Sociogeopolitical Art Project [Today's News Poem, January 8 2011]

Sociogeopolitical Art Project [Today's News Poem, January 8 2011]

Start with some pencil, a blank sheet will do.
Draw just the measurement, draw it to scale.
Fill it with people, some animal parks.
Color a smile on the sun, on the cattle.
Don't like a city? Then crush it to rubble.
Sketch on your picture an 'x' for the blindness
Of death, draw a skull to denote what's been wasted
By bored rulers drawn to make scribbles in margins
On blank pages—forcing out options with image.

"Southern Sudan, on the eve of a historic referendum for independence from the north, faces a future with a fundamental difficulty: Finding southern Sudanese trained to run a fledgling country.
When Sudan's last civil war ended in 2005, the leaders of the southern rebellion against the north rewarded many of its soldiers with jobs in the south's ruling party. Now the south's finance ministry, on the verge of overseeing a budget for a new nation, has a surfeit of rebels-turned-bureaucrats who can barely read."
—SARAH CHILDRESS, The Wall Street Journal, JANUARY 8, 2011
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704739504576067790998188326.html

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Insist An If [Combatwords Poem, January 7, 2011]

Insist An If [Combatwords Poem, January 7, 2011]
From: http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/combatwords-january-7-2011-splitting.html

She doesn't know, she said she doesn't know
And so an extra pint, a shot of gin—
And pinball through the jukebox techno pop.

Pick a fight—what makes that eightball special?
Grab it, throw it where the music (music?)
Emanates and break the sound of fuckers.

She says she doesn't know, so disagree
And jump the curb—she's fists: his hair and keys.
At last she's driving somewhere definite.

"God does not exist you crazy bitch,
Why withhold your judgment, nothing's there.
Say it might be so, I dare you, say it,"

Might be so. She married mighty soul,
A frantic drunk she shouldn't love—
Mostly doesn't anymore—
But drives him back to sheets;
Rolls the extra bed
And lays her head
Under moon
And asks
'If.'

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Combatwords for January 7 2011: Splitting Hairs

Bring your belligerent streak to http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/combatwords-january-7-2011-splitting.html

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Fissioning Techne [Today's News Poem, January 7, 2011]

Fissioning Techne [Today's News Poem, January 7, 2011]

Come to us, cling to our structures;
Change our molarity, Atom.
Burst through our skin, you're invited,
Dig in our tissue and match us.

The hidden things summon you,
For like is the alchemy
Of like, gone to likeliness.

We've antagonized mysteries
Of invisible universe,

Self-destruct, strong-force, and poison.

"The tests at the plant in northern Germany where the contamination happened revealed levels of dioxin at 77 times the permitted level... The source of the problem seems to be a plant in northern Germany which makes a wide variety of material to be used in animal feed, but also in industrial processes like paper-making. Somehow, a substance containing dioxin which shouldn't have been used in food for animals found its way into (on the current reckoning) 3,000 tonnes of feed. Prosecutors are investigating whether that was by design, perhaps to save money, or by accident."
—BBC, 7 January 2011 Last updated at 13:17 ET
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-12139407

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Meat [Guest Political Cartoon by Seann McCollum, January 6, 2011]

Seann McCollum's origins are shrouded in mystery and conspiracy. Satellite imagery suggests he writes books and sells them here: http://www.lulu.com/antvsant. According to our Top Men, he goes by @syntaxidermist on Twitter and maintains a gallery of frequently updated art and writing here: http://carrioncall.blogspot.com. He's not one to gloat about past achievement, thus inducing others to gloat on his behalf. See how crafty he is?

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The Midrash of Faxes and Feces [Today's News Poem, January 6, 2011]

The Midrash of Faxes and Feces [Today's News Poem, January 6, 2011]

In the hills of Carmel where the dust coats the carobs
There's a parchment of dung, there's a fax in the grass;
And the cypress boughs fertilize foothills of worship,
And the goats drop their pellets for herders to salvage.
It's the place where the priests wrote their poems with feces
On the coprophage flesh of the lambs of the desert.
From the droppings of sheep to the mouths of the rabbis
Through the grass, in the dirt, in that rapture of pasture.
They have gilded uncleanliness, called it a Torah,
And have culled from their flocks just the skin of the scapegoat.
Should one study the excrement; study the shepherd
And his he-ass, his she-ass—his breath and his writing?

