Category Archives: Media

“Gold Bars Soar”

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“Gold Bars Soar”

Gold bars soar that may or may not be there as dollars rise and fall
While doves and hawks lose feathers and the bourgeois stain
Their corporate tablecloths; numbers genuflect as mortgage rates
And candidates trade places in the spin. Who sleeps in the caterwaul;
Who stampedes for attention in the networks’ nightly call
To arms not heard since Boston; whose cotillions root for the notorious? Bait
And bombast never fails; the remedy is ever there and altogether late,
Meticulously timed by someone out to fill the stadia and malls
With never ending seasons’ greetings and wherewithal
To keep the vital signs of spinning polls and sardines at the gates,
Martin’s dream is deemed appropriate for the calendar and numbers integrate
The use of steroids and youthful thrall so no one drops the ball.
Who needs another change for heaven’s sake as one size fits all:
…And who really gives a damn with elections in the fall?

“Pain”

“Pain”

Pain, and the Pacific has had its way, so many tears;
The summons; natural deities, rushing devotees of Southern waters
Join discords of the North and oceanic rivers feed because the glaciers falter.
Nai-no-Kami will no doubt dance. She needs not move far while fears
Of millions, fields and city gates are prey with every passing day.
We view their sighs and gestures, calmly watch and lunch on wonders
At the thought and misery that gorges on the plunder
Of laboured mountains duly noted while we dine. Mere screens relay
Our sympathies as surrogates before us mouth the news in bites, remote,
Confounding empathy of others with our own, and with no more thought
Than is required to vote or tolerate yet another tired announced affair
Convinced we’ve performed our sacred duties. Filtered sage suggestions float
Between commercials; who is dead, and who is dying?
We resign ourselves to daily schedules, and retreat
To mindless repetition, and support of yet another public brawl,
and trash what cannot be understood, change the channel and eat.

“Garlands”

“Garlands”

Garlands for the banner told defy the headlines;
Bold and garish is the wording of a string
Of odd events plaited to the public’s taste; they sing
A song of six of this and sevens in the press. Deadlines
Met, the galleys in, the thing is put to bed;
And on the morrow, there before the eyes
Of all the world the circumstance disguised, the size,
The age, the details, all that is the stuff of legend.
But in the main–’the writ now fosillised–
No further reason to take note of what just took place.
Reporters gone, the guests at rest, and where in fact
There is no dust, the characters retrace their tracks
To that sweet moment when the nomial in the clause is quietly replaced;
The truth? They merely stop to stare
at something more in keeping
With the latest word than justifies the sabbatical
that glorifies what they’re seeking.

Reprise: “True Enough, the Politicians Sigh”

Reprise:

“True Enough, the Politicians Sigh”

True enough, the politicians sigh, elections foil
Attempts to rectify the situation leaving choices
Fit for fools and all solutions moot, their voices
Shrill, and rarely if at all do waters yield and boil
At temperatures that formerly marked
The limits of glory’s shores. Even as we speak the seas
Have rushed the gates where now the rivers bleed,
And Arctic glaciers once so permanent, so parked
Reveal the reason for which Greenland was sired
And in the time of ancient Viking sagas so aptly named.
Nothing’s new that was not there before the present maimed
And mauled, reframed, and rearranged, frayed and admired
Its tasteless tableaux in conspicuous waste
to the end that no one breathes
A word who is not cursed or blessed while all the azure planet grieves.
The deed is done and Caesar’s death beside the point;
Of course, some several trinkets to collect
And box and some there are who promise to reflect
On what’s been said or what is grist and grit for future newscasts to anoint.
But we’re finished here, and all too often turn our eyes
To months and years ahead–the present promises unfulfilled–
For movements gentler to decide, some new tryst for someone’s will,
And we’ll be at the thing with something less disguised
Than we were wont to wear to mask the gnarled face
Of bigotry that’s always there; a place
To some younger soul’s reported win, perhaps a show; the race
Is on but nothing less than more will do and competition’s traced
The route for them, of course, but not for us who seem so satisfied
If in the end we stumble on across the line with nothing left but pride.

“And What Is Selflessness?”

“And What Is Selflessness”

And what is selflessness if not what one
Is and sees fit to do as good as what it’s sown alone?
No encouragement distilled from boiling stones,
No obsequious fluid aplomb’s applause is wrung
From those who stand to fan the flames, no frowns
In nightly meretricious circus clowns that advertise
The wonders of themselves as holy spies
Whose close opinions eagerly set down
What is or is not righteous, whose voices through the prompters sound
Alarms, if not, their disappointment; their networks cheerfully announce
The bias of their purposes and in the end will pounce
On weaker minds, the likeness of themselves from tea and coffee grounds
And all to raise this holy man or that to seed opinion and its minions, feeders,
Of the put-your-hands-together gospel shouts as praises for their leaders.

