I think I am your soothsayer -- just take a look at all the alerts I have been emailing you about the May issue.

Didi

you're forgetting Act 3 Scene 3:

CINNA THE POET

Truly, my name is Cinna.

First Citizen

Tear him to pieces; he's a conspirator.

CINNA THE POET

I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.

Fourth Citizen

Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses.

CINNA THE POET

I am not Cinna the conspirator.

Fourth Citizen

It is no matter, his name's Cinna; pluck but his
name out of his heart, and turn him going.

Third Citizen

Tear him, tear him!

*
Better for the poet to be brushed aside by Caesar than torn for his bad verses.

If the citizens only knew what we got up to our pages, how few of us would escape
their wrath!

*

p.s.

luckily for most of us Cinnas,

neither Caesar nor Citizen

bothers to notice our bad verses ...

getting beaten up in the streets or
the New York Times Book Review—
I could recover from the former but
not the latter . . .

La La Limon! Boy it's good to see you here! You're my soothsayer, and you say your sooths awfully well.

Here's a sooth I'd like say to you. Forsooth!

Sonnet for the #6

The subways are full of smoke and acrid mists today. In this
Heat the haze is thick glass that turns everything upside down.

Thor is banging on the third rail, his sparks shoot down the
Newspaper birds flying in flocks in the dark. Vulcan's forge
Bellowing, coughing gas, ozone and foul fumes travelling faster
Than Mercury or Huracan or the express. Marijuana flavors
The smoke, and incense burned by Afro-American Muslims. What

Thoughtless God gave man drugs I wonder, when I see the old sign
With the Ordinance which Prohibits Cigarette Smoking, but the new
Generation smokes grass and only reads color video, and disobedient
Prometheus is to blame for fire anyway. Down here, like at Styx,
I am angry at the Gods, but at Hunt's Point a Latin lady gets on

And I recognize Quetzalcoatl, beak and plumes, and the train elevates
like a magic carpet over the Bronx to Pelham or Parnassus.

--Jack Agüeros

...and lucky for some of us Caesars and Cinnas, the rest of the world is not the United States, and they could care less about the New York Times.

Indeed, I would have been torn to bits by an angry mob had bad verses been cause to riot. Although we might deserve it a little if we walked around saying, “I am Ada the Poet,” or” Bill the Poet” or “Rich the Poet.” Right? Then, the stones might be warranted...if only to knock us off our own Caesar-like pedestals.

Rich, thanks for the poem. And, it’s lovely to be here, thanks for the welcome.

How wonderful to see Ada representing out here on Harriet. Welcome, Ada!

Yes. Welcome Ada!

Et tu, Ada?

I just hope we can all tell Brutus and the Soothsayer apart, especially when they're not speaking....

I think a poet should be more like Shakespeare's Touchstone and/or Feste. Yes, the more fool I. Look forward to reading your posts.

I just hope we can all tell the difference between Brutus and the Soothsayer when they're not talking.

Right on, Ada. Can't wait to read what you have to say. Your first post is great!

How great to have you here! Looking forward to what is to come!