photography. :P

  9. We tend to try so that we can foster some of the traits of others in us and that seldom turns put to be of any good end. A deep message hidden within your words. Clever and well written.

  10. I love this! It's totally original and steeped in plot! I used to think I was a writer who would easily be published. All I had to do was type "The End". Happy New Year!. "A rose by any other name, would smell as sweet."

  11. Thanks all. I literally spent just a few minutes on this--I'm sure it shows--but it sometimes happens that way, and one is afraid to tinker. Happy New Year to the whole 55 crew, and anyone else who reads here.

  12. Gods made war until he saw
    that men were the sore
    so now his arrow
    kills the sparrow
    until ancient myth
    stops sulk and tiff

  13. Hey, are you trying to out weird me? This is hilarious, Hedge!

    1. Loved yours--and if I have to try, I must be doing it wrong. ;_)

  14. Okay, hedgewitch, I really really have to come and visit. Your world is so much more magical than mine. :) (and our Raccoons can barely string a sentence together!)

  15. Not all deceptions are wise (pity the dandelion). Great little weave of end-stop "s" sounds, and that illustrious paw -- haw haw. The title is pure cleavage--who wouldn't want to peer?

  16. Do any of us really know who we are? No matter how hard we try.

  17. fourth attempt at commenting...
    this one grabs me for its sharp humor. usually, I am resonating with the roses and birds. In this poem, I am smitten with the direct attack of your second stanza. It is the guts of the poem sandwich. really great writing. and in 55!

    1. Thank you, Jane, and many apologies for the rude vagaries of Blogger. I appreciate you persevering. And yes--without the middle, it would be hideously insipid.


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats

Comment Moderation Has Been Enabled