U.S. Space Marines Raid the Nazi-Angel Infested Planet [#twitterfoundpoem, September 9, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
Captain,
my angel detector is reading high angel radiation levels.
Captain my Captain the Angels and a stripper are fighting
a Ninja, a Pirate, on a shark infested Planet.
our U.S. space Marines board this angel infested Planet
and burn lots of books that contained apposing philosophies and worldviews.
Captain,
We're not Angels. Angels wouldn't do this.
Captain my Captain
the Angels have captured us.
They're making us walk the gangplank
in Ninja-Pirate infested waters.
Captain...!?
Superman boards the angel-captured vessel!
he beat-up 2 mannequins sitting in a vintage Cadillac- vessel!
he captures their Nazi stripper...
We're saved! Superman offers 2 exchange hostages.
oh no!
she has kryptonite in her vagina!
Angels wouldn't do this!
Superman becomes a statue
and Nazi UFOs take him!
oh no Captain!
oh shit shit shit shit my Captain my Captain.
death detector Readings are off the charts!
I'm very confused. Angels wouldn't do this.
help me Captain!
Evolution of Prison [Today's News Poem, September 8, 2010]
Actresses writhe on the set, while erections collide.
Sperm in a petri dish fills up the emptiness brides—
Daughters of actors and actresses; mothers of fucks
Grow in primordial stew in a belly of muck.
Fuck this director, I walk off the set, through a door
Into a forest—they're painting the stars I adore
Over the canopy. Crickets are tweeting and bears
Circle around my encampment and nothing much cares
Plaster is falling from firmament. Walls on the set
Close on us all so I sprint for the egress from threat.
Corridors, hallways and knobs on each option—they're tricks:
Cells in a prison of cells made of cellular bricks.
“More than 700 inmates in the northern Nigeria city of Bauchi were freed Tuesday night in a daring raid by well-armed attackers on a prison where members of an Islamist sect were being held, authorities and witnesses said Wednesday. ”
– Adam Nossiter, The New York Times, September 8, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/09/world/africa/09nigeria.html
Destiny of Doppelganger [#twitterfoundpoem, September 8, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
when is it my chance
to fulfill my destiny?
I'm not the only person
buggin out about bs.
#alliwant is to fulfill my destiny!
to be a young guy in a wheelchair on the bus...
to Tell me to fuck me...
to feel like a real man now
and to fuck my destiny.
castrating the motivation of LUV.
I want to drive a hearse
off a pier. I want to fuck an old guy
with my destiny :
to be a young guy in a wheelchair
while my doppelganger IS learning
to swim off a pier:
an old guy in a wheelchair
denying me the joy of drowning
in my old age Thereby, switching places,
and denying me the joy of encasing me
in concrete and burying me out at sea.
Byzantine Laminate [Today's News Poem, September 7, 2010]
Athletes shed bone whispers:
Actors in hippodromes
Glazing the starlighted
Evening with halogen
Torches to bankrupt what's
Solvent. A byzantine
Network of laminates
Braising phenomena
Red with their furious
Play as they batter their
Autos on freeways and
Mingle their paint job with
Spatters, or wealthier
Patterns of greenery.
Circuses. Chariots
Racing with wobbling
Axles—hellbent to win.
“It’s the gift that keeps on taking. The old Giants Stadium, demolished to make way for New Meadowlands Stadium, still carries about $110 million in debt, or nearly $13 for every New Jersey resident, even though it is now a parking lot. ”
– Ken Belson,The New York Times, September 7, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/08/sports/08stadium.html
I Only Have All Fucked Up Eyes For Youuuu [#twitterfoundpoem, September 7, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
#alliwant is youuuuuu!
someone who won't leave when the apeshit
hits the Big Top.
someone who *rolls her all fucked up eyes*
before I shut down my zoo.
someone who throws pink popcorn
who works for peanuts.
that's right... u got moe junk in yo trunk den an elephant !
dats becuz you is an elephant !
in dis bidness bull shit, monkey shit,
and of course apeshit are all assets.
And of course, Pink flamingos will Serenade
the two of us (thank you mr egg man)
under da Big Top.
in a few more months we will have our own
monkey cage with our own BRIAN PEPPERS
and he will go apeshit with tru luv
and *roll his all fucked up eyes*
at mom and dad !
