THE ARTICLE:
"Mullah in Debate of Tradition vs. Modern Schooling"
by Jim Yardley
March 21, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/21/world/asia/21cleric.html
THE POEM:
a new religion
no place for the ghetto in education
or education in the ghettos
of India where
on either side of a dusty road
are yesterday and tomorrow
and in the middle a mullah
whose beard itches with
the controversy of change
no place for able bodies to untouch
in this set of schools
this is the land of the Quran
in a peninsula of many gods
and some people are tired
of the old ways
they know to go on
you must go on
to
the way a lover takes
another lover to
move beyond the last
his education becomes
a series of curves and
lessons of limbs
from one woman
to the next
until only one remains
by choice or default
his love becomes secular
or a new religion
Monday, March 28, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
rant
THE ARTICLE:
"Student Quits At U.C.L.A. Over Rant"
by the Associated Press
March 20, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/us/20rant.html
THE VIDEO:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7XAJo3rQn8&feature=related
THE POEM:
rant
the blond with
all-American pre-
faux boobs and
too-straight hair
can't concentrate
on her political science
or prejudice cause
ting tong ling xing's
on her phone in the library
every fifteen and
doesn't she know
in America we
just don't do that
we post our
rants for the world to see
as we try to be funny
won't stop until
hordes of Asians
bludgeon themselves to death
with books or shame
how many months ago was it
that Tyler dove to his end
Americans have an amazing
capacity to forget
too much
(self-created) information
to remember it all
privacy went out of style and the kids
go home with strangers not to feel alone
look in the mirror not to drink alone
think an opinion can't be thought alone
can so we do
do because we can
shouldn't but do
according to
what's out there
for the taking
for the making
the shakenbaking
but
information can backfire
fire pants on the ass of a
girl raking words off a
loose tongue with a not-
fluxing flux capaci-nor
"Student Quits At U.C.L.A. Over Rant"
by the Associated Press
March 20, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/us/20rant.html
THE VIDEO:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7XAJo3rQn8&feature=related
THE POEM:
rant
the blond with
all-American pre-
faux boobs and
too-straight hair
can't concentrate
on her political science
or prejudice cause
ting tong ling xing's
on her phone in the library
every fifteen and
doesn't she know
in America we
just don't do that
we post our
rants for the world to see
as we try to be funny
won't stop until
hordes of Asians
bludgeon themselves to death
with books or shame
how many months ago was it
that Tyler dove to his end
Americans have an amazing
capacity to forget
too much
(self-created) information
to remember it all
privacy went out of style and the kids
go home with strangers not to feel alone
look in the mirror not to drink alone
think an opinion can't be thought alone
can so we do
do because we can
shouldn't but do
according to
what's out there
for the taking
for the making
the shakenbaking
but
information can backfire
fire pants on the ass of a
girl raking words off a
loose tongue with a not-
fluxing flux capaci-nor
leaving
THE ARTICLE:
"Escape From New York"
by Charles M. Blow
March 19, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/19/opinion/19blow.html
THE POEM:
leaving
ethnic cleansing is
not known for its
subtlety
it tends to happen in
loud waves of flesh and tears
to people across the ocean
we live in the former grid of
a renaissance but they
are leaving
for the south
and they suburbs
they are leaving
behind a
white
rich
wasteland
of
electric guitar players
who
resist the urge to
sway
even at
appropriate times
pale pot smokers
in their door-manned
cubes of ownership
don't know to
fear the law
the way
a black man does
he expects to be
stopped at least
once a year
in certain parts of
the city for walking
the way his body
was made to walk
my tall blonde
beauty of a friend
is dealing pot
out of her
Bushwick apartment
she'll never be
stopped and frisked
the black men who
don't buy from her
will
"Escape From New York"
by Charles M. Blow
March 19, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/19/opinion/19blow.html
THE POEM:
leaving
ethnic cleansing is
not known for its
subtlety
it tends to happen in
loud waves of flesh and tears
to people across the ocean
we live in the former grid of
a renaissance but they
are leaving
for the south
and they suburbs
they are leaving
behind a
white
rich
wasteland
of
electric guitar players
