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5248. neato - 7/4/2004 5:41:47 PM Me too 5249. Ulgine Barrows - 7/6/2004 1:54:26 PM What I wouldn't give
to clear the sky 5250. angel-five - 7/17/2004 10:11:51 AM Burn it pure with fiery speech
shockwave bright and white and clean
scorching in ballistic bliss
as you move too fast to see
lighting heaven with your scream
one with all within your reach.
Meteors will teach you this:
You are that which you set free.
5251. Ulgine Barrows - 7/24/2004 3:04:47 PM Kill it with a grin
Make sure she's slim
Scorch that fish
And listen to this
Didn't want to listen
He'd shaft his own kin
5252. alistairConnor - 7/27/2004 7:15:28 PM Open your eyes
to the genius of the Day
open your mind
to the spirit of the Place
open your heart
to the magma of the Person
and good luck with the trifecta 5253. Ulgine Barrows - 7/30/2004 11:44:07 AM Seen the pinnacles, climbed the peaks
Easy to breathe up there
Down in the core, it's breathless
Each hot gasp is a luckless fight 5254. wonkers2 - 7/30/2004 10:13:41 PM Calvin Trillin's new book 5255. wonkers2 - 7/31/2004 6:46:49 AM ON TWO MEMBERS OF THE WAR CABINET
DON RUMSFELD MEETS THE PRESS
With condescending smile so tight,
He seems to take a great delight
Explaining to the press this fight,
As if they're kids who aren't too bright.
When wrong he needn't be contrite:
Don't might and arrogance make right?
COLIN POWELL, ALAS
His memory of war was strong.
No Sissy Hawk, he'd fought the Cong.
He knew that bunk on nukes was wrong.
But, still, he chose to go along.
Of him, they'll sing the saddest song.
"But, still, he chose to go along."
November 17, 2003 5256. wonkers2 - 7/31/2004 6:51:54 AM JUST SPECULATINHG
Loos sixties moreals, Gingrich said,
Was where our troub les lay.
The Newt himself was found to have
A tendency to stray.
Rush Limbaugh has been hooked on pills.
While Bennett's hooked on slots.
Do all the right-wing morals police
Have copy books with blots?
Does Falwell have a floozie, say.
Does Ashcroft, you suppose,
Get home from church and swiftly snort
Some white stuff up his nose?
Does Robertson crave demon rum?
Does Cheney make clerks promise
To hide the fact he's rinting tapes
Last viewed by Clarence Thomas?
November 3, 2003 5257. wonkers2 - 7/31/2004 7:32:29 AM [renting tapes]
Trillin's latest book of poetry, "Obviously On He Sails--The Bush Administration in Rhyme," Random House, $12.95, is well worth the money. Trillin is amazing. 5258. wonkers2 - 7/31/2004 8:09:42 AM Erratum: "OBLIVIOUSLY" On He Sails" 5259. Ulgine Barrows - 8/5/2004 3:57:29 PM YOLANDA, YVONNE, VERONICA
There are some tin-foil hat days in this house.
Days when the world beams on into your brain,
you can't make it go away,
yet you'd be lonely without it.
Stop the gigahertz. 5260. Ulgine Barrows - 8/5/2004 4:00:03 PM Let's chalk that one up to an unhealthy relationship. 5261. Ulgine Barrows - 8/5/2004 4:01:51 PM Several friends at once
Can be perfectly healthy
Perhaps 5262. Ulgine Barrows - 8/5/2004 4:06:41 PM Eat, drink and be merry
Tomorrow, you may be dead 5263. tmesis - 8/8/2004 8:21:01 AM sakonige, you clearly have no clue what a parasite is;
I hope you get pancreatitis. 5264. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 8/10/2004 11:34:59 AM FYI Department: The James Salter short story for which I did the fronticepiece, is finally out. 5265. tmesis - 8/16/2004 8:06:56 AM One of my favorite poets is Li-Young Lee. His father had been a physician to Mao, political prisoner under Sukarno, and died a blind minister in a ramshackle Pennsylvania town. Lee's poems are suffused with a lyrical quality found in certain books of the Bible, undoubtedly the echoes of his childhood. This is a poem from his most recent collection.
Praise them
The birds don't alter space.
They reveal it. The sky
never fills with any
leftover flying. They leave
nothing to trace. It is our own
astonished collects
in chill air. Be glad.
They equal their due
moment never begging,
and enter our
wihtout parting day. See
how three birds in a winter tree
make the tree barer.
Two fly away, and new rooms
open in December.
Give up what you guessed
about a whirring heart, the little
beaks and claws, their constant hunger.
We're the nervous ones.
If even one of our violent number
could be gentle
long enough that one of them
found it safe inside
our finally untroubled and untroubling gaze,
who wouldn't hear
what singing completes us? 5266. tmesis - 8/16/2004 8:08:06 AM Correction: "It is our own astonishment collects in chill air." 5267. tmesis - 8/16/2004 8:23:31 AM It's a somewhat lengthy poem, so I doubt anyone will read it, but it's my favorite poem by Lee.
The City In Which I Love You
And when, in the city in which I love you,
even my most excellent song goes unanswered,
and I mount the scabbed streets,
the long shouts of avenues,
and tunnel sunken night in search of you...
That I negotiate fog, bituminous
rain ringing like teeth into the beggar's tin,
or two men jackaling a third in some alley
weirdly lit by a couch on fire, that I
drag my extinction in search of you...
Past the guarded schoolyards, the boarded-up churches, swastikaed
synagogues, defended houses of worship, past
newspapered windows of tenements, among the violated,
the prosecuted citizenry, throughout this
storied, buttressed, scavenged, policed
city I call home, in which I am a guest...
A bruise, blue
in the muscle, you
impinge upon me.
As bone hugs the ache home, so
I'm vexed to love you, your body
the shape of returns, your hair a torso
of light, your heat
I must have, your opening
I'd eat, each moment
of that soft-finned fruit,
inverted fountain in which I don't see me.
My tongue remembers your wounded flavor.
The vein in my neck
adores you. A sword
stands up between my hips,
my hidden fleece send forth its scent of human oil.
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