Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Archive for the month “August, 2014”


Video did kill the radio star.
What’s left is a corporate corpse,
Taken over by accountants who,
In the words of Oscar Wilde,
Know the price of everything
And the value of nothing.

Video dropped radio into a hole
And the internet sealed it there.

Who still listens to these straited waves?
Fewer and fewer.
Right wing nuts.
Left wing nuts.
Old rockers.
Alter cockers.

People still ride horses, you know,
But it’s just a hobby.


It’s easy to feel sorry for that old rusted out Ford,
But this is its retirement.
The work is done; time to rest
And slowly return to the elements.
All compound things are impermanent.
All these things will be used again.

Walking in Snow

Walking in snow early in the morning is exhilarating, at first.
The city is rather quiet, the air is crisp, almost liquid to the nose.
Banal shapes appear mysterious in their pristine coverlets.
Then the cold comes seeping through my clothes and boots
And the thought of a window between this chill and me
Grows increasingly fond.

Walking in snow
Is like living with you.
It leaves me cold.

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