who
resist the urge to
sway
even at
appropriate times
pale pot smokers
in their door-manned
cubes of ownership
don't know to
fear the law
the way
a black man does
he expects to be
stopped at least
once a year
in certain parts of
the city for walking
the way his body
was made to walk
my tall blonde
beauty of a friend
is dealing pot
out of her
Bushwick apartment
she'll never be
stopped and frisked
the black men who
don't buy from her
will
home field advantage
THE ARTICLE:
"Social Science Palooza II"
by David Brooks
March 18, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/18/opinion/18brooks.html
THE POEM:
home field advantage
two sets of bones
whose skin is
slowly learning to
detach itself
wait for God
or death
the backyard is no longer a field
for play or barbecue
its advantage lives
in fingers that fetch tea
for weaker fingers in
toes that warm other toes
in bed after all these years
they want to die
minutes within each other
synchronized suicide is
Plan B
they promised it in blood
but lovers are known
to break the pacts
they swear by
old cards no longer in tune
with keys in B flat or
A minor soundtracking
a day in faux pas
they've forgotten
when sounds are sad
when others are happy
and soon they'll forget
to be disgusted with
things that are
moral-adjacent
they want to rely on the kids
who promised to visit
but forget to visit
every weekend
(they're out learning
to take turns speaking
in mahogany circles)
their version of
winning has
evolved with
their marriage
they will find a way to win
in death
"Social Science Palooza II"
by David Brooks
March 18, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/18/opinion/18brooks.html
THE POEM:
home field advantage
two sets of bones
whose skin is
slowly learning to
detach itself
wait for God
or death
the backyard is no longer a field
for play or barbecue
its advantage lives
in fingers that fetch tea
for weaker fingers in
toes that warm other toes
in bed after all these years
they want to die
minutes within each other
synchronized suicide is
Plan B
they promised it in blood
but lovers are known
to break the pacts
they swear by
old cards no longer in tune
with keys in B flat or
A minor soundtracking
a day in faux pas
they've forgotten
when sounds are sad
when others are happy
and soon they'll forget
to be disgusted with
things that are
moral-adjacent
they want to rely on the kids
who promised to visit
but forget to visit
every weekend
(they're out learning
to take turns speaking
in mahogany circles)
their version of
winning has
evolved with
their marriage
they will find a way to win
in death
Saturday, March 26, 2011
impulsive
THE ARTICLE:
"Form and Follow Through"
by David Brooks
March 17, 2011
http://brooks.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/17/form-and-follow-through/
THE POEM:
impulsive
empty glass of cherry beer and
a sober man six foot three
well dressed with Poison
playing in the would-be
classy bar except
someone threw up
not to far away but still
he laughs at her jokes
from two feet up in the air
asks her to
lunch in the after
noon time hour
snow mixed with
cappuccino and the
details that undo
strangers who will
kiss in the elevator
to break the moment
she's made awkward
with two shuffling feet
and shy eyes and
then there's the roof
and Manhattan looks good
in the arms of a man
so soon the sides of
it all merge into
the atoms of some might say
black crows
or is it just
impulsive people
make messes of their lives
in general
and
waiting is a
sticky business
wait for the one
and you're wrong
end up waiting for
no one but the one who
came and has gone
so you start waiting
for yourself and
claim it's an
Independence Thing
which you have to learn
since
our parents didn't
stay together their parents
weren't happy and
nobody thinks in terms of
eternity anymore
clauses swim in our
bloodstreams
we got soft or
maybe just
selfish over the years
listening to our bodies
ignoring the data
always thinking we're
the exception because
our parents told us
we were special
didn't tell us lust
makes a baby love
makes a family
or maybe they did
but a body forgets
the details of its roots
to undo the space between
no-more strangers
making could-be love
or lust
"Form and Follow Through"
by David Brooks
March 17, 2011
http://brooks.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/17/form-and-follow-through/
THE POEM:
impulsive
empty glass of cherry beer and
a sober man six foot three
well dressed with Poison
playing in the would-be
classy bar except
someone threw up
not to far away but still
he laughs at her jokes
from two feet up in the air
asks her to
lunch in the after
noon time hour
snow mixed with
cappuccino and the
