The Perennial Meaning [Today's News Poem, November 23, 2010]
Goodnight my drowsiness;
Seal off the aperture,
End my awareness:
A little death is all
I ask, but not too much—
An incomplete goodbye.
Victory's wavelength will
Crest and invert and it
Never repeats itself,
Refuses the rhythm,
Recycles the pattern,
Dies, revives back again.
"...the North fired dozens of shells at a South Korean island, killing two of the South’s soldiers... The new clash came just days after an American nuclear scientist who visited North Korea earlier this month said he had been shown a vast new facility built secretly and rapidly to enrich uranium."
—MARK McDONALD, The New York Times, Published: November 23, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/24/world/asia/24korea.html
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Showing posts with label wave. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wave. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Perennial Meaning [Today's News Poem, November 23, 2010]
Labels:
anti-news,
death,
Khakjaan Wessington,
North Korea,
November 23 2010,
wave,
wavelength
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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