Frederick Osler
I always saw people painting with their arms and feet,
We overload the reactor and evac.
We are not vindictive, childish, and we don’t stoop;
The way to victory here was to deny the enemy,
The old man sat up all night.
We were the revolutionaries.
And an opposition that we got!
It’s not the cow that calls most that gives most milk,
But the cat is grown small and thin with desire,
Transformed to a creeping lust for milk.
What am I to you, anyway? Or you, to me?
First you give several light taps to build up a rhythm;
Home is where the heart is, and I’ve lost my home.
Entertainment as a whole promulgated an unmistakable theme,
To see in lightest things thy power!
Our hearts were drunk with a beauty,
Don’t hate the playa, hate the game.
Recycled Poetry 