details that undo
strangers who will
kiss in the elevator
to break the moment
she's made awkward
with two shuffling feet
and shy eyes and
then there's the roof
and Manhattan looks good
in the arms of a man
so soon the sides of
it all merge into
the atoms of some might say
black crows
or is it just
impulsive people
make messes of their lives
in general
and
waiting is a
sticky business
wait for the one
and you're wrong
end up waiting for
no one but the one who
came and has gone
so you start waiting
for yourself and
claim it's an
Independence Thing
which you have to learn
since
our parents didn't
stay together their parents
weren't happy and
nobody thinks in terms of
eternity anymore
clauses swim in our
bloodstreams
we got soft or
maybe just
selfish over the years
listening to our bodies
ignoring the data
always thinking we're
the exception because
our parents told us
we were special
didn't tell us lust
makes a baby love
makes a family
or maybe they did
but a body forgets
the details of its roots
to undo the space between
no-more strangers
making could-be love
or lust
baptized in oil
THE ARTICLE:
"Christian Coalition Visits Hill for Energy Discussion"
by Sarah Abruzzese of Greenwire
March 16, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/gwire/2011/03/16/16greenwire-christian-coalition-visits-hill-for-energy-dis-15192.html
THE POEM:
baptized in oil
on the nth day He and
on the n+1th day He
and He won't do it again
so
there needs to be a
conservative discussion
in addition to prayer
because this nation is
baptized in oil
and this is a
crisis of faith
temples fell down
first-borns were killed
on days n# and n*
from day n
He said no
to taking
spelled it out
in fig leaves
the answer
would never be
drill baby
would be
create
from bones
then take
and hold
"Christian Coalition Visits Hill for Energy Discussion"
by Sarah Abruzzese of Greenwire
March 16, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/gwire/2011/03/16/16greenwire-christian-coalition-visits-hill-for-energy-dis-15192.html
THE POEM:
baptized in oil
on the nth day He and
on the n+1th day He
and He won't do it again
so
there needs to be a
conservative discussion
in addition to prayer
because this nation is
baptized in oil
and this is a
crisis of faith
temples fell down
first-borns were killed
on days n# and n*
from day n
He said no
to taking
spelled it out
in fig leaves
the answer
would never be
drill baby
would be
create
from bones
then take
and hold
fingertips of interest
THE ARTICLE:
"Harnessing the Power of the Mom Blogger"
by Pradnya Joshi
March 15, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/15/business/media/15adco.html
THE POEM:
fingertips of interest
stolen spots of
space between
stroller here
stroller there
and things cut into fours
other things pulled out
of throats that
are attracted to
suicide without knowing
the word for it yet
to write and trade
reactions that
men in the form of
pinstripes
remark as a
power to harness
afterall the
sheer numbers
are big and tall
like the men
later coming home
but for now
their wives have
the fingertips
of interest
"Harnessing the Power of the Mom Blogger"
by Pradnya Joshi
March 15, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/15/business/media/15adco.html
THE POEM:
fingertips of interest
stolen spots of
space between
stroller here
stroller there
and things cut into fours
other things pulled out
of throats that
are attracted to
suicide without knowing
the word for it yet
to write and trade
reactions that
men in the form of
pinstripes
remark as a
power to harness
afterall the
sheer numbers
are big and tall
like the men
later coming home
but for now
their wives have
the fingertips
of interest
water into inflated balloons
THE ARTICLE:
"Radioactive Releases in Japan Could Last Months, Experts Say"
by David E. Sanger and Matt Wald
March 14, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/14/world/asia/japan-fukushima-nuclear-reactor.htm
THE POEM:
water into inflated balloons
the remains of plants that don't know
how to feed themselves anymore
drifting through broken island air
a little girl in the road and a
thousand cranes that
don't lift her up on paper wings
comes to mind on the minds of
men huddled in circles of memory
what is the weight of a gram of fear
what is the definition of 'off' in
the feeling of on are the questions
as a slow method of self-abuse
asserts itself in a
cool down like a
half mile at half pace
and the relief of sea water
meets the fishermen
trying to pour water into
inflated balloons
earth and air at odds
with the people who have
built themselves on the things
that can fall apart
it is a different kind of
again
a kinder version of
tragedy