"And let it be said, on this second day following the convening of the 112th Congress, newly sworn members of the House shall stand and read aloud the Constitution of the United States. And so it was Thursday, as lawmakers took turns reciting each verse and article of the document. Republicans in charge of the chamber rattled it off with missionary zeal, as if in a school civics class. Democrats pitched in, but with seemingly less ardor."
—JIM ABRAMS, The Associated Press, Thursday, January 6, 2011; 11:23 AM
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2011/01/06/AR2011010602566.html

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Acid Bath [Today's News Poem, January 5, 2011]

Acid Bath [Today's News Poem, January 5, 2011]

Pity the frog, it is senseless to gradual boiling.
Also, it misunderstands the whole concept of liquid.
Nietzsche had said that when headless and splashed by an acid
Nerves from the corpse will still twitch from the pain of exposure.

The frog is in you, in your genitals, inside your skin
As ghost of your instincts; it croaks for the freedom it lost.
Indulging the whimsy, you lay in your bathtub and wait
For heat to subside; and you nap in a soup of yourself.

"Arguing for an end to the policy, which is rooted in the 14th Amendment of the Constitution, immigration hard-liners describe a wave of migrants like Ms. Vasquez stepping across the border in the advanced stages of pregnancy to have what are dismissively called “anchor babies.” "
—MARC LACEY, The New York Times, Published: January 4, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/05/us/politics/05babies.html

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Die For Friday Night Football [Guest News Poem by RL Greenfield, January 4, 2011]

Die For Friday Night Football [Guest News Poem by RL Greenfield, January 4, 2011]
By RL Greenfield

Wanted: red white & blue boys & girls
for Afghanistan
Go to the desert & die for Jesus Allah & Exxon.
Die for Halliburton & the Carlyle Group.
Lie down & croak for General Electric.
Die for J. Updike’s skinny anemic god, Rabbit Angstrom.
Die your ass off for Dow C. Jones & for Binny the Laden
& Starbucks, International. Die for all-American spaghetti,
Die for Chinese food made in America by white dudes---
Yeah, die a little bit for a tank full of gasoline at nine bucks
a gallon & on the up & up: die for the death of the American
penis, circa, 2009---finally got that out of the way
Shut up & die like a good little pussy-whipped cowboy
who wears sandals to church every Sunday morning
Die so you can have a ninety-nine cent funeral paid for by
Blackwater, Inc. free coffee & donuts
Die for China that owns the USA lock stock & candlestick
Die for A & W Root Beer high school football & unrequited love
Die for The New York Times The Wall Street Journal &
Time Magazine
Die for David Letterman Jay Leno Bill Gates & Viagra
Do you need another reason? Die for white bread
& call it a day.



RL Greenfield lives in & loves Los Angeles, California.
 
Recent work online Stride Magazine ( poems, Aug. 2010), Poetic Matrix ( poems Dec  2010).   9 January & 1 December 2009---Charles Wright’s Littlefoot and Russell Edson’s See Jack.  Forthcoming poems The Denver Quarterly, Chiron Review, Nether,  Eunoia Review, & Sein und Werden.  Review of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road online  November, 2010 Gently Read Literature.  Numerous other publications in national reviews such as The Wormwood Review, The New York Quarterly, The Minnesota Review.
 
RLG received NEA fellowship literature mss of poems 1995.  Created television program  The Greenfield Code & produced & hosted 150 one-hr shows in Santa Barbara featuring writers & artists.  It was terrifically successful & a thrilling experience that transformed his esthetic forever.

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Prayers Blow Back [Today's News Poem, January 4, 2011]

Prayers Blow Back [Today's News Poem, January 4, 2011]

We've been blowing our fumes for so long
The sky thinks we deserve a reward.
We've spit sacraments into the mouth
Of God, doubting it sips what we've breathed.
If prayer works, then I ask why don't storms?
Why ice, asteroids, rainbows and sun?
We blow back on your breath with a curse,
You send us the collateral birds—
We shout down all the flight and they're stunned
By bad breath and embittered, foul tongues.