Remembrances of that morning in 2001…”My Eyes Looked Up”

Remembrances of that morning in 2001…


“My Eyes Looked Up”

My eyes looked up and what I saw was more
Than they could bear; a rushing through the halls
With the roar of sorrow in the ears; I heard the call,
A warning, a deafening “Danger! Be reminded here before
The fact that what’s been said will never
Be unuttered; fractures in the zeitgeist, ciphers of a shrine
To endless days of contemplation, meditation in the marrow, brine
And bitter herbs will be the fare from this day until the day of rest; if ever
Was a day of mourning this one is!” Students
In the classroom all abuzz and even verging on a levity
–They had so little to employ their hours–proclivity
To expect experience on a screen or in the rubrics
Of the media, always in the past and never present in the sixes and the sevens.
Another trumpet, another decade, and another word for it: ubiquitous now as “9/11″!

“They Await”

“They Await”

They await some helpful word and know the news
Their fear falls short of what it is they want to hear;
Days’ delays, too much backlog must disappear
Before the silence and its echo can renew
The striking of the bell within this people. Still
It falls within the natural healing that smatterings
Of longing, waiting, hoping in and of itself brings
Spasms of a healing psalm to the many, and for the few no chill
Will touch the man who holds the triumph of the will to heart,
A movement, distant, upward, outward toward
The next plateau, a freshly minted meme within a percolating promise, forward
Always–never moving yet never still–magnificently arched and carved.
As with a steaming rainbow, himself the crown to every several cloud
While he succumbs to resignation and relief that only ignorance allows.
They study stars to bring a second truth to hand enforced
By what the doctors know, to second guess
The odds, the capture of a second a consolation prize at best;
To cheat, perhaps, or worse, to change the windless course,
The doldrums of ordination well before conception. Even more,
Delight to undermine what primal motives strength
Of certitude command, a reprimand the breadth and length
Of all creation guided as it were to win, to score
Beyond that something, this someone, those some things greater
Than the product of a wizard or the clever second hand
shuffles across the face of clocks and cosmic signs. A man,
A faculty of man, an energy–perhaps an enterprising satyr–
Quickening the insight and knowing just how much the gathering clouds
Have missed the point will gorge himself on fate,
and blaspheme right out loud.

“It’s All So Very Public”

“It’s All So Very Public”

It’s all so very public, clowns and circuses, dubious focus
On what is said and done and many rooms en extra to let.
With every late night’s round of favourite sons comes sincere bets
That what’s gone down is never quite enough; crocus
Fields, lichens dubious in origin, little more than earthly makeup.
We who hover through a screen on much of what extends beyond
Us serve but vested purposes, profit every hour on hedging darkling ponds
Of woods and forests sparing surfaces of pristine bank accounts for lack of
Mere æsthetic need. No! In itself we would not have it so;
But, so it is! If ochre I must be or green, then so I am;
If I efface the rocks and strip the fauna there along the shoreline–lands
Not mine–festivals that turn the soils again with every season’s floe
As in a momentary afterthought with needs to round out casts
Of thousands in the scheme of vapours, things; thus, then, so I last.

“Dinner’s at Six”

“Dinner’s at Six”

Dinner’s served at six, and so’s the evening news;
The writing’s clearly on the wall and while the Constitution stalls, the gist
Of nothing from nothing sticks to banquet tables, chairs, and the guest list
Of the average home in Baghdád while the views
Expressed in measured fractions there amongst the factions
In the House feed increasingly on mediocrity and courtesies of strangers
Sporting cellphones where reporters point the finger at the signs of danger,
Motorcades, and armies on an ever trivialised darkling plain. Reactions
Blog communication lines of press and presidents who bear such striking
Poses and resemblances to Dr. Goebbels and his precedents that modern sooth-
Sayers need not wonder where all of this must lead. As Congress votes for truths
To fit pragmatic means, the ends, of course, are guaranteed from spiking
Needs dispensed in sparkling cocktails served each night along with dinner,
Presidential dim sum, cartoons, genocide, and Oprah classed as winners.



“Suppose the Action”

“Suppose the Action”

Suppose the action to be a trapezoid
When witnessed by an audience or seen
By overweening others through the brilliance of a screen;
The traffic of public view that makes it so must be avoided
If potentials and potencies of action reach
Beyond the drawing board or to the other side,
Beyond the nose; beyond the ebbing tides
Of critical mass of thought that flow from one beach
To another trapped within the atrophy of single minds or <i>there,</i>
Beneath, in morbid sinks. Mass produced in spools of social thought
That come in every season, easily plagiarised, easily bought
In legions of self-help manuals basking in the bourgeois glare
Of hucksters spinning books and gurus peddling wares,
Satisfaction wilts with public notice at a fair.
But gardens flourish with the healer’s touch,
As beauty sees the soil and is well pleased.
And who does not delight his God with ease
In humble planting, and in the tender care of so much
Bounty shared within the house beyond its door that
Shares in plenty for the harvest within a glance,
Effortlessly, and then some. Growth and substance
Between the fallow ground and the loving farmer’s cap
And care provide the essence of returning routine rapture.
Yes! And, more. The man who plants the seed
Will live without his gathering and all his needs
Are satisfied as he stands and in himself; he captures
What is blessed with anxious gratitude in the hand
That feeds the multitudes from recreated spoils in the land.