Sandpaint Rebuttal To a Book Burning [Today's News Poem, September 6, 2010]
Cast a spell and make a prayer to gods
Of cinder, bursting blaze; and curl your
Pages 'round your spine. Your ashen lauds
Will flutter up from pyre. The clouds pour
Dust—a bit of chalk inside each drop—
And emphasize their point with lightning:
Etching its rebuttal in the crops,
Then wiping clear—with wind—its writing.
“The U.S. commander in Afghanistan on Monday criticized a Florida church's plan to burn copies of the Quran on September 11, warning the demonstration "could cause significant problems" for American troops overseas.”
– CNN Wire Staff, September 6, 2010 6:16 p.m. EDT
http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/09/06/florida.quran.burning/?hpt=T1
Balling With The Vampires [#twitterfoundpoem, September 6, 2010]
Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
put a whole new perspective on vampire diaries!!!!
chicken dogs and cows can be Vampires Too!!!!
I wont sugar coat it either:
they want your BLOOD and some of them really
want to ruin your life.
Don't believe EVERYTHING your PASTOR says.
he's a vampire from Angola.
tryna blow vampire chicken dogs and cows
with a landmine? that shit doesn't work.
look, just invite your PASTOR and the Vampires
to your labor day bbq. ruin their afterlife
with punji pits. grill chicken dogs and cows
with stakes for a Baller, Simply baller labor day bbq.
Back to Basic Instincts [Today's News Poem, September 5, 2010]
You are depressed?
We will shock you until you are happy.
Until you are not a threat to anyone.
Until you don't even threaten yourself.
The next time you throw away eggs and meat
You will feel fine. They were never really alive.
We will open up your skull and fix your engine.
You won't even notice the change.
You'll just be happy.
Look, bees get sleepy when you smoke them,
Dogs kick their legs when you scratch their bellies;
Babies turn their heads in the direction you poke their cheek.
Don't you want to be happy?
You won't even miss your freedom.
“A new therapy that electrically stimulates a major nerve in the brain shows promising results for relief of major depression. The treatment — trigeminal nerve stimulation (TNS) — reduced depression symptoms by an average of 70 percent during an eight-week study conducted at UCLA.”
– Traci Pedersen, Psychcentral, Reviewed by John M. Grohol, Psy.D. on September 4, 2010
http://psychcentral.com/news/2010/09/04/tns-electrical-stimulation-helps-depression/17732.html
Joseph's Crack-Colored Dreamcoat [#twitterfoundpoem, September 5, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
There were seven years of flooding
now There are seven years of drought!
it's a bit fucking shite right now.
this aint swaggtastic and this aint no picnic.
seven angels at the altar of the Rain
Battled the seven palm trees of the sun.
the holy crack addict
Battled the seven holy crack vials.
the heavens cracked.
holy crack vials poured down.
addicted to the Rain?
you aren't the only one.
Poseidon Love-Detector [Today's News Poem, September 4, 2010]
The mooring has loosened. The vessel is drifting away,
Lost to the climate: a vortex that tests what we'll do
When rigging unknots and Poseidon enlists all the gods.
Tossed by the ocean and blinded by raindrops I watch
Your boat as it welcomes the grip of the swells, so I leap
Into the water and tackle indifferent lines
And gather the tether that kept us together 'till now.
Din all around; castanets in the clouds—I can't hear
Your words though I know what you're shouting: the opposite thing
That you mean. You are screaming, 'just stay on the shore,'
But my brother I'll drown in a riptide and feed
All the crabs with my eyes—the survivors of hunts
With my net on their pier. They have grown in that time
From the undersized runts to the masters of tide.
You are lost and I've lost you already—we're finished.
“Hurricane Earl made landfall in Canada on Saturday and fizzled after a series of scares along the U.S. East Coast, flooding roads, felling trees and cutting power to tens of thousands in the Atlantic province of Nova Scotia. One man died in the Halifax region after he swam into rough waters to secure a boat that had come loose from its mooring. He drowned while attempting to swim back to shore.”
– REUTERS, 6:19 p.m. ET
http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/2010/09/04/news/news-us-weather-storm-earl.html
Shitheads in Yogurt Land [#twitterfoundpoem, September 4, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
where there's shithead, there are shitheads.
are You a shithead? Perish the thought. Ah ha ha.
this is a shithead-free zone!!!
It's funny how the parish council
can be undone with a shithead
so imma cherish this Yogurt land
before the council of shitheads
pollutes the parish and drowns us with others.
weeds dont perish and shit never drowns!
the Sun is a fraud: take note, take note.
a shithead got in and The end is near.
hold on to Yogurt land if u can.
