Pediatrics, 1957

If your poop don't sink
you're sick.
One foul-tasting liquid
cures all.
Able to watch TV, able
to go to school.





wife & daughter speak

he wanted to
try and control
me and the kids.

I'm not going to
quit loving him
because he
killed somebody.

   this is where
   I keep my dad
   by my bedside.

   it's pretty much
   the closest that I've really
   ever been able to be.

   we were hurt
   so we hurt
   other people.

did I know that
he was going to
kill people? no.

we're standing
around in a circle
with our candles

and this guy
walks up
and says

how can you
even love
someone like that?

   I think my
   heart's probably
   been broke
   my whole life.


[excerpts from http://video.nytimes.com/video/2012/02/03/fashion/100000001333852/bill-cunningham--power-point.html]


Vostok

The size of Macedonia, buried under 2-plus miles of ice
for 20,000,000 years, a freshwater lake a half mile deep.

A fool or a liar, chief of the Vostok Research Station
A. M. Yelagin, said the drill made contact with the lake
and the pressurized water rushed up the bore hole
100-130 feet, pushing the drilling fluids up and away
to form a frozen plug that will prevent contamination
of—or by—independently evolved  life forms radically
different from those yet encountered by science.

Despite precautions, sampling procedures will inevitably
introduce both chemical and microbial contaminants
into the subterranean environment,
and may change the existing communities.

At a minimum, chemical contaminant concentrations
should be documented. The chemical composition
of the drilling fluid of borehole 5G-1 is a complex mix
of different types of aviation kerosene (TC-1, JET-A etc.),
saturated hydrocarbons with a chain length of more than 10)
and freons (4 and 141В) at the ratio 5:1. The kerosene
can also contain branched and aromatic hydrocarbons.

At present, the drilling fluid contains Sphingomonas natatoria,
an unknown (80-81% homology) Desulfobacteracea,
a species closely related to Sphingomonas aurantiaca,
Haloanella gallinarum, Staphylococcus cohnii,
Haemophilus influenzae, rhizo-bacteria of agricultural plants
and timber-destructors. The probability of drilling fluid
contaminating the lake is quite small, but if a small amount
(relative to the lake water volume) penetrates the lake,
a less-than-minor and transitory impact is expected.

Emergency situations are possible, whose causes can be
divided into two main types: technological and technical.

So what do we got?

25,000,000 years of critters in an isolated lightless lake
suddenly given a small shot of jet fuel and freon
as well as an Ocean's 11 of tough alien microbes—
and an escape hatch! Sounds like a recipe for..................

Chocolate Cake For Breakfast Could Help You Lose Weight

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2012/02/09/chocolate-cake-breakfast-lose-weight_n_1265587.html


`

Theodore

No sooner
he self-publishes
his debut book
than he insists
it's made his life
a big success.

It isn't money,
he explains—
it didn't make a dime.
It isn't fame—as if!
It's just the way
I feel inside.

Imagine, quips
his second wife,
how swell you'd feel
if you declared
yourself the king
of rock & roll.




Change of Plans



No, don't come.

We're tired of all the God talk.


If ye are faithful, great—

walk the walk,

let us figure it out on our own.



Star Parker's amazing personal transformation

Star Parker's amazing personal transformation
from parasite on Uncle Sam's welfare plantation
to Chief Black in the Republican Party big house
has been chronicled by 20/20, Rush Limbaugh,
Readers Digest, Dr. James Dobson, The 700 Club,
Christianity Today, Rev. James Robison, Newsmax,
Charisma, and World Magazine. Parker founded
CURE, the Center for Urban Renewal and Education,
a 501c3 think tank bankrolled by rich white guys
to promote market based anti-poverty policies.
Author of the newly revised Uncle Sam's Plantation:
How Big Government Enslaves America's Poor,
she provides regular testimony to the US Congress
and is a sought after expert for radio, television,
and print nationwide, lecturing on poverty issues
at almost two hundred colleges and universities.
Star served on advisory boards for organizations
ranging from Carenet to the Cato Institute.
Other major accomplishments include speaking
at the 1996 Republican National Convention,
and co-producing and hosting a documentary
on affirmative action with the BBC in London.
She debated Jesse Jackson on headline issues;
she fought for school choice on Larry King Live;
she defended welfare reform on Oprah Winfrey;
and on ABC’s The View with host Barbara Walters,
she debated Michael Moore on healthcare reform.
Star is a regular commentator on CNN, TBN, CBN,
CNBC and FOX News. Articles and quotes by Star
continuously appear in major publications around
the world, and she offers weekly op-eds to more
than 300 newspapers including the Boston Herald,
Dallas Morning News, Orange County Register,
Korean Times, Washington Times and Star & Stripes.
Parker cares so deeply about urban poverty,
she dreams of doing something about it one day.