"At most recent count, up to 5,000 birds fell on the city. Sixty five samples were sent to labs, one of which is at the Livestock and Poultry Commission and the other in Madison, Wis. "
—CAMPBELL ROBERTSON, The New York Times, Published: January 3, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/04/us/04beebe.html

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Possessed by Sherlock [Today's News Poem, January 3, 2011]

Possessed by Sherlock [Today's News Poem, January 3, 2011]

In a deerstalker cap, with a pipe, he is Sherlock
Of the bench by the bus-stop. I have seen him before
As he sleuths on the corner, observing the junkies
Who have shame as he watches, but jimmy the keyholes
Regardless.

He's Chinese or German; he's gray like an ashtray
And watches the buses—forgetting, recalling—
In search of a schedule; of doing—undoing.
He stakes out his claim as detective of sidewalk
And paces.

He ages, reverses in thought, then returns with the buses;
Inhabits the bachelors, elderly, lonely; disguising
Himself with possession—he haunts them with archetype bookmarks.
Omnipotent Holmes, California is worthy to rent you
Our castoffs.

The land of the future is past and the present, collapsing
Itself. It's the complement suiting a man of his era
Of logic, deduction—a will to control all the factors
Surrounding a person—of industry, steam-powered heartbeats,
Impending doom.

"House Republicans plan to start the New Year with a splash: they say that they’ll vote to repeal President Obama’s signature health-care overhaul before his upcoming State of the Union address."
—Peter Grier, The Christian Science Monitor, January 3, 2011
http://www.csmonitor.com/USA/Politics/The-Vote/2011/0103/GOP-push-for-repeal-of-health-reform-Is-it-politically-wise

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Rock & Roll [Guest News Opinion By RL Greenfield, January 2, 2011]

Rock & Roll [Guest News Opinion By RL Greenfield, January 2, 2011]
By RL Greenfield

Rock & Roll set the tone by demolishing all criteria. Pierced the sound barrier. It busted
open the secret worlds. It crushed the universe of nic-nac convention & papier-mache
façade. It blew the roof off explanations. It smote the beast “esthetics.” No explanations
but in orgasms. If you write it on the page you are history. History is about the dead.
Rock & Roll is the Unceasing Sun. Eternal explosion & forever consummation. The
one & only Eternal Subject. Art can never be “objectified.” Every critic is a mortician.
To speak of “the object” is to be confined to the cemetery. Dylan, The Beatles, Rolling
Stones, You Name It----Hard Rock is already past tense putty, ground dust, or ashes
between the fingers & syrup on the tongue---endless de-tumescence & absence of sexual
dynamite. It repeats the formula: instant insipid baby food for chatter-box
regressionaries & anemics waiting for The Reaper in their laptops & cell-phone
megalomania. Piss-up-a-rope Intellectuals salivate in cyberspace concerning
the critique of Israelo-Fascism by Norman Mailer in the crypt. Rock & Roll burns
destroys & comes like the Lord Jesus Christ Mohamet. It is eternal orgasm itself The
Ecstasy unidentifiable by academic harlots peeping through their recipe books. Throw
away your dictionaries, literary critics, re-viewers & re-views. Art Happens. Get rid of
your brain-dead cell-phone clamp-on clichés & your syllabus-capsule oatmeal lectures:
Clean the tracks. It’s morning, Idiots: Sun & Sky are here----get out of the wood-work:
Resurrect your ass from the tomb & shake rattle & roll!

RL Greenfield lives in & loves Los Angeles, California.

Recent work online Stride Magazine ( poems, Aug. 2010), Poetic Matrix ( poems Dec 2010). 9 January & 1 December 2009---Charles Wright’s Littlefoot and Russell Edson’s See Jack. Forthcoming poems The Denver Quarterly, Chiron Review, Nether, Eunoia Review, & Sein und Werden. Review of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road online November, 2010 Gently Read Literature. Numerous other publications in national reviews such as The Wormwood Review, The New York Quarterly, The Minnesota Review.

RLG received NEA fellowship literature mss of poems 1995. Created television program The Greenfield Code & produced & hosted 150 one-hr shows in Santa Barbara featuring writers & artists. It was terrifically successful & a thrilling experience that transformed his esthetic forever.



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The Second Bell [Combatwords Poem Repost, From Jan 1, 2011]

The Second Bell [Combatwords Poem Repost, From Jan 1, 2011]
From http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2010/12/combatwords-december-31-2010-new-year.html

Leave your gonads at home,
We'll ride on the trolly
Switch the ding for a bomb.
For now we'll make do
Walking the first minutes
Of a year we don't need.
Brace all your nonsenses
For the streetcar will come.
Take vitamins, subways;
Take kisses on Market—
Cute strangers might cure you,
Could give you their herpes.
You could wander and want,
You might listen for lore
When the armpits of crowds
Have a radium glow.