"Radioactive Releases in Japan Could Last Months, Experts Say"
by David E. Sanger and Matt Wald
March 14, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/14/world/asia/japan-fukushima-nuclear-reactor.htm
THE POEM:
water into inflated balloons
the remains of plants that don't know
how to feed themselves anymore
drifting through broken island air
a little girl in the road and a
thousand cranes that
don't lift her up on paper wings
comes to mind on the minds of
men huddled in circles of memory
what is the weight of a gram of fear
what is the definition of 'off' in
the feeling of on are the questions
as a slow method of self-abuse
asserts itself in a
cool down like a
half mile at half pace
and the relief of sea water
meets the fishermen
trying to pour water into
inflated balloons
earth and air at odds
with the people who have
built themselves on the things
that can fall apart
it is a different kind of
again
a kinder version of
tragedy
Sunday, March 13, 2011
ambiguity
THE ARTICLE:
"Studied: The Allure of a Man's Uncertainty"
by Pamela Paul
March 13, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/
THE POEM:
ambiguity
maybe baby just maybe
he likes you a little
might like you a lot
and suddenly ambiguity
is the new sexy
that tantalizing yes
or more yes
running through your mind
gets you through the daily grind
and the more you think about it
the more you think about him
convince yourself it's the name
and not just the game
five foot five and sweet as pie
don't believe her she'll convince you why
she's a catch the realest of deals
rsvp to see how love feels
he loves me he loves me not yet
there's a chance he's the one
and I'm the one too two ones and
the only people in love are fools
who learned to play by the rules
"Studied: The Allure of a Man's Uncertainty"
by Pamela Paul
March 13, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/
THE POEM:
ambiguity
maybe baby just maybe
he likes you a little
might like you a lot
and suddenly ambiguity
is the new sexy
that tantalizing yes
or more yes
running through your mind
gets you through the daily grind
and the more you think about it
the more you think about him
convince yourself it's the name
and not just the game
five foot five and sweet as pie
don't believe her she'll convince you why
she's a catch the realest of deals
rsvp to see how love feels
he loves me he loves me not yet
there's a chance he's the one
and I'm the one too two ones and
the only people in love are fools
who learned to play by the rules
Saturday, March 12, 2011
this pre-cool life
THE ARTICLE:
"Facebook Users Who Are Under Age Raise Concerns"
by Matt Richtel and Miguel Helft
March 12, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/12/technology/internet/12underage.htm
THE POEM:
this pre-cool life
too young to
be old to old
to be young
got some
preconceived
notions of this
pre-cool
life
and they all tick for
time speeding up
little boys want to go to war
little girls want their mothers' clothes
little men and little women
want each other
before they should
later they will wish they were twelve
when they have
accidental twelve-year-olds
of their own
who will want to grow up
as fast as they did
"Facebook Users Who Are Under Age Raise Concerns"
by Matt Richtel and Miguel Helft
March 12, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/12/technology/internet/12underage.htm
THE POEM:
this pre-cool life
too young to
be old to old
to be young
got some
preconceived
notions of this
pre-cool
life
and they all tick for
time speeding up
little boys want to go to war
little girls want their mothers' clothes
little men and little women
want each other
before they should
later they will wish they were twelve
when they have
accidental twelve-year-olds
of their own
who will want to grow up
as fast as they did
crawl
THE ARTICLE:
"An Unpredictable Test of Japan’s Resilience"
by Robert J. Geller
March 11, 2011
http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/11/an-unpredictable-test-of-japans-resilience
THE POEM:
crawl
stress plus stress
and plates will converge
to make cracks
in the plans of people
on their way to work
cracks in the system
water in your ears and
fire in your stomach
buildings will tumble
vehicles will wash away
a man and a woman
forget how to stay
together so inevitably
someone will leave
we taped the windows shut
to keep the water in the streets
out of our house
when i was five
packed my bag full of
pictures and books
to sell when all our money
fell into the earth
i asked her what if we
ever got separated
my mother said very seriously
that she would crawl to me
herself into you
THE ARTICLE:
"Precipitous Fall for ‘Spider-Man’ Director"
by Patrick Healy