[all but a few lines at beginning and end are found at http://townhall.com/columnists/starparker]


Cleveland, Columbus, or Cincinnati,
Newt Gingrich says, may be targets
for an Iranian nuclear bomb attack.
The 4th possibility is New York City.

Those who aren't history professors
like Newt is may find that suprising,
but if you fail to remember history,
you are doomed to repeat it. 2008?
Ohio's Police and Fire Pension Fund
bans investments in U.S. companies
doing business in Iran. This Feb. 2?
Ohio Senator Sherrod Brown says,
“It’s time to turn up the pressure.”

Brown's three main in-state offices?
1301 East Ninth Street, Suite 1710
Cleveland, OH 44114;
200 North High Street Room 614
Columbus, OH 43215;
425 Walnut Street, Suite 2310
Cincinnati, OH 45202. Coincidence?

Citizens, get the hell out of Ohio!
Ayatollah Khomeini has it highlighted
on his free Butchers Without Borders
world map! And one of the “hikers”
recently freed by Iran reports having
overheard one diabolical mastermind
high up in Iran's security apparatus
mutter, “New York City small target,
Ohio much, much bigger target.
And if we happen to blow Pete Rose
up in the bargain, Allah be praised!”

To #15

Always skirting plausibility,
they scapegoat & attack you.

Your parents watch
but fear retaliation
if they step in too assertively.

They support you,
teach you things like this
might happen
till the day you die
& that you have the power
to withstand it.

If you know who you are
& that the world around you
will stop at nothing to reshape you
into something else,

then you shall overcome.


The widowers
Bert and Roger
are getting married.
Neither one's had sex
in twenty years,
and never will again,
but splitting
one membership
at Galloping Hill
is going to save them
a small fortune.


What suckers we are
when little 5 year olds
leap into our arms
with squeals of delight

their innocent buttons
deftly pressing ours
in a perfect storm of
neurons and hormones

that we can't escape.

Later they'll cash it in 
with ice-cream cones
and another half hour
of watching cartoons

and down the road,
when we're starved
for a sweet ourselves

it's “love to come...
but the kids...you know...
can't really get away.”


match.com

mutt of a male
30% E. Asian
30% Mayan
25% Jewish
& 15% British

seeks she-cur
35% African
30% aboriginal
Australian
& 30% Irish

Late Night in Canterbury Cathedral

     Nose elevated
     even the cartilage preserved
     the chin entire
     red beard thick and matted
     jaws perfect, teeth intact
     except one foretooth
     lost while he still lived
King Henry cocks an ear
     the consistence of the leather of a shoe
     as supple and as brown
               Stone silence.
Adam delving
and Jesus's eighty ancestors
     peer out the clerestory windows
               No one near.
St. Bartholomew's arm rises
     as it did when Cnut
     asked for a volunteer
               The coast is clear!

     Great bones rustle
Wilfred, Odo, Eadgifu of Kent
Lanfranc in a leaden coffer filled with dust
Theobald, Langton
Winchelsey, Eastry
Edward the Black Prince
     in chain mail
     Courtenay at his feet
then Chillenden, Joan of Navarre
Chichele, Warham, Poole
Odet de Coligny
     the poisoned apple in his craw
     Per custom
martyred Becket's pear-wood staff
     crowned in a black-horned
     shepherd's crook
          raps thrice
          to lead its choir of slit and holy
          throats in chant.



another poet
with dreams of becoming
another poet

publishes a book
of their poems

and receives her pats
on the back

as seventy-five copies
fly out the door

to family members
friends
and fellow poets

with dreams of
seventy-five copies
flying out the door

and i say
congratulations

though it feels like
like when someone
walks into my office

says
i got my hair done

and i say
it looks nice
it becomes you



St. Augustine's Impasse

He keeps so many secrets,
when Jesus talks to us
He has to be careful
not to give anything away.
He knows the future
and the past of everything.
He knows who's lying
in wait for us right now.
He could easily answer
hard theological questions
like what age we'll be
when our bodies resurrect.

If He's truly human at all,
Jesus could never keep
His mouth shut knowing
that much. He would
never stick to the script
of You are loved  and
Your sins are forgiven.
He'd spill classified pieces
of information all the time
and then have to erase
them from our memory.
Half human, He'd screw up
there too, and we'd rise
from our prayers unable
to remember our mother's
Social Security number
or exactly what happened
behind the equipment shed
after we took Ann Hulbert
to the movies that night.
That's why omnipotence
isn't really optional once
you've got omniscience,
and very likely vice versa.

Of course I'd like to ask
My Lord what kind of life
calls Lake Vostok its home,
but why put Him on the spot
like that? He loves me,
He forgives me my sins,
and it's no big deal to wait
until the Russian scientists
come up with the answer.
You don't look a gift horse
in the mouth and ask it
to be the golden goose
and the Easter Bunny too.