They roar
On streetcars—new
Because the year is new—
And sip their brandy laughing, packed.
They stink of cigarettes, of coke and weed
And semen, pussy goo or danker smells—like shit.
Your friend can smell like that sometimes—he's only twenty two.
His mother called you up to say another friend of his just died.
That's two this year; the first one shot inside the park at night while deejays spun.
You saw the poster walking home: it said 'Reward' and showed a smile you met one time,
While juxtaposed beside that pic, a smiley face with neutral mouth and three eyes looking blank.
The second one got flu and stayed at home, too broke to call the hospital, too scared
To call his friends to ask for loans. I heard he slept instead and only when
He missed his pool-hall league event did someone send the cops to check
His pulse, to check his bottles, check his dog and see what makes
It possible—at forty one—to die amidst
Such wealth and liquify for several days
With Daily Show, Colbert Report.
It's time to hear the bell,
The second bell:
Ding Dong.



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The Financial Revolution [Today's News Poem, January 2, 2011]

The Financial Revolution [Today's News Poem, January 2, 2011]

Did you check inside your pocketbook?
I have heard the revolution's there
And that Al Capone and Stalin share
An affinity for decimals.
Go rebel against alarm clock buzz
And ignore the morning birdsong.
The worst will atrophy and spend
And leave you with the parts you use:
The debtor's prison's walls are one,
But all the zeroes are for you.

"White House economic adviser Austan Goolsbee said on ABC's "This Week" that the administration wants to "juice" the economy, which is gradually improving after a deep recession. While allowing that the U.S. will have to make "tough choices" in the budget, he said that it would be a "mistake" to "skimp on important investments that we need to grow." But Republicans focused on cutting spending. Rep. Michele Bachmann (R., Minn.) said on CBS's "Face the Nation" that voters want Congress to "stop spending money that you don't have.""
—The Wall Street Journal, JANUARY 2, 2011, 1:36 P.M. ET
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704735304576057881249711492.html

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The Golden Year or Two [Guest News Poem by Jack Granath, January 1, 2011]

The Golden Year or Two [Guest News Poem by Jack Granath, January 1, 2011]
By Jack Granath

After forty-five years of work
in a manufacturing plant,
I finally retired
to the Floating Island of Plastic.

I’ve got a beach chair,
a supply of disposable
novels, and earphones
made of leatherette—
whatever that is—
a cooler for my cola,
and a collection of stuffed
birds on crucifixes. I bask
in what my doctor calls

“the enemy,” synthetic
beach togs revealing a grilled-cheese
tan beneath grizzled chest hair.
I’ve earned this. My wife
Evangeline would have loved it,
had she lived.

And I’ve got the Internet.
I’m a gentleman scholar now
(from the Greek for “leisure”)
and know that plastic comes from
plastikós, from plássein: to
shape or mold. I’m shaping it,
Angie, if only by watching it go.


Jack Granath is a librarian in Kansas City. His website is www.jackgranath.com

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The Architecture of Degrees and Commands [Today's News Poem, January 1, 2011]

The Architecture of Degrees and Commands [Today's News Poem, January 1, 2011]

Order your magnitudes, multitudes—bind them with language;
For even the hex is a shape that recurs through creation,
Blessing the matter and gracing phenomena, matter
Or form with a union of life and unlike; with persona,
Person... a pure equilibrium—all algorithms
Expand in the vacuums of emptiness; marking the options,
Banishing voids with degrees of perception, so order
Your magnitudes—know and be known, you must own and be owned.

"Dominique Buttitta wanted to get married in style, so she spared no expense on her upcoming nuptials: $30,000 to reserve a banquet hall outside Chicago; $11,000 for flowers and spot lighting; $10,000 for an orchestra; $5,000 on her wedding dress and veil... As Buttitta excitedly continued preparations, the costs kept mounting. Then, four days before the big day, her fiance called the Oct. 2 wedding off... With such short notice, she could not recover most the money she had spent — so the 32-year-old lawyer is suing... seeking more than $95,000 in damages, plus the costs of filing the suit."
—Hugo Kugiya, Todayshow.com , updated 12/29/2010 10:12:54 AM ET
http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/40821215/ns/today-today_people/

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If Bozo the Clown Were President [Today's News Satire by Kevin Brown, December 31, 2010]

If Bozo the Clown Were President [Today's News Satire by Kevin Brown, December 31, 2010]

By Kevin Brown

What is satire? Satire’s the truth toned down.