March 10, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/10/theater/julie-taymor-spider-man.html
THE POEM:
herself into you
nine years and
no comment
later this scene
is set these lights
are out on history's
most expensive
mother
taken away from
her family
too ambitious
too much of a
stubborn
perfectionist
to take care of them
anymore
but time makes you
and people get
so
hire a father
to make the kids
alright and explain
that DNA gets left behind
sometimes when your mother
poured herself
into you
"Precipitous Fall for ‘Spider-Man’ Director"
by Patrick Healy
March 10, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/10/theater/julie-taymor-spider-man.html
THE POEM:
herself into you
nine years and
no comment
later this scene
is set these lights
are out on history's
most expensive
mother
taken away from
her family
too ambitious
too much of a
stubborn
perfectionist
to take care of them
anymore
but time makes you
and people get
so
hire a father
to make the kids
alright and explain
that DNA gets left behind
sometimes when your mother
poured herself
into you
My New Harlem
THE ARTICLE:
"United at Tables in Harlem"
by Sam Sifton
March 9, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/
THE POEM:
My New Harlem
gay Asians sipping Merlot and
rainbow-ed fam'lies downing
all American pie
at Red Rooster in
the new Harlem
this is a dancer's kitchen
and this chef doesn't cook down
to anyone
corn bread n fried chicken
on the same stove as
skillets with too many words
strungtogether
this is my new Harlem
buy an Ipod for twenty bucks
from the addict on the corner
he'll make it ten cause he
needs his fix
get a latte from the
corner coffee shop
over wireless and
sprinkles of white
and yellow
I live with a beautiful
black man
we both know I
stick out
get looks at the laundromat like
a fish out of water
like a one-woman
gentrification sensation
"United at Tables in Harlem"
by Sam Sifton
March 9, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/
THE POEM:
My New Harlem
gay Asians sipping Merlot and
rainbow-ed fam'lies downing
all American pie
at Red Rooster in
the new Harlem
this is a dancer's kitchen
and this chef doesn't cook down
to anyone
corn bread n fried chicken
on the same stove as
skillets with too many words
strungtogether
this is my new Harlem
buy an Ipod for twenty bucks
from the addict on the corner
he'll make it ten cause he
needs his fix
get a latte from the
corner coffee shop
over wireless and
sprinkles of white
and yellow
I live with a beautiful
black man
we both know I
stick out
get looks at the laundromat like
a fish out of water
like a one-woman
gentrification sensation
A Message From Brigitte Gabriel
THE ARTICLE:
"Drawing U.S. Crowds With Anti-Islam Message"
by Laurie Goodstein
March 8, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/08/us/08gabriel.html
THE POEM:
A Message From Brigitte Gabriel
I lost my Lebanon
in the rubble of
a bombed village
I do not want to lose
my America
This cancer is contagious
It's extreme and mainstream
They want us dead
because they hate us
Do not say
the wormy apples
are but a few
Do not to
the mother bent over
her dead child's body
Do not to
the father standing where
his house once stood
They want me dead
They tell me so in notes
They want you dead
and they are here
"Drawing U.S. Crowds With Anti-Islam Message"
by Laurie Goodstein
March 8, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/08/us/08gabriel.html
THE POEM:
A Message From Brigitte Gabriel
I lost my Lebanon
in the rubble of
a bombed village
I do not want to lose
my America
This cancer is contagious
It's extreme and mainstream
They want us dead
because they hate us
Do not say
the wormy apples
are but a few
Do not to
the mother bent over
her dead child's body
Do not to
the father standing where
his house once stood
They want me dead
They tell me so in notes
They want you dead
and they are here
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
can look like
THE ARTICLE:
"Afghan Leader Calls Apology in Boys’ Deaths Insufficient"
by Alissa J. Rubin
March 7, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/07/world/asia/07afghanistan.html
THE POEM:
can look like
scattered on the floor
like fallen leaves in a
wartime fall
the apology of
a tired man of men
weathered by the
accidental deaths
of children buried
underneath the feet
of a tired people
children can look like
something Elses
turn into
incidents and
excuses
leave behind
mothers and sisters
orphaned of men
from an aerial view
a body looks
less innocent or guilty
than would be ideal
easy for a helicopter
to get confused
nine threats can look like
nine boys
nine boys can look like
nine threats