God in all His wisdom
is strictly need-to-know.
Perfect understanding
is something to hope for
in Heaven. Will we also
find ourselves all-powerful?
That's hard to imagine.
We full humans will spill
beans all over the place
if we have the capability.
Possibly we will be given
a feeling  of omnipotence.
Or possibly all we'll want
to say is You are loved
and Your sins are forgiven.

if you're searching
for beauty

i just saw someone
sneak into

the public WC
with a Grecian urn



Summa

I'm sorry, Thomas Aquinas,
but your taut reasoning can't
summon God into existence.
No theologian's syllogisms
have the slightest impact
on whether or not He exists,
or what His nature is or isn't.
Can you summon faith then
from the stone of a logician?



A Stubborn Old Pedant

“A poem is made of glass,” he said.

     “It's blown?”

“I never said it's blown.
You see? That's what I mean.”

     “What do you mean?”

“A poem is made of glass.
A carpenter, the man of prose,
has no idea how glass is made.”

     “You're saying that
a carpenter can't make a poem.”

“You take a hammer and a nail,
and see if poetry survives! A saw,
a plane, a drill! A metal rule!”

     “You're saying poetry
is spun or blown, out of thin air?”

“Not necessarily. It might be
puntied, marvered, gobbed, pulled,
floated, tweezered, parisoned.”

     “Beyond the ken of carpenters.”

“Merely a different set of tools!
If glaziers tried to build garages,
wouldn't they be goddam fools?”

     “You're saying that a poem
is glass, and prose is wood.”

“I'm saying that a poem is glass.
Prose might  be wood. Or might
be steel or stone or blocks of ice.”

     “You're saying prose is like
a house or chair, and poetry is like
a window or a champagne flute?”

“Light passes through—but one tap
with a cobbler's hammer shatters it!
It's useless by itself, is but a conduit
or barrier for something else.”

     “You're saying poetry depends
on who the readers are.”

“And what it is that they cannot see
or sip.”

     “You're saying prose has
far more common use. Its readers
can agree more on its qualities.”

“I'm saying poetry is made of glass.
If you don't get that, you're an ass.”

evil's not

disregard.
it's fine regard.
exactitude.
satans are
anything but
careless.
they must
inflict pain
& howling
degradation
daily,
hourly,
every minute,
or they feel
it themselves.

don't mistake
amoral
for evil.
one is lazy,
unfocussed.
the other
can no more
give his
scalpels
& hammers
a rest than
mako sharks
can ever
pause in
swimming.

what evil
loses in having
only half
the standing
strength
of good,
it makes up
for in being
over twice
as driven.


Restless Young Maple

I'm not supposed to pine
(ha, ha)
for chainsaw, splitter, fire—

hardwood's downfall
(ha, ha)
on this quiet country lot—

no, I'm supposed to hold
my girth in
to the minimum and eke
as many rings out as I can.

But why not get it over with
and let the chips fall
(ha, ha)
where they may?

It's not that I don't like
this peaceable existence,
maple fell- (ha, ha)
owship. I do.

But when I smell
the heady, aromatic smoke
and hear the wild crackling
in the oildrum stove

it sends a shiver up my grain.
The sailor in me thinks,
Now that's the life!


[thanks to James Carver @http://poetrycircle.com/index.php/topic,25330.0.html]

nobody thinks for a minute

you're going to take me up on my offer
but you do

it's the farthest thing from your mind
to send me packing
tail between my legs

what never occurs to anyone but you
is that the chance

to take a walk with a homely stranger
may be the opportunity of a lifetime


The school psychologist

who ushered me in
held my son's graduation
in her hands.

She turns out to have been
my student when
she was a freshman.

At the meeting's end
I asked if she could find
some way to help him.

You ought to know I can,
she said and grinned.
I got an A in your class.

What's Changed Since You Died

Cold wind has greater access
to the side of me at which you stood.
The mites that troubled you
are more interested in me now.
Where people once saw unity
they now see gaping loss.
The slender curving stumps you left
force me to recognize my basis.


to renata

     it is acting, yes.
but if you stay in character
and don't forget
how cold it is outside
it becomes second nature.


we don't have language

for what the bowel knows
but after a certain perfect movement
do we even have to bother
applying a length of toilet paper?
after that certain perfect dinner
don't we know with all confidence
what the chef has accomplished?
and are we ever in the tiniest doubt
during those uglier episodes
about the intestine's point of view?

we don't like the bowel to speak
too much or too loudly
as if it were the gorilla in the cellar
or the jar of chocolate kisses
hidden in the back of the cupboard,
things that don't really have to speak
because if they did it would only
diminish their abundant clearness.
speech we reserve for situations
with far less wallop.