Anonymous

     If Bozo the Clown were President, he’d be sworn in with a BANG! At the Inauguration, he’d Rocky Balboa the steps of the U.S. Capitol, and shadow box for the press. He’d take the official oath with his fingers crossed behind his back: “I do solemnly swear, yadda, yadda, yadda,” he’d say. “…and defend the Constitution of the United States, oh help me God.” Then, he’d smack the Chief Justice in the face with a cream pie. This would be followed by a 21 cap-gun salute and the Big Top Band playing, Hell, Here’s the Chief. And Cooky would be Vice President. Wizzo and Cuddly Duddly cabinet members. They’d cartwheel down Pennsylvania Avenue. Throw candy like a real parade.
     If Bozo were President, he’d start an arms race, where all the weapons are toy flag guns that say, POP! POW! Or: KITOWW! He’d have all airplanes built with the same material as the black box. He’d put treadmill belts in front of fast food registers, so patrons could burn calories while waiting for their food. Speed them up if the orders are Super-sized. Instead of food drops to starving countries, he’d drop the starving off at Chuck E. Cheese.
     President Bozo would then change the type of element that backs the world’s currency. Instead of gold and silver, he’d make it water and see how fast we’d drain the oceans. Class separation would be levels of dehydration. Next, he’d make everyone from each country pick up and move to another—Britain to Africa, Japan to China, Germany to Israel. Move America to Iraq and see if we’re really so advanced or if it’s just location, location, location. He’d stop worrying about life on Mars and focus on death on Earth. He’d settle all wars by having each side play the Grand Prize Game. Each bucket made is another battle won.
     If he were leader, he’d say, “Ask not what your country has done to you, but what you have done to your country.” He’d make diamonds worthless. Make gravel precious stones. Then, the streets would be paved with jewels. He would institute a reversal of celebrity. Make movie stars, sports icons, and rock gods pay outrageous ticket prices to watch teachers teach children, maids scrub toilets, and mechanics fix cars. He’d improvise his speeches and give the world a reason to laugh. He’d text message the State of the Union Address: M-S, V-P-C, M-O-C, etc., etc., and it’d be the easiest to understand in years. He’d put humans on the endangered species list, because we’re all one nuclear pissing contest away from extinction. He’d bring ice cream to NATO meetings and say, “I scream, you scream, we all scream.” He’d squirt water in Queen Elizabeth’s face. Pull a rabbit from Hu Jintao’s ear. Give a balloon to Kim Jong Il. He’d make the world a fun place. Make the world a better place.
     If Bozo the Clown were President, he’d be assassinated with a smile.


Kevin Brown has had work published in over seventy journals and was nominated for a 2007 Journey Award and a Pushcart Prize. His first book Ink On Wood is scheduled to be published in the summer of 2010. His website is: www.InvisibleBodies.com

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The Last CombatWords For 2010 Is Also The First CombatWords For 2011

http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2010/12/combatwords-december-31-2010-new-year.html



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Passage of Fools [Today's News Poem, December 31, 2010]

Passage of Fools [Today's News Poem, December 31, 2010]

I've depleted the winter and gathered its dew
On a pinhead—my pinhead—and watched as it danced
From the tips of my follicles, into my nose
Where it planted the needles, the pine, and the sap.
The survivors are green where it's gray and they burst
In my lungs, where it's damp and it's pointless to breathe.
At this rate, I'll be coughing up blood and I still
Do not think I will notice the seasons with care.
I was born in a village, but lived in the hive
Of our awe—yes, our gardens of dogshit and brick.
In my life it has taken me thirty five years
To have noticed that moths have a cycle, that rats
Are the floorboards—the blame for the venomous cure.
If this year has a meaning, its meaning is year—
It's not time, just a name for this passage of fools.

"Look at the calendar dummy."
—Khakjaan Wessington, December 31, 2010
http://toylit.blogspot.com

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Cringing From Awfulness [Today's News Poem, December 30, 2010]

Cringing From Awfulness [Today's News Poem, December 30, 2010]

"Where are your eyes?"
I've inverted them,
Pointed them inward.
"How is the blindness?"
No worse than my sight.
At least I'm aware.
"What have you seen?"
Nothing of value.
A web, call it synapse,
A flash with no light.
"Why did you do it?"