"Afghan Leader Calls Apology in Boys’ Deaths Insufficient"
by Alissa J. Rubin
March 7, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/07/world/asia/07afghanistan.html
THE POEM:
can look like
scattered on the floor
like fallen leaves in a
wartime fall
the apology of
a tired man of men
weathered by the
accidental deaths
of children buried
underneath the feet
of a tired people
children can look like
something Elses
turn into
incidents and
excuses
leave behind
mothers and sisters
orphaned of men
from an aerial view
a body looks
less innocent or guilty
than would be ideal
easy for a helicopter
to get confused
nine threats can look like
nine boys
nine boys can look like
nine threats
Sunday, March 6, 2011
talk isn't cheap
THE ARTICLE:
“Talk Doesn’t Pay, So Psychiatry Turns to Drug Therapy”
by Gardiner Harris
March 6, 2011
THE POEM:
talk isn’t cheap
big bear hibernating
in a Prozac coma
words cost too much
for a needitnow man
get that Volkswagon mechanic
to tune things up with capsules
in green white and blue
mother of three and her husband
won’t get out of bed
sorry but
regrettably
this office is like
a bus station and we’re at
capacity
at some point you have to
make a choice
and I’ll see you
in a month
at some point
just want that
instant high
sometimes it’s not appropriate
to talk
it’s not an addict thing
it’s a brainbroken in
justsuchaway thing
justsuchaway thing
and you don’t like paying
somebody to listen
Miss Margot gave me
an Ifeelsad checklist
scored a severe out of
a little more severe
so now I swig my Lexapro
and things feel good
better than a voice
talking at me would
cause
I know what she’d say
know all the right moves
sometimes drugs just
do what no person could
talk isn’t cheap
like they like to say
brains aren’t so complicated
that way
there’s a formula to our distress
little pills turn the no’s into yes
could have played it off
like an accident
people trip and fall all the time
but now trains get you where
you want to go
Saturday, March 5, 2011
we teach our sons
THE ARTICLE:
"Video Trains Boys to Be Suicide Bombers"
by Alissa J. Rubin
March 5, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/06/world/asia/06afghan.html
THE VIDEO:
THE POEM:
we teach our sons
small friends
lined up to say
their final goodbye
this is not your father's
cowboys and indians
small body wrapped in black
meets a hand that begs stop
big kick of dirt and
bodies pretend to
go down
to the beat of
My beloved is going to fight
so he has long hair
He carries his machine
gun on his shoulder
which looks so fine on him
He is going to battle
Going to fight
it took planning to
unsettle the dirt
took skills beyond
a child of eight
required
rehearsal
this is not your
child's recess
this is a holy war
this is a struggle
for God
bigger than a boy
bigger than a man
men can be replaced
we teach our sons
courage
we teach our sons
pride
in this country
you have to
grow up to die
"Video Trains Boys to Be Suicide Bombers"
by Alissa J. Rubin
March 5, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/06/world/asia/06afghan.html
THE VIDEO:
THE POEM:
we teach our sons
small friends
lined up to say
their final goodbye
this is not your father's
cowboys and indians
small body wrapped in black
meets a hand that begs stop
big kick of dirt and
bodies pretend to
go down
to the beat of
My beloved is going to fight
so he has long hair
He carries his machine
gun on his shoulder
which looks so fine on him
He is going to battle
Going to fight
it took planning to
unsettle the dirt
took skills beyond
a child of eight
required
rehearsal
this is not your
child's recess
this is a holy war
this is a struggle
for God
bigger than a boy
bigger than a man
men can be replaced
we teach our sons
courage
we teach our sons
pride
in this country
you have to
grow up to die
Friday, March 4, 2011
dispose
THE ARTICLE:
"The Disposable Woman"
by Anna Holmes
March 4, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/
THE POEM:
dispose
eyes wide cataract-ed with
1 and a little piece of a million
green backs on beds with
the bare goddesses you
don't pay to open up
you pay to up and leave
dear bad boy rebel
dear folk-hero rockstar
we love you in a
weird sort of way
twin blondes with
twin chests and
baby twins of a
restrained ex
morning kisses
with cigarette breath
second handing
spongy lungs
these are the
terrible forty-fives
that keep a man
up all night
women are meant to be
hugged and caressed
he says fingering his
wife's head in a chest
wrap it with a bow
send it to mom
there are seven
sins on a list for
this jolly sinner to
tick off before dinner
that gun went off
on accident
that body hit the floor
no contest
time to do the math math math:
one body is equal to
or less than
