February 24, 2026: “Advent,” Taking Myself Too Seriously, “Life of the Party: A Limerick”

I take myself too seriously sometimes, in case you haven’t noticed.  My last few posts bear this out.  I get inside my head and stay there, just rattling around.  So, I’m not going to get all dark and pissy this evening, despite the fact that the Cheeto in Chief is currently delivering his State of the Disunion address to Congress as I’m typing these words.  I am making the choice to . . . keep it light.

Marie Howe time travels . . . 

Advent

by: Marie Howe

Not that we knew or could imagine

what some mild blue evenings made us homesick for.

Call it forethought but not thought of,

not conceived exactly.

When it happened, we said we saw it coming

approaching a horizon we hadn’t

known was there.  It occurred to us

at once—which altered time thereafter.

By then we could not remember the before

before it had the after in it.

Before I sat down to write this post, I was outside in the dark in my pajamas, knocking ice and snow off my roof.  After I did that, I came inside, my boots and pants packed with chunks of winter, and changed into sweats.  Before and after.

Not exactly earth shattering, I know.  I’m tired and cranky, and my feet are icicles.  I’m ready for this day to be over.

But, before Saint  Marty signs off, he has a new poem to share.  And after that, he’s going to brush his teeth, find a cold pillow, and pray that sleep is his friend tonight.

Life of the Party:  A Limerick

by: Martin Achatz

There once was a poet named Marty

who was always the life of the party

reciting sonnets and odes

lightening everyone’s loads

‘til even Frost laughed and let out a farty.