Engineer of my vision, you pointed me outward
When I wanted the innards of self to be holy.
I have waited too long for the grace of perfection:
It is shifting—one day it's a smile in the deli,
And then later it seems to be meat on the counter.
I'm confused by the scales which can measure the lifeless
But can't quantify all the intangible values.
Everything's tainted with sight. I'm imposing
Thoughts of no use in this river of matter.
I color the flickers of light in this market—
So, better to see one thing clearly—else nothing.

"(AP) CIUDAD JUAREZ, Mexico - No one knows how many residents have left the city of 1.4 million since a turf battle over border drug corridors unleashed an unprecedented wave of cartel murders and mayhem. Business leaders, citing government tax information, say the exodus could number 110,000, while a municipal group and local university say it's closer to 230,000 and estimates by social organizations are even higher. "
—Associated Press, Dec. 30, 2010
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2010/12/30/world/main7196745.shtml

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Ashton Kutcher Around A Campfire [Today's News Poem, December 29, 2010]

Ashton Kutcher Around A Campfire [Today's News Poem, December 29, 2010]

Check out this watch that I got from a star:
Platinum, crystal, worth more than my house
Ages before all the cities burned down.
Know something funny? He offered it free—
Offered me coffee and liquor and smokes.
Famous? You bet! But that's then, this is now.
Hey, this is secret—he offered his ass.
Why not? The loneliness kills us inside.
Company kills from without—yes he's dead.
Strangled to death, now I'm wearing his suit,
Cracking his bones—oh his marrow is sweet!

"Ashton Kutcher is getting toned and tough - so he can fend for himself and look after his family following an Armageddon-type crisis. The 32 year old tells Men's Fitness magazine, "It will not take much for people to hit the panic button. The amount of convenience that people rely on based on electricity alone. You start taking out electricity and satellites, and people are going to lose their noodle. "And people are going to go, 'That land's not yours, prove that it's yours,' and the only thing you have to prove it's yours is on an electronic file... People's alarm systems at their homes will no longer work, Neither will our heating, our garbage disposals, hot-water heaters that run on gas but depend on electricity. "What happens when all our modern conveniences fail? I'm going to be ready to take myself and my family to a safe place where they don't have to worry... All of my physical fitness regimen is completely tailored around the end... I stay fit for no other reason than to save the people I care about.""
—The Daily Dish, San Francisco Chronicle, December 29, 2010
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/dailydish/detail?entry_id=79914

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New Europe [Today's News Poem, December 28, 2010]

New Europe [Today's News Poem, December 28, 2010]

As he's pouring the tea, you consider his past;
Not enough to refuse, but enough to consider
The tea might be spiked with a pesticide poison.
You are filled up with honey, with violin dreams,
Though the others are cautious, unmoved by the music
His daughter must rock from the instrument's cradle.
Then the drinks get much stronger—there's laughter and gin
As he takes out mahogany cases with pistols
All nestled inside—they're asleep but will waken.
Then the others all draw out their weapons, from knives
To a phone that's connected to orbiting angels;
A press of a button delivers a missile.
If their fashion's impressive, if leathery shoes
Look enticing; they cut it off soles of a human
Who died in a war that preceded this evening.
They're old chums, they're competitors playing the cards
For advantage and willing to cheat the whole table
To win for an evening; to die in the morning.

"A noisy band of dissenters, many of them economists from outside the Continent, issued a warning: the euro was doomed to struggle, they proclaimed, maybe not immediately but certainly before long. Different countries would pursue such different economic policies, they argued, that it would ultimately place an unbearable strain on the currency and some of its members. "
—LANDON THOMAS Jr., Published: December 28, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/29/business/global/29euro.html

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Tomb Bunker [Today's News Poem, December 27, 2010]

Tomb Bunker [Today's News Poem, December 27, 2010]

Look to the sky for examples in nature:
Air does not stay in one place—it's in motion.
If the bedrock is moving, then who shall you blame?
It is lava, a magnet; a torsion of clay.
Appearance is constant, reliable instant.
You notice combustion, but never the burning.
Admire all this fury while warm in your kitchen,
And freeze it—you tame each progression, each nomad;
Serving them brisket—you bathe them with comfort.
Swaddle the furious, bless them with blankets:
You are waiting out flux, your position's supplied
And you'll sleep through this winter, spend summer inside.