fifteen minutes
is equal to
a sliver of
a wealthy white man's
money, honey
lock me in the bathroom
of your Winners' Idea Factory
just don't scare
the horses
or the children
I knew going in
it's hard to win
when the
occupational hazard
of the day is a
man's haphazard way
of decomposing
with a confident laugh
and a garrulous half-
full flask and a
full shot of apathy
just dispose
of me
"The Disposable Woman"
by Anna Holmes
March 4, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/
THE POEM:
dispose
eyes wide cataract-ed with
1 and a little piece of a million
green backs on beds with
the bare goddesses you
don't pay to open up
you pay to up and leave
dear bad boy rebel
dear folk-hero rockstar
we love you in a
weird sort of way
twin blondes with
twin chests and
baby twins of a
restrained ex
morning kisses
with cigarette breath
second handing
spongy lungs
these are the
terrible forty-fives
that keep a man
up all night
women are meant to be
hugged and caressed
he says fingering his
wife's head in a chest
wrap it with a bow
send it to mom
there are seven
sins on a list for
this jolly sinner to
tick off before dinner
that gun went off
on accident
that body hit the floor
no contest
time to do the math math math:
one body is equal to
or less than
fifteen minutes
is equal to
a sliver of
a wealthy white man's
money, honey
lock me in the bathroom
of your Winners' Idea Factory
just don't scare
the horses
or the children
I knew going in
it's hard to win
when the
occupational hazard
of the day is a
man's haphazard way
of decomposing
with a confident laugh
and a garrulous half-
full flask and a
full shot of apathy
just dispose
of me
A Message From Your Commander in Chief, a Big, But Busy, Football Fan
THE ARTICLE:
"Obama Tells N.F.L. Owners and Players to Settle Dispute Without Him"
by Sheryl Stolberg
March 3, 2011
http://thecaucus.blogs.
THE POEM:
A Message From Your Commander in Chief, a Big, But Busy, Football Fan
headbutt your heads
together and
work it out
as it turns out
I've got a lot of other
stuff to do
"Obama Tells N.F.L. Owners and Players to Settle Dispute Without Him"
by Sheryl Stolberg
March 3, 2011
http://thecaucus.blogs.
THE POEM:
A Message From Your Commander in Chief, a Big, But Busy, Football Fan
headbutt your heads
together and
work it out
as it turns out
I've got a lot of other
stuff to do
Plan Z
THE ARTICLE:
“More College Graduates Take Public Service Jobs"
by Catherine Rampell
March 2, 2011
THE POEM:
Plan Z
it’s the generation
not into ration-
ing the dreams our parents
planted from age two
in small bodies brand new
my lover said you need a Plan Z
while his Plan B broke him apart
and away and now I’m
back at square one in that depart-
meant to be is a funny thing it’s
hard to ascertain they say
you just know I think it’s
more than that takes work
that men of twenty-three
don’t have the maturity to
big-picture see lump goes
the category I’ve just made
out of clay doesn’t mean it isn’t
an apt one in and at play
walls made of ivy
aren’t what they used to be
everybody’s living at least
their Plan B
I barely use my fancy degree
working three jobs to
take care of me
it’s the generation
not into waiting for
things to come through
things we’re entitled to
my mother said wait around
things will fall into place
my father said stay here
where I know you’re safe
I said there’s no time to wait
for things that don’t just happen
in your own chosen fashion you’ve
got to mold them in the clay you
make yourself from sand and water
burned in the fire you made from
sticks in motion
people made of good quality
aren’t enough for me
everybody’s just fucking
their Plan B waiting for
love till they’re thirty or more
I barely use most of
my heart these days
confront me
THE ARTICLE:
"Jury Can Hear Dying Man’s Words, Justices Say"
by Adam Liptak
March 1, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/01/us/01scotus.html
THE POEM:
confront me
confront me with your
clause in a box with a jury
in a room with the law
confront me with your
claws in my box with your warm tongue
in our bedroom with the lights out
confront me with your
closet full of exes and
bags sagging with age
and its shit
I can take it
things happen
fair and fast
things happen
to and for us
the purpose of
our statements
is a me and you life
me and you death matter
testify your version of the lines
that make shapes to pin me down
with their corners
testi-moan me your version of the truth
in a scatter plot that lets me
scatter my pieces up and away
before dawn
bodies go down
before dawn
bodies go up
before dawn
confront me with
your body going up
your body going down
I can take it
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