The shitheads got in mine.
Oasis in Malthusville [Today's News Poem, September 3, 2010]
Witness this valley of vines—
Tell me that surplus is gone.
Chase me with bundles of grapes.
Dodge through the tubers and trip
Over the carcass of buck.
Spigots of Eden have shot
Holier spirits than wine.
Drink up the creeks while you can.
Even the cougars approach,
Hungry like always... but splash
Anyhow; play with your kids
While this oasis is wet.
“With memories still fresh of food riots set off by spiking prices just two years ago, agricultural experts on Friday cast a wary eye on the steep rise in the cost of wheat prompted by a Russian export ban and the questions looming over harvests in other parts of the world because of drought or flooding. ”
– NEIL MacFARQUHAR, The New York Times, September 3, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/04/world/04food.html
“Berkeley police shot and killed a mountain lion early Tuesday as it roamed a neighborhood around the city's famous Gourmet Ghetto for at least an hour, leaping over fences from one backyard to another.
Three officers shot and killed the 100-pound adult female with rifles and a shotgun shortly before 3:30 a.m. outside a home on the 1600 block of Walnut Street, just blocks from Chez Panisse restaurant, the flagship Peet's Coffee store, the Cheese Board Collective and other businesses along busy Shattuck Avenue in North Berkeley.”
– Henry K. Lee, San Francisco Chronicle, Wednesday, September 1, 2010
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/09/01/MNV41F6FIP.DTL
Telepathic Lover, Falling in _____ With You [#twitterfoundpoem, September 3, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
I've been following you.
I've made following you my Priority.
There are laws to protect my freedom of following you,
but none that protect you from me!!
I've followed you to Rome, yeaaaaaah!!
I've followed you to the NYC musical you call home. yeah.
You know I followed you to the police station
and by the way the Robot Sitting Behind You
Is a Serial Rapist. I took good care of it!!!
was that your husband?
I'm sorry I couldn't do it justice.
I just was doing your telepathic bidding!!!
I just want to preserve the actress' body and cherish it
and you wouldn't even let that happen.
and now you want to do a fall themed photo shoot?
ahah okaay lol :D
wait don't shoot me.
I'm falling in blood without you.
fine! I'll NEVER honor and cherish it.
Petrol, Napalm, and Lutfisk [Today's News Poem, September 2, 2010]
Rancid deposits of tissue that jellied
Much like our napalm and lip balm;
Or soap that one rubs on the palms...
Or the shampoo in hair—they're the same
In a way; for everything services
Vanity, stomach or murkier motives.
Issues of edicts and bulls from the Pope
Of fragrance and flagrant voracity
Lit with the fuse of velocity;
Sparking the engine—the tumbler's combustion—
And fleeing the voids with our fleeting avoids
As we rocket away with a dizzy rotation of axles.
We're pumping our pistons
And jumping from prison to pyre
As we jelly the substances fueling the fire.
“An oil platform exploded and caught fire in the Gulf of Mexico on Thursday morning, touching off flurries of conflicting reports about sightings of oil slicks in the water and whether any workers had been injured in the blast. ”
– CAMPBELL ROBERTSON and JACK HEALY, The New York Times, September 2, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/03/us/03rig.html
Exploding Super Body Builder [#twitterfoundpoem, September 2, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
#fatal error 000FF4432:3333:
working out, his arm exploded.
Not a Handy Man, Not Friends
with a 6'5 275LB pound DJ...
Not a super bodybuilder hahaha.
Damn, I never saw a Body Builder explode before!!
a bad ass accident!!
before i explode, I would like to sing
the praises of that most perfect explosion:
not of weird crap & guilty pleasure,
but of super bodybuilder hahaha.
Questions Aren't Answered [Today's News Poem, September 1, 2010]
Richard McBeef is a combo of Hamlet
And accident fantasies; paranoid
Shadows of motives that lurk where the insight
Is weakest.
Each time one smiles insincerely, a fragment
Of self's ever thwarted. Anxiety
Masters the blindness of love with the cruelty
Of knowledge.
Misunderstanding is normative—never
Aberrant. A desert was made and they
Called it a peace—but no life can survive with-
Out water.
Stalking the internet, calling one's handle
A question mark, seeking a meaningful
Amity; hunting for solace with anger
And madness;
Photos of robots that hide in the bodies
Of jocular pranksters in classrooms to
Study for clues in their sneers and expressions:
Disgusted.