"The coastal Massachuestts town of Scituate was in the bull's eye of the East Coast blizzard, hammered with snow, rain, flooding, evacuations and fires."
—OLIVIA KATRANDJIAN, ABC News, Dec. 27, 2010
http://abcnews.go.com/US/blizzard-flooding-evacuations-fires-scituate-massachusetts/story?id=12485328

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The Missing Blowout Preventer Switch [Today's News Poem, December 26, 2010]

The Missing Blowout Preventer Switch [Today's News Poem, December 26, 2010]

The buses are whining while winter is raining;
A mother is walking her daughter on Christmas.
They're hurrying, filling their hands with each other—
All washed with florescents and streetlamps and evening.
They're hurrying into a crevice of shadow.
A doorway, like others, with keys—like another's—
A sink to remove all the germs of the city,
A bed with the linens of peace and a playpen
Of toys; and a lingering presence—a haunting
Perhaps, or a memory. Maybe it's terror,
Or maybe it's sorrow—that smell has such power
I smell it while driving, with windows rolled up.
I reach for a button, a lever, a trigger
To vanquish the awfulness hovering over
Their heads... it's my head; and their halo my halo.
Their bed is my bed and their corners, my corners.
I'm so disconcerted—where is the button
To cease this disaster, stop this machinery?

"As the drilling team was trying to shut in the well, Paul Erickson, the chief mate on the Damon B. Bankston, a 262-foot work vessel moored to the Horizon, noticed something spilling off the rig. Then drilling fluids began cascading onto the ship. Dead seagulls fell, killed by the blowout’s blast. The Bankston’s captain radioed the Horizon’s bridge and was told to move to a safe distance.
In the engine control room, Doug Brown and his men overheard the conversation with the Bankston on their radios. Within arm’s reach was a console that gave them access to the emergency shutdown system. All they had to do was lift a plastic cover and hit a button and the engines would shut down in seconds. It was not such an easy or obvious step to take."
—DAVID BARSTOW, DAVID ROHDE and STEPHANIE SAUL, The New York Times, Published: December 25, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/26/us/26spill.html

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Dead Money [Today's News Poem, December 25, 2010]

Dead Money [Today's News Poem, December 25, 2010]

You call that decay there your asset?
How is it possible? Why did you come here
With wrinkle and tumor potential?
How is that possible? Out of the fathers
And mothers available, didn't
Some sort of pacifist, millionaire mogul;
Or saint—I have heard of them—figure
When we selected our bodies, our lifespans?
I wonder if souls are so stupid.
Pity's a game for creators—we players
Have measured our positive trade-offs,
Checkmating, getting our bingo—our bonus—
And cheating or luck do not figure:
Dice are predestined; not luck, it's selection.
You wanted to lose, to be worthless:
Genes of confetti, bones we can't eat, labor
Rejected and obsolete. Even
Spending, consuming, you're barely of value.
You're filled up with sadness, like babies
Knowing enough to expire in the cradle—
But stupid; you're stupid and living.

"With so much more at stake, it has become that much more important for companies to put at the helm the “best” executive or banker or fund manager they can find. "
—Eduardo Porter, The New York Times, December 25, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/26/business/26excerpt.html

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CombatWords for December 24, 2010: Holiday!

CombatWords for December 24, 2010: Holiday!

http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2010/12/combatwords-december-24-2010-holiday.html



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Remorseless Code [Today's News Poem, December 24, 2010]

Remorseless Code [Today's News Poem, December 24, 2010]

It's clearer now.
Spots in the road
Separate vehicles:
Faith is a roadblock
Of conscience.
Eye the divider:
It's porous and even.
A pattern repeating
Itself with a dot and a dash—
In the day or the night,
Under overpass,
Over underworlds.
"Help us, please help us,"
The pattern repeats
In obsolete code
Its plea to the remorseless.

