News Poems

Clement. Inclement. Snowstorm descending. Now you're in it. Now you're intending to spin your story. That same one you tell whenever it's cold. Hell frozen over in all its glory, and you want to tell it. Never gets old. Your story always goes something like this: “It's cold ∴ Global warming does not exist. Scientists sure are going to be pissed. Ha, it's cold. It was all just a myth!” Don't say it this time. Please just go inside. Avoid deep breaths. Minimize talking. Please don't stand in the middle of the street, telling your story to all that you meet. Please go inside. Go warm up. Like the globe. Read about climate change while there's still hope. Nope? Well, then I see what you mean. Stay outside. Turn blue. We'll find you next spring, still frozen story. One with everything.

You have lost something, something in your gut. You are in a rut. You know what I mean. Allow me to aid in this time of need. What I have always made will set you free. Seriously, you can have it. No bullshit. What's mine is yours, slipping between backdoors.

I invoke the Universal sound Ante up Release the pain and darkness of delusion Small blind Removing all obstacles Big blind Paving the way for compassion and enlightenment Call I am that I am All-in I am that.

We slice time so fine Pretend that we find Some present wisdom Some new rhythm Always the moment Live in the moment moment then moment Nothing else exists Past is the past is Moments all it is If you believe that I want this moment To overwhelm you Stay in that moment. Time will pass you by

Einstein was wrong wrong. So wrong. Hundred thousand years ago, My people made the best bomb And they knew all. It is so. Start to read the Ancient texts And you will see and believe My ancestors were the best of gods who never ate beef. Airplanes plus stem cell research Plus gravitational waves All came from their divine forge. Einstein? Newton? They were knaves. We've already made great progress The best is yet to come. All us. But first, let me stress What my ancestors have done.

On the far side of the moon Freed from the view of Earth. We rove, as the heavens attune To our presence, to our birth. It's been waiting: Two weeks of night then Two weeks of light then all over again. It's been creating: In the quiet space so long On once hidden face so long where we might belong. It's been vacillating: Within its crater back and forth Without translator back and forth... Have we proved our worth? On the far side of the moon We will know, all too soon.

For 19 years, I have prepared for this moment. First contact is here. I ready the binder, filled with all the clippings. Some were hard to find. You have to know where and how to look. Carefully. Our last hope in mind, The binder's laminated pages wait and rasp. DNA kept near. Toenails and fingernails. Humanity. Easy to restore. Should our visitors from beyond see fit to clone us from our fragments. The blue light shines above the cityscape. It's time. First contact and more. Meeting them may mean annihilation. At first. Might be accidents, germs, misunderstandings when two planets collide. Who knows? Just in case I will give their leaders all the nail clippings For them to decide How they will bring us back should accidents occur. What a wild ride. I knew I was right. In my heart, I knew I would Save the human race.

My barrel floats across the Atlantic and I am inside. Je suis le cargo. Je m'appelle Jean. Je ne suis pas Cousteau. But I know the flow. Calm and gigantic.

Choose marriage or mission. Two ways to submission. All life is perdition. Fine, she chose mission. Visit the beautician. Gratify our vision. Here is the condition. Your bomb brings fruition. Heaven needs ignition. Gone without permission? Bring the next addition. Choose. Marriage or mission.

Blue or pink? Makes you think: What will they come up with next? Over two decades ago On a tropical Christmas My two brothers and I Got a big box Sent all the way to Hawaii By a family friend. A strange man in retrospect. Inside the box There was nothing to inspect But mountains and mountains Of bubble wrap. It was colorless but great popping fun and much better than blue or pink plastic crap.

Kindness Compassion Understanding Made in Taiwan

Art in space? Super neat. Art in orbit? Kessler effect.

How do we find value in lifeless rocks? Well, depends how those rocks were made and found. Intense heat and pressure, deep underground, brought us diamonds, our love-death paradox. Diamonds are forever. Love eternal! Millions of years behind one stone, my rose, and delivered by deep-source volcanoes. Everlasting love from the infernal. But a diamond can be made another way. No, I'm not talking about man-made junk, but an asteroid, a big incoming chunk from space that will strike the Earth one day. Imagine the wondrous rocks that would form upon impact. Diamonds from the gods above. Cold. Pure. Diamonds are not just about love, my dear. Their shine foretells another storm. Diamonds are also a reminder of death, or at least of forces beyond control. So beautiful, unburdened by a soul, a diamond shines long beyond our final breath.

There was a country, Yugoslavia, a powerful place that played East and West: Serbia beside Croatia beside Bosnia beside three others/compressed. Six nations as one, but it did not last. Small differences always caused unrest. Too much history: Neighbors killing their neighbors killing their neighbors right and left. Now all that simmers, among the people, from mosque to steeple, frozen, dispossessed. Travel to Belgrade. See Mostar and more. You will surely find people at their best. I both can and can't understand the theft that Serbia sees of what they possessed. Too much history: Neighbors beside their neighbors beside their- Let them be blessed.

On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen... Gone Comet, gone Cupid, gone Donner and Blitzen! Gone? What do you mean gone? Okay, what needs fixing? Climate change? Wasn't that handled under Nixon? Are we sure that it's real? I mean for a fact? Look at the presents. You know who pays for all that? You know they pay for the workshop and keep us stacked. You know why I carry coal. It's in my contract. Bye Comet, bye Cupid, bye Donner and Blitzen. Damn, how could they die... I can't keep up this fiction. Bury my reindeer. Send this year's coal back. I'll bring them all fear. Send elves to attack. This year. This year. This- All will know despair. Apocalypse is coming. Only fair.

Imagine a nation of non-readers. Leaders all judge a book by its cover but never discover the stories within. Imagine a burning mountain of books, words lost in smoke, never to be spoken, ashes a token of worlds gone again. Imagine your world. Imperfectly in mind, until the lines break all confines, and you find a book is the place to begin.

Call it an indulgence... oh, poor choice of word. Call it a habit - no, not so good either. Call it a mystery, known just to the Lord. God, give us a miracle unto Caesar. We would've won it back. Time plus interest. Gambling is the ultimate test of firm faith. We would've put it back. God as our witness. Loss is no deterrent. Winning, we embrace. To Vegas we go. Last trip, our whole convent. Let she who is without sin cast the first dice. We want a win for the Church. Haters repent! Lost again? Perhaps remorse then shall suffice.

Slaughtered my fathers. Became my father. What was I to you? A simple mascot? Reminder of guilt? Burning afterthought? Hint to how you felt? A Mayan live-in? Proof that you'd won? Original sin? Your actual son? Bye Dad. Think on our recent ancient fears for thousands of years.

You shot two students, yet still passed the course. First line of defense. Our only recourse. There's nothing that is one hundred percent.

This just in: Lance Armstrong admits he was wrong. About what? You ask. Not that doping thing. Everyone did it. Everyone lied some. “The way I acted was my undoing.” ...but not what you did? Be a gentleman and they'll side with you. They'll give you your due. I don't have heroes. But your bright story? Too good to be true. Defeated cancer. Seven in a row. Charity for all. I had cancer too same type pretty much. Whatever that means. The way I acted? Shining example of self-hate and fear. I took a journey across the country. Not a Tour de France. As a sort of joke, I went to Texas. Slept under a bridge. Decided to live in the capital that was your hometown. A couple thousand I raised and ran the Livestrong Marathon For your charity. A healing moment. Too good to be true. The way I acted? Some importance. But I did what I did. You did what you did. A winner.