Silence is best for this world filled with chatter—
And questions aren't answered; anxiety's
Punished and smiling is futile. True solace
Is fiction.
“Berkeley police shot and killed a mountain lion early Tuesday as it roamed a neighborhood around the city's famous Gourmet Ghetto for at least an hour, leaping over fences from one backyard to another.
Three officers shot and killed the 100-pound adult female with rifles and a shotgun shortly before 3:30 a.m. outside a home on the 1600 block of Walnut Street, just blocks from Chez Panisse restaurant, the flagship Peet's Coffee store, the Cheese Board Collective and other businesses along busy Shattuck Avenue in North Berkeley.”
– Henry K. Lee, San Francisco Chronicle, Wednesday, September 1, 2010
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/09/01/MNV41F6FIP.DTL
“A man with an explosive device entered the Discovery Communications building in downtown Silver Spring on Wednesday afternoon and has taken a security guard hostage, Montgomery County Police said... Some employees were evacuated. Others told to go to the highest floor in the building. An e-mail to Discovery employees had the subject line: "URGENT: Employees at One Discovery Place Proceed to a Locked Office IMMEDIATELY."”
– Dan Morse and Christian Davenport, Washington Post, Wednesday, September 1, 2010; 2:59 PM
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/09/01/AR2010090103911.html?hpid=topnews
Inflatable Human Skin Catsuit!!!! [#twitterfoundpoem, September 1, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
What say you guys to a special edition brew?
a magical elixer to celebrate some seduction
that carries us through? We will float
in an ocean of lotion in prison
in the basket or We will get the hose again...
a special edition brew sounds pretty sweet
compared to Tomorrow, on standby.
a recursive version of us,
just in case We get out of prison...
a special edition magic potion
just in case our only recompense, after all of that
is lotion in the basket,
a hose again...
drinking my piss from a pail,
and becoming the most beautiful things in life
like felt made from my heart ...
You can repair stabs with stitches
and before you know it becomes a healed skin
Lust Object: a $1,000 Inflatable, Human skin Catsuit!!!!
Dinosaur Tresses [Today's News Poem, August 31, 2010]
… they clamor, then hammer the barrier that the carriers warily bury in skerries of traffic. The trick to the graph's wit: miles of wires in the isle of tires, waking the juice through the snakes that connect to vectors gone loosened. The lucid translucence of fog in this groggy slog through the evening that sings with the tone of the dead and the clotting of carbon. The bones of eternity founded the city of nebulous tethering; credulous nethering; fortress of sand with electrical tresses and strands that are lovely as youth and as brief.
“The Obama administration is considering a range of new measures to boost economic growth, including tax cuts and a new nationwide infrastructure program, according to people familiar with the discussions. ”
– DEBORAH SOLOMON and JONATHAN WEISMAN, The Wall Street Journal, August 31, 2010
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704421104575464012356644550.html?mod=googlenews_wsj
Wok Your Dog [#twitterfoundpoem, August 31, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
I hear what I like to like to hear-AMEN!
I cant go to sleep and my kitchen is messy
and I hear what I like to like to hear-AMEN!
I Wok MY DOG IZZY THEN I DO MY FAMILY
[BESIDES MY MOM LOL],
THEN clean up MY mess!
I LOVE Making a new fall leather jacket
with MY DOG IZZY and MOM and FAMILY!!!!
it's A Hot Wok but somebody has got to do it.
I HATE being Alone but I LOVE leather!
The feel, the smell.... I'm addicted to DOGMOMFAMILY leather!
Hate shopping? somebody has got to do it--
feel that DOGMOMFAMILY leather!
in Lieu of FAMILY and DOG
I Wok your Cats for free
Does this sound bad?
I Wok your Cats for free or
THEN I DO your FAMILY!!!! -AMEN!
Modern Conveniences [Today's News Poem, August 30, 2010]
Modern convenience means dialing a phone for a team of policemen who carry my exit. They're cleansing the peasants, removing the vermin, decreasing the surplus, ignoring miasmas that rise from the bottles of pills and the hormones we eat at each meal... And the cleaning solutions that climb in our cells for a joyride—to copy their asses forever inside the great Xerox within... I'm leaking. My beaker is broken, my boundaries tested by molecule chisels that nibble my innards and dazzle my channels of sodium; diverting those flashes of insight that clamor in synapses, to something more placid.
