Posts Tagged Christmas comes but once a year
“Andriy was dead: to begin with.”
Staring out a hotel window this morning onto a still-dark street—frail skirts of light clinging to the legs of the streetlamps; black-coated passers-by gliding along like ghosts from a dead commercial about the legroom in business class; every signpost sheathed in pine branches and with a floppy red bow around its neck, like someone’s country [...]
A Bit of Quality for Christmas
I
Dear Reader, on this morning of libation,
Fragrant with holly, redolent with peace,
I thought I’d post a poem—with trepidation,
The muse being passed out on a floor in Greece;
I’d hoped to share the season’s revelation,
But then I couldn’t quite afford the lease:
Take, then, this rhyme, my sub-Byronic way
To thank you all for reading Run of Play.
II
I read [...]
Clement Clarke Moore Has Nothing to Fear from Me
The Run of Play will be operating on a reduced holiday schedule for the next few days, which means there will be posts “every once in a while.” (That’s a direct quote from our operating handbook, which also contains the words “occasionally,” “inconsistently,” “when we feel like it,” and “Bolton.”) You’ll have to [...]
