Panopticon Siren [Today's News Poem, December 6, 2010]
Oprah is myth; she's a lighthouse you fancy.
Row in the fog with the children, they're freezing
So chuck them both overboard; row even harder.
Your husband is worthless, he vacillates, jumping
Into the water, he screams while you paddle.
Soon there is nothing but silence—no splashing
Or shouts, there's just light in the fog in the ocean.
There's nothing like shipwreck: it's beach full of pebbles.
Land near the beam, let the seagulls approach you:
Worship together panopticon goddess.
"When this year's honorees were announced in September, some readers of The Times' blogs questioned whether Winfrey was worthy. According to the Kennedy Center's website, the honor is "given to those in the performing arts for their lifetime of contributions to American culture." Sure, Winfrey has earned Oscar and Golden Globe nominations for "The Color Purple." But she's primarily known as a talk show host. Critics wondered: Does that really qualify as art?"
—Melissa Maerz, Los Angeles Times, December 6, 2010
http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/la-et-1206-kennedy-honors-20101206,0,3436624.story
Buy the Q1/Q2 2010 Report right now:
You can get it as an E-Book at Amazon as well http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004AYDHXY
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Showing posts with label Fog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fog. Show all posts
Monday, December 06, 2010
Panopticon Siren [Today's News Poem, December 6, 2010]
Labels:
anti-news,
December 6 2010,
Fog,
god,
goddess,
Gods,
Honors,
Kennedy Center,
Khakjaan Wessington,
lighthouse,
Oprah,
panopticon
Monday, May 10, 2010
Tribute of Rust for the Sea [Bonus Poem May 10, 2010]
Tribute of Rust for the Sea [Bonus Poem May 10, 2010]
To the one who offers himself
To the fog with faithless devotion:
The hillside rejects you—the air
Does not want you. Linger alone
If you must, but riptides deny you.
The nighttime is rotten enough.
With the crusts of light from the shards
That are scattered: city in evening
Reflecting the halo of light
Off the moisture-crown in the sky...
And I hover! Somehow the west wind
Promotes me, uplifting me next
To the towers. Signal projects
Me, connecting pebbles—the dwellings—
In mist, and I rust to protect
This lost empire: sand and wave swelling.
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To the one who offers himself
To the fog with faithless devotion:
The hillside rejects you—the air
Does not want you. Linger alone
If you must, but riptides deny you.
The nighttime is rotten enough.
With the crusts of light from the shards
That are scattered: city in evening
Reflecting the halo of light
Off the moisture-crown in the sky...
And I hover! Somehow the west wind
Promotes me, uplifting me next
To the towers. Signal projects
Me, connecting pebbles—the dwellings—
In mist, and I rust to protect
This lost empire: sand and wave swelling.
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Labels:
Fog,
guardian,
Khakjaan Wessington,
May 10 2010,
San Francisco,
sentinel,
tower,
Toylit,
toylitpaper,
wave
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