Extremities dangle away from the center of mass. It's the symbol of targets wherever the warriors juggle by caliber. Soon we'll excise all extreme personalities; culling the herd with our leaden weed-whackers, to leave just a head and a package of guts. And squirming as worms in our offices, burning our stomachs on carpet, tripping on staples and paperclips; wearing pink and blue discuses, that holes punched through paper produced—they will stick to our skin like a smallpox. They'll bake us with halogens, beaming a silvery path; while the monitors watch us through cameras that watch as we witness the world turn to foam.
“A San Jose man who had tried to kill himself with a nail gun was shot and killed by police... Police tried to contact the man from outside the home. But when he did not respond to repeated requests, officers broke in and found the man with self-inflicted wounds, Lopez said. He was also holding a 10-inch knife, and when he confronted the officers, they shot him, Lopez said.”
– Benny Evangelista, San Francisco Chronicle, August 30, 2010
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/08/30/BASE1F5ITI.DTL
Fast Wendy: Over One Billion Dads Served [#twitterfoundpoem, August 30, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
#somewhereintheworld there is a lazy dad
havin sex in wendys. is a dead beat dad tryin to actively
be more of a dead beat bad? or is a girl havin sex with her dude
bad, because he bought her a snickers bar and some red koolaid?
maybe both are bad because #somewhereintheworld someone is hungry
and wants her dad? whatever! may everything stay
exactly how it is right now. I'm next in line.
If you were my brother and fell off a fence
To land on the blade of the sign of the times
The stadium opens and shuts, would you wrap
Your hand with your shirt and then drive by yourself
To Kaiser, not calling me—weaving your car
While sloshing the blood 'round the floormat and drunk
On loss, and then wait in a line 'till they stitch
Your hand? Would you lie to them, saying I'm near
And circling blocks for a space, so they'd leave
You pallid, anemic and shambling down
Past levels that slant in the parking garage?
If later, you asked me to help you with chores
And told me you cut yourself walking the track,
I'd think to that time that I shouted you out
Of coma. Your pancreas rotted; you'd nap
While driving through Oakland and wake to my hand
On wheel as I'd veer us away from the road.
I'm sure at that moment you'd wake up in shock,
Then sleep once again in your guilt while I'd walk
To purchase a candy at stores where the red
On packages looks like the red of your car—
The color that links us through loneliness shared.
“At the height of this summer's heat wave, some doctors warned that a few hours of inhaling the thick, acrid smog that blanketed Moscow was like smoking a pack of cigarettes.
One scientist declared that cases of suicide, diabetes and alcoholism would soar once winter set in because of the aftereffects of the toxic smoke.”
– Alexandra Odynova, The Moscow Times, August 29, 2010
http://www.themoscowtimes.com/news/article/worries-over-smogs-effects-decline/413880.html
Following Polaris on I-5 [Bonus Poem, Longshot Submission--REJECTED, August 28, 2010]
Polaris is waiting. She watches the freeway.
And likewise my bride is asleep in our lucky
Oasis, her palm on my thigh as we're speeding
To home. In the back seat our baby is singing
To cattle and purrs at the orchards; delighted
By travel. The chance for a blowout's unlikely.
I've come to believe that my fortunate season
Won't end 'till my purpose is finished; that random
Occurrence is flooding in villages: distant,
Inhuman; a bride to the bullet's intrusion—
And never the northernmost star-beams of glamor
That draw all the drivers together. My baby,
I shout, do you see all the meteors streaking?
I startle my wife from her napping—she lurches
My elbow. The vehicle teeters and threatens
To tumble—I pray in that instant to nothing.
Polaris is sliding through darkness—she's wearing
A tunic of white and she slips through the window
And settles beside her next husband, who's sleeping
By starlight, in car seat; his father correcting
Their path through the valley; in search of true north.
Longshotmag rejected this poem, so I'm giving it to you guys as a freebie. I think they made a mistake, but then again, I didn't see what they actually published. I wrote it in an hour. If you like it, give up some applause & check out the sponsors. I'm also working on a news poem, so you'll have more stuff to read pretty soon.
Zyklon B Kills Siafu Dead [#twitterfoundpoem, August 29, 2010]
Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
The world's best riders and motorcycles take to the track.
Some dude's vanity plate says ZYKLON B.
another contestant IS DRIVING a ufo
like a maniac!
