Poem of the Day, 11/11/08
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.
Presidential Haiku Prediction 9
If Obama wins,
God’s deserved judgment has come;
if not: His mercy
Presidential Haiku Prediction 8
Barack Obama
will win PA and CO:
John McCain loses
Presidential Haiku Prediction 7
Today’s spam subject:
“McCane kicks Obama’s butt”
Can you say “Bradley“?
Presidential Haiku Prediction 6
McCain the crack-up
Going down in a blaze of
SNL glory
Presidential Haiku Prediction 5
They say Mack can win
with some help from a redskin
I can blush, Meghan!
Presidential Haiku Prediction 4
Obama rises
Victorious with Biden
Dorks have won the day
Presidential Haiku Prediction 3
Virginia called early:
the beginning of the end?
Or this year’s Florida?
Presidential Haiku Prediction 2
Lawsuits like raindrops
Lawyers: Biblical locusts
Apocalypse soon
Presidential Haiku Prediction 1
Beauty and Maverick
versus record fund raising?
Barry by a nose.
My Words
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
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
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.