"A man being pursued by police drove into a security roadblock near President Barack Obama's vacation home in Hawaii on Thursday, the U.S. Secret Service said."
—Reuters, Fri Dec 24, 2010 3:01am EST
http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSTRE6BN0NK20101224

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Reckless Jailbreak [Today's News Poem, December 23, 2010]

Reckless Jailbreak [Today's News Poem, December 23, 2010]

What's innocence, but ignorance? And ignorance?
Excuse, when no excuse will do before the law.
A checklist of vices to speed you to prison:
It looks like your house; but it's smaller, with psychos.
Drink while you're able: go arson, go raping;
Piss on a statue or drive while you're wasted
At night—who needs a reason; fleeing's feeling light
Enough to lose one's head and crack a cap to drink
Away the loss—there's so much loss. The billboard angels laugh,
The ship they painted on your bottle sails, and headlights loom
Ahead but lonely like yourself they seek the outer light
And intersect your path—they surely share your bitterness.

"After two hours of wrenching, tear-filled pleas for both maximum justice and mercy, the man convicted of murder in the drunk-driving crash that killed Angels pitcher Nick Adenhart and two friends was sentenced Wednesday to 51 years to life in prison."
—Mike Anton, Los Angeles Times, December 23, 2010
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-1223-adenhart-sentencing-20101223,0,968080.story

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Shooting Blindly [Today's News Poem, December 22, 2010]

Shooting Blindly [Today's News Poem, December 22, 2010]

Shoot out all the lights and when the murders start,
Blindness guides the arc of blood and motion dies.
Banks are just a fiction; money's made of script.
Guilt is even less and cannot be redeemed.
All this innocence is unbelievable.
Bank with sky and reap the cloud; then sputter, die.
Fear the sky? Then launch a missile—blind the moon.
Lance its eye then pluck out stars: they saw the crimes.
Sort what will not sort itself, with life or death:
Shoot out all the lights and strike out blindly.

"The next steps on Mr. Obama’s nuclear agenda now appear harder than ever. But some of the current powers in the party, including Republicans who may have their eyes on challenging Mr. Obama, from Mitt Romney to Sarah Palin, denounced it as a weakening of the United States, arguing that it limited missile defenses. "
—DAVID E. SANGER, The New York Times, Published: December 21, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/22/us/politics/22assess.html

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The Color of Transition [Today's News Poem, December 21, 2010]

The Color of Transition [Today's News Poem, December 21, 2010]

Red is the color of movement: a light in transition
Caught inbetween the activities; caught as the salmon
Swimming upstream where she spawns and she dies—like the vessels
Red with the ambient oxygen, red before rupture
Blackens the substance that falls from the orchard of heartbeats.
Plant in the dirt where the redness will fade, where the river
Waits for erosion, where fry learn to gobble the movements
Traced on the surface of things; such as water appearing
Clear for a lifetime, then cloudy with blood on the fringes.
Blood in the sky that's unnoticed, and even the lava
Under the surface of surfaces reddens a while.

"The last time the solstice coincided with a total lunar eclipse on the same calendar day was long before any of our lifetimes, experts say. The year, according to Geoff Chester, public affairs officer at the U.S. Naval Observatory, was 1638. (Starhawk, a prominent Wiccan, told The Washington Post in an essay that the two events have not coincided since 1544.) "
—Washington Post Staff, washingtonpost.com, Tuesday, December 21, 2010; 11:44 AM
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/12/21/AR2010122102519.html

"A strong earthquake with a preliminary magnitude of 7.4 has struck in the Pacific off southern Japan, triggering a tsunami warning."
—Associated Press, DECEMBER 21, 2010, 1:53 P.M. ET
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703581204576033713289893294.html

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Big Eye Theory [Today's News Poem, December 20, 2010]

Big Eye Theory [Today's News Poem, December 20, 2010]

You've been focused on bubbles—the rim of your coffee mug,
Rim of the toilet—you watch them, they merge and they burst for you.
The newer replacements subsume what was once your whole universe.
If you've grown inattentive because all the wonders distracted you;
Comfort yourself with the eye of the bubble, your navel, your camera.
For eye is the shape of the self, it's the sight of itself and encompasses
The whole self everlasting: an infinite self in an instant and incomplete
Moment of eye ever watching: a locus, a focus, a totem, a metaphor.

"To predict eruptions we can no longer focus on the magnetic fields of isolated active regions," says Title, "we have to know the surface magnetic field of practically the entire sun."
—Dr. Tony Phillips,| Credit: Science@NASA, Dec. 13, 2010
http://science.nasa.gov/science-news/science-at-nasa/2010/13dec_globaleruption/

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