The Lama

The Lama
by Ogden Nash

The one-l lama,
He’s a priest.
The two-l llama,
He’s a beast.
And I will bet
A silk pajama
There isn’t any
Three-l lllama.*

* The author’s attention has been called to a type of conflagration known
as a three-alarmer. Pooh.

** Erundur would like to call attention to the brilliance of this poem.


I’ve had the pleasure of discovering, a collaborative haiku website created by Tom Music. I met Tom about a month ago at the inaugural Seattle Startup Drinks event (sidenote: never ye fear, I drank no beer). I saw him again yesterday and was reminded of his site and told of new enhancements to it.

The concept of is a pleasant one and simple. Each person contributes one line of the haiku.

An example. I begin a haiku by giving it a name and the first line. I began one yesterday, and it has already been completed.

A Saturday thick
with smoke, fear, and promises
that Sunday will come

(Participants: anwamehtar, kellynisms, tom)

He recently added another feature that allows people to add Youtube videos of the poem being recited. I particularly enjoyed the following one:

little old lady
release your grocery cart
those shackles are loud

(Participants: vixy, chrispin, WEContact)

YouTube Preview Image

And this one by marmay9, dimelane, EnFeu and performed by kellynisms is worth having a laugh about:

life keeps taking me
by suprise, and it makes me
separate, explode

YouTube Preview Image

It’s worth admiring the completed poems, and if you like the premise sign up and try it out.

An Anecdote About Scones

In the morning before work, I head to the base of one of the towers in Seattle, head to my corner, grab one of the four comfy orange chairs, and sit down. Most mornings I try to get some Bible reading in, although I will admit sometimes I just sit there and doze or stare into space.

When you go the same place every weekday morning, you tend to start recognizing other people who come around a lot. In particular, there’s one homeless man I end up seeing most mornings who comes in and sits in the chair next to me. He’s usually wearing several layers of clothing (because the weather has still been cold here) and laden with a bag or two with his possessions in them.

Yesterday morning I saw him walking towards his chair and holding a box labeled “Mostly Muffins.” I assumed it contained muffins. On closer notice, I realized it contained scones. Cinnamon scones.

I looked at his scruffy face as he asked the question, “Do you want these scones?”

“Oh, no, that’s okay, I already had some breakfast.”

“No, go ahead, you can have them,” he encouraged.

“Okay, sure, I’ll try one of them,” I acquiesced.

“Here, have a granola bar, too. You can save it for later.”

I took the granola bar and put it in my messenger bag for later. I picked up the box of scones, tore a hole in the plastic covering, removed a scone, and proceeded to eat it. Twenty minutes later, I took the other scones with me as I left for work.

Not being able to eat six scones by myself, I shared them with my coworkers. They praised the scones and stated how delicious they were. I felt glad to share the scones with them. I never told them they came from a homeless man.

Events like this offer a strange view of the world. Typically, homeless people are considered the dregs of the society with nothing to offer. This man, who had received an excess of food, freely shared it with me.

I’m thankful.

No home on earth | Tale Wherein I Meet a Spartan

No home on earth

Originally uploaded by anwamehtar

Random guy sleeping in chair on first floor of tower. Probably homeless.

He woke up, repositioned his brown felt blanket, looked my direction, and said “Those are nice shoes.” He was referring to my three year old grey Reeboks with orange highlights — the cheapest pair on sale at Kohl’s at the time.

“Thanks,” I replied.

He pointed to his white shoes and stated, “These are spartan shoes. For a while I wasn’t sure if I wanted to live or die, but I decided to live and became a Spartan so I got these shoes.”


A few moments passed as I glance towards my book deciding if I should continue reading or keep talking.

He continued talking. “I don’t know if I like this jacket, I don’t think I want it anymore.” As he said this he threw a blue windbreaker onto the unoccupied orange leatherish chairs. Four chairs sit in the corner of the first floor in a mini art gallery on the first floor of the Municipal Tower.

I suggested, “Well it’s important to stay warm though you might need it.”

“Yeah. This weather really has been bothering me lately.” He lowered the hood from his red hoodie. His dark brown hair and youthful face indicated his age to be mid-twenties.

The Spartan began to talk more about his lifestyle. “There’s two elements of life. There’s the solid and there’s the risk.” He points to me and says, “There’s non risk…,” and then points to himself before continuing, “…and there’s risk. Do you have the time?”

I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, “7:49 AM. Which means I’ve got to go to work actually. It pays the bills — it gives me somewhere warm to sleep.”

“Another part of being a spartan is breakfast. I’m going to go find breakfast. See you around.”

“Alright, see ya later.”