The Rise and Fall

Still, as a heart between beats
One side of the fullest measure
The other side of the empty pit

I count the number of empty
Mock reason till I cry
Tears soaked in dysphoria

Pensive head in hand
Neuropathy rattles inside
The disconnect pulls

Chicken plucked from the bone
Gray matter- real, proven
According to Einstein


But dead like the soon to be night
Dying embers
Huff- they glow

But alone they show no will
No gasping- no desire
Numb, black tarnishing gray

A shadow circles overhead
Am I keeping him up
Or is this my wake

Night becomes the insulation
It is all there is to swallow
It claws at the insides

The night belongs to no one
But me- a poison apple
Polished black hematite

Even the circling shadow
Has lost faith
Surrendering me to dystopia

The desire for another-
Treasonous to the night
A verdict read in silence

Bailiff touches my shoulder
Reminding me the night is long
It may never comply

And end at all-
But provide eternal company
Through this solitary screaming purgatory

Empty to touch
Empty to warmth
Empty to breath
Empty to the rise and fall of love



Poetry

Guardian Unlimited | Special reports | Cheney cited as source in CIA leak investigation

Guardian Unlimited | Special reports | Cheney cited as source in CIA leak investigation

Now see, this comes as no surprise to me at all. In fact - I'd be shocked if Bush and Cheney had not discussed this originally.



Cheney Rove Libby

The Jury Is Out

I had to report for jury duty this morning but I have been released. We were told it was a criminal trial and at the last minute there was an accepted plea change. I doubt that I would have actually been seated - there are just too many reasons for me to be stricken.

I write up a storm last night. Wrote and read way into the night. Anyone read any of Elizabeth Elliott's poems? I was into "Burn All Night" last night and it is a wonderful mixture of sublime and intensely powerful imagery. I highly recommend it.

Among my favorite:
Superiority of A Fly - Small Forks In The Wrong Drawer - Six Miles Nearer Heaven - Resist Me Death - and of course the title poem Burn All Night.

Monday Thoughts To Munch On

Yes folks - (Supermodel) KATE MOSS is writing poetry to help her through her rehab for cocaine abuse. Then, we are told she reads the lines over the phone to her lover Pete Doherty. Her family is pleased she has had something to focus on while she recovers. A friend told Britain's Daily Mirror newspaper: 'She's found writing her thoughts down in verse very calming' - and I'm thinking she might have found poetry a better diversion than cocaine to start with.

See, I'm thinking that Carl Rove and Scooter Libby may want to keep the poetry thing in mind. I'm sure they are feeling just a little up tight this week as Special prosecutor Patrick J. Fitzgerald has just launched his own brand-new Web site. [click here]
I'd say that the odds are good that one or both may well find themselves under indictment this week in the Valarie Plame matter.

I would think poetry might well help them through the long and very public legal battle to save their hides. Then of course when they are finally found guilty - perhaps it will ease the days in prison. At least till the president pardons them.

And just in case you are one of those who thinks that the Patriots Act needs to be renewed as is... read this and think again.

Oh... and Judith Miller - NY Times poster child is in deep do-do. Yes, even among her own this reporter is about as popular as a hometown prophet. Now I don't know that I'd go so far to say fire her- I think they could move her to another department and let her write obits.

judith miller Libby Kate Moss Patrick Fitzgerald Valarie Plame poetry

How Much Is the Bloggy in the Server?

My blog is worth $10,726.26.
How much is your blog worth?

Saw this on Christine Hamm's blogsite so of course I had to see what Stick Poet looked like when put to the test.

Wear sunglasses to the post office...

Quiet Saturday morning- sometimes quiet is good. Sometimes the silence echoes reverberate empty.

I generally never want the weekends to end, but sometimes I wish they would hurry along into another phase. It's a contradiction I know.

The picture with this post was taken a few weeks back - it is a courtyard behind a bank in downtown Kansas City. I took it on a lunch stroll. I think of it as water art.

Finished reading a novel last night. I've produced some small written pieces this week that I am happy with and they really did for the most part come without feeling like I had to squeeze them from a near empty tube of words.

Best quote I saw this week was advice from Dana Goodyear - one of the 18 debut poets of 2005 that were featured in Poets & Writers.

"Wear sunglasses to the post office. In other words, try to protect yourself from other people's disbelief."

Washing Your Back

I squeezed water
To a fine trickle
That splashed
And breathed
Bubbles
The
Long
Sleek
Contour
Of your
Back
Till
It
Hit
Water
And carried a touch of your fragrance to the ocean