Wrestling Hemingway I wrestled Hemingway, in my head-- Inside my head, fire flickers of light, ashes dead. And where, you might ask, did this match take place? In the place where electrical impulses race! Old Man and the Sea, I see and have seen Heroic efforts where the humble glean Gerry, glean Ross, there's naught left but dross And drippings found spilling all over a cross. In my head, buried dead, living legends are there; To et tu, to you brute, to baa lamb and soft hair Too soft to softly stroke, then to whip and to burn, To find scattered and spurned: grey ashes, red urn. Thus he lies in a grave; does he lie there a slave? Or in spiritual places does he dance like a knave? I don't know, but I know that he came and he saw In this life he was too much, too far and too tall. by Randy Guess ©1997-2001 [About The Poet]     [How Could I Ask For More?] [A Sweeter Dragon Flame]     [The Devil and the Fourth of July] [Wrestling Hemingway]     [Wiggleworm]     [Short-Timer]     [Song of Extancy] [A Silent Paean]     [When Leaves Fall]     [Bipolarity]     [Weeping Willows] [Rainbow Color Reality]     [Hear The Mountains Calling]     [A Matter of Time] [Fair and Moldy Muse]     [Ode to a Scottish Lass] [In Praise of Earth and Sky and Sea] [Understanding Anne Sexton] [Home]    [What's New] [Short Stories]    [Philosophy]    [Forums] [Webrings]    [Biographies]    [Site Index]    [Contact] [Extras]    [Links]    [Copyright] <top>