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Poetry : Bweinh!

Poem of the Day, 11/11/08

11/11/2008, 7:00 am -- by | No Comments

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly.
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Col. J. McCrae

Presidential Haiku Prediction 9

11/3/2008, 6:21 pm -- by | No Comments

If Obama wins,
God’s deserved judgment has come;
if not: His mercy

Presidential Haiku Prediction 8

11/3/2008, 6:04 pm -- by | No Comments

Barack Obama
will win PA and CO:
John McCain loses

Presidential Haiku Prediction 7

11/3/2008, 4:08 pm -- by | No Comments

Today’s spam subject:
“McCane kicks Obama’s butt”
Can you say “Bradley“?

Presidential Haiku Prediction 6

11/3/2008, 3:07 pm -- by | No Comments

McCain the crack-up
Going down in a blaze of
SNL glory

Presidential Haiku Prediction 5

11/3/2008, 2:56 pm -- by | No Comments

They say Mack can win
with some help from a redskin
I can blush, Meghan!

Presidential Haiku Prediction 4

11/3/2008, 2:50 pm -- by | No Comments

Obama rises
Victorious with Biden
Dorks have won the day

Presidential Haiku Prediction 3

11/3/2008, 2:09 pm -- by | No Comments

Virginia called early:
the beginning of the end?
Or this year’s Florida?

Presidential Haiku Prediction 2

11/3/2008, 2:04 pm -- by | 1 Comment

Lawsuits like raindrops
Lawyers: Biblical locusts
Apocalypse soon

Presidential Haiku Prediction 1

11/3/2008, 1:59 pm -- by | No Comments

Beauty and Maverick
versus record fund raising?
Barry by a nose.

My Words

04/18/2008, 9:26 am -- by | No Comments

Bweinh! celebrates National Poetry Month.

I write these words today and hope that they are true
true to the purpose
of living here for You

And I long for eloquence to break the gravity
breaking with tradition
to soar with levity

And somewhere in heaven perhaps they’ll find a home
mixed with the prayers of saints
who suffered here alone

But my words are limited in what they might become
a prayer, a song, a monologue,
a sonnet to the Son

While your words are powerful though ever so reserved
dropped from heaven sparingly
till all the earth is served

But my words are all I have, thoughts cast into stone
settled on a point of view
and lifted to your throne

I only hope they’re purified passing through the cloud
purged from their insolence
before they’re heard aloud

Why I Wore The White Coat Today

04/10/2008, 1:30 pm -- by | 6 Comments

Bweinh! celebrates National Poetry Month.

we will NEVER
sell the same dress
for the same event
said the ad for the store i might lie to avoid
and i guess it made sense

a dress is expensive
and taste is subjective
so to get an exclusive
possessing cachet
is largely elusive
(you’ll pay)

but i thought — as a man —
that every dress is the same dress
different fabric but the same cloth
different baubles but the same nature
from the short black number
to the long-sleeved frump

all are sheaths and all are sheets
on which the wearer will project
an image that will then reflect
just who they are
or wish
to be

so at an event
no dress is an island, entire to itself
in glitzy sizzle

and all the guarantees in the world
do not make a hanger unique

they sell you a dress
a suit, a car, a job, a home, a life
but they can never sell you the same one
when you are the difference

Cactus Flowers

04/2/2008, 9:25 am -- by | 2 Comments

Bweinh! celebrates National Poetry Month this April.

I miss the desert like I miss a drink of water after a day of fasting, like I miss my bed after a year of traveling.
That grit in my teeth when the wind blows too hard, and that crack of thunder that makes me steady the expensive vases teetering in their tenuous places.
The rain on a tin roof a few times a year, and then the transformation, the green invasion in my trusty red dirt.

And I am missing it to live in a deadened landscape where the rain doesn\’t smell like anything and there is no noise at night but the absence of sound when there\’s snow on the ground.
I miss the crickets.
I miss the coyotes.
I miss those sounds in the night that bury me in my covers, that give me shifty eyes, or no eyes at all because I don\’t want to know what would make a noise like that.
Anything but this silence like life doesn\’t come around here anymore.

Continued here!