Hiss Jaws, Oz of Czar Daws War-Saws Waz Nazi,
Der Furor Hiss Furioso
The archetypal architect,
spinner of webs in the brain,
the juggernaut of smash, by force of arms,
so sly and cunning of smut and snag,
presents his atomic fission bomb slaver slogans.
                                                                                                                        MAY 20, 2009
                                                                                                                         .... on the occasssion
                                                                                                                           of hisssss final rebirth
We to this place have come, where I have told thee
Thou shalt behold the people dolorous
Who have foregone the good of intellect.
And after he had laid his hand on mine
With joyful mien, whence I was comforted,
He led me in among the secret things.
There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud
Resounded through the air  without a star,
Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat.
Language diverse, horrible dialects,
Accents of anger, words of agony,
And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands,
Made up a tumult that goes whirling on
Forever in that air forever black.

“Inferno,”  Canto III,   Dante Alighieri  (1265-1321)
Some time let gorgeous Tragedy
In Sceptered pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops’ line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the buskined stage
But, O sad virgin, that the power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower,
Or bid the song of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,
And made Hell grant what love did seek.

“Il  Penseroso” John Milton  (1608-1674)
Most surely, he pondered, the roots of trees did enter the coffins of
the dead; and, as surely, as their grasping, tenacious strength did
enter through this lesser wood of decay and damp, so must these
roots enter into the dead themselves. In their thirst to seek
nourishment from all of moisture that seeped and subsided beneath
the ground, surely then the roots of a tree such as this must drink of
the dead; must drink of the moisture of loamy seepage of the rotten
dead direct, and must drink also of the tricklings of that decay, ooze
and atom alike, into the elements of all moisture of which the roots
did drink. Thus, clearly, the residues of the dead were absorbed into
the life, substance and composition of the tree. So it was that within a
tree such as this the dead did live, and through a tree such as this, the
particles of the dead were transubstantiated to new and vibrant

"roots"  James Leon Turner [Odd Jim Dotty] (1939-        )