The Indianapolis Motor Speedway:
mud, blood & barbed wire-fun.
The opening!!!! LEMMINGS take the lead.
Go LEMMINGS!!!!
they trip and fall on barbed wire.
lmfao. this is where it gets serious.
a Motorist drives past and sprays ZYKLON B
behind him. fucking brutal!
The LEMMINGS Asphyxiate.
they're out of the race!!!!
The Marine's ZYKLON B car rounds
the FIRST lap and he's ambushed by Siafu.
I love this race. they RIP THE FLESH FROM off his BONES!!!!
The Marine's ZYKLON B sprays and they all asphyxiate.
The Marine Screams "curse you! I asphyxiate youuu!"
The ufo contestant pepper-sprays protesters,
AND counter-protesters near Marine's funeral
As she rounds the finish line
she pepper-sprays AND ZYKLON B-sprays
the audience... that's me!!!! audience ppl said
it was life changing and eye opening to get sprayed
by soo many diff gasses AND to see these
siafu ants attack EVERYTHING.
... that's me!!!!
Grandmaster Prisoner [Today's News Poem, August 28, 2010]
Coffee yourself to a stupor and battle parolees,
Schizos and fools like yourself on the chessboard.
Floyd sees impatience; the way that you pressure his pieces.
Victory's vague and you seek out those masters of planning.
Winning against them's annoying and each of of them offers
Models of playing with people. You pity them. Purchase
Drinks for them; watching them stroll on Valencia—laughing!
How is it possible losers absorb what satori
Drunkards and grumbling hipsters exude in the yellow?
Each of their footsteps is bland and you follow the feathers,
Garbage, the sores on a prostitute. One of the players
Says that you're sick and you carry your prison in public.
Prison is mental he said and I wondered how freedom
Feels to the man with a baby he visits but rarely,
Preaching the gospel to likeminded hypocrites, chasing
Orgasm, freedom from conscience and losing in cycles;
Losing the queen to an oversight, losing their temper
Knocking the board off the table and threatening, 'never
Play here again,' for they fear when a winner engages
Past-times for slackers who never achieve their potential.
“Staff at California's Folsom State Prison worked Saturday to determine the cause of a "major riot" in the prison yard a day earlier that involved 200 inmates, officials there said.”
– CNN Wire Staff, CNN, August 28, 2010
The Spirit of the Living Bullet [#twitterfoundpoem, August 28, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
Definitely wearing my Might-have-to-run-and-dodge
-a bullet-nike-dunks today, JUST IN CASE a letter,
written not with pen and ink but with bullet
correction fluid aims at me. Hey, my iPhone
shatters when I shoot it with my gun, why shouldn't I?
if all our aims are written not with pen and ink
but with the Spirit of the living bullet
Then Man, Fuck, I gotta Go to a fuckin shooting range
and Correct my aim!
Rosemary And Phineas [Today's News Poem (Sonnet), August 27, 2010]
An iron rod was used to tamp the cap,
That ovary. They jabbed until it burst,
Exploding prematurely. Birthing slaps
Had ruptured eye and bits of skull at first,
And later, born to wealth, to die again
At twenty three. To calm the swings in mood
An icepick scraped the screams to flatline zen.
To know the gaze of walls; to lose the rood
Salvation rests upon, for carriage rides
Through mountain passes—losing prayers to Lord,
Before incontinence ensures the bride
Of scalpel picks shall sleep in Lethe's reward—
A farther art than heaven. Hollowed names
Undone by accident, by doctor maims.
“Relatives of 33 miners trapped in a collapsed mine shaft far below in Chile’s Atacama Desert have been shown new video of the men in which they send greetings to the surface, show the space they are confined in and sing the Chilean national anthem. ”
– ALEXEI BARRIONUEVO AND ROBERT MACKEY, The New York Times, August 27, 2010, 7:58 am
http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/08/27/video-messages-from-trapped-chilean-miners/?hp
The bad news is that CombatWords has moved. The good news is that it's back home at http://combatwords.blogspot.com. I revived the game to try & bring some traffic over to TWAK, but they didn't do their part. They liked the traffic, but didn't promote the game. Screw that. Just goes to show that you should never lead a pack of whiners by example. They'll still whine.
I cleaned up the site a bit & am adding links to the participants where possible. You'll get your news poem soon--why don't you check out our sponsors or promote the page while you're waiting? I'm so stretched, that's the only way you'll get a bonus poem out of me at this point.
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