Kreuzzuglustlosigkeit

Listen, Beijing,
Dick Cheney &
whoever else
is listening in:

You won't find
anything here
that wasn't said
better by Milton,
Ratushinskaya,
or Scott-Heron,
even if the time
for imprisoning
them is over.
But history will
know you for
the quality of
who you jail—
so move along!
I know you are
listening to
your listening
devices in my
cable box only
because it has
more channels
than yours does.
My own faint
calls for freedom
are drowned out
by Tony Soprano
& the Knicks.
Threats to your
repressive order
are more likely
to originate in
osteoarthritis than
in my rhetoric.

Let's both admit
we're sick of
opposing each
other in the same-
old same-old
class conflict etc.
We both need
to move along,
evolve, find
new affiliations,
obsessions &
opposition.
I hear there
are some folks
up in Irvington
locking horns
over blood type,
of all things.
It's conceivable
that we could
even all end up
as comrades.

I used to be so concerned with saving water
but now I flush at the drop of a hat
and feel myself missing you every time I do.


=====================


He yelled “Bonsai!”  
as he dove into the Luce.
At impact, disaster.


=========================


For Eighty Years

The parent who watched
me walk beyond the gate
and survived on prayers
for eighty years
doesn't answer to “Death.”

Yeah, it's weird to say “Home”
to someone with no memory
of the place, a black hole
from which nothing except
suppositions reach our ears.

But we don't recall death
either and we hear nothing
from that rumored realm
except for bounce-back
from our fears and prayers.

We have no memory at all
of time before we walked
the earth.  We take the word
of strangers, as they too did,
and back, and back.

They saw  us born. They
saw a thing of meat and meat.
And we have seen another die—
the meat die, anyway.
So there are witnesses

to comings in and goings out
the cottage door but no one's
ever glimpsed the mat or stoop,
much less the yard or road
or town or wilderness beyond.

We don't go near enough
the door. The traveler finds
their own way in, and then out,
as if we were furniture.
It's not our turn.

We're paralyzed by—meat?
Is that the obstacle to
picking up our feet—to even
understanding that we're in
a little cottage?

The parent who watched
me disappear into the door
and then bided her time
in the wood for eighty years
doesn't answer to “Death.”


nightmare

the rozzers burst
into the bedsit

the poor bloke
was in england

  Re: various drafts
« Reply #6 on: January 22, 2010, 04:30:53 PM » by Tom Riordan


not a breath
 
it's so utterly still out the window
it looks like everything just stopped

a bad painting by a depressed swede

I can move my head but nothing stirs

theoretically I could go out there
saw down one of those damned trees
and create some change

but counter-theory warns
don't leave a place of life for one of death

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



tom thought you might find this interesting imagery tooo


http://www.nowness.com/day/2012/2/16


silent lotus



`

Great film, Silent, thank you. I'm watching it, thinking "How beautiful and eerie, and how dangerous it looks!" - then I read "Luckily there was plenty of vin rouge to keep me warm!" Tom

  QT Electrician LLC
 Serving Northern NJ

parked outside the house
across the street
several days a week.
   
Time to investigate.
I ring the bell.
Inside - still as a mouse.

I keep watch in my den.
Out comes QT at last,
grinning brightly.

Proposal

If you wouldn't marry me in paradise,
don't marry me on earth—
don't marry me to soothe your pains
or as a stop-gap measure
while you wait for something better.
Let me be the icing, not the cake.

I don't want to make you happy,
or you me—
don't want such dire responsibilities.
I want our love to be dispensable,
entirely avoidable, discretionary—
not the dinner, but dessert.
That's the only way I want to marry.



             Continuing to Open Eyes

   The little black robot egghead boy
    and naughty white D-student boy,
   more themselves with one another
than anybody else since
                         age seven, are saying
                     goodbye: one going to
         Vassar, the other starting training
             as veterinarian aide
   at the pound.
   Though they'd both played soccer
    together on the high school team,
                                         it seems
unlikely to their relatives
that their paths will coincide again.
             It's going to be a big surprise
when everyone learns they intend
            to get married at the end
                                 of July.

Pulling Out the Eels

You look for the tag.

Korinna gives Malik
all kinds of shit herself,
but won't let anybody
else say one bad word
about the man.

You pull that tab
and up comes yards
and yards of love.

Hernandez loves to say
that getting married
was the worst mistake
he ever made,
but every time Marissa
cracks a joke
he almost wets himself.

Go, pull that tab.

With so-and-so, it's food.
With someone else,
the way they eye
their spouse's ass.

No matter where
they bury love, there
isl a partly hidden tag.
The pair of them
administer a marriage.



stranded

love took us so far
and no farther.

finding a taxi
this time of night

within a half a mile
of the park

tests all the limits
of good cheer.

either one of us
would give half of

the gasps back
for the tiny beacon

of a cab roof light



The great lover, like so many ordinary ones

The great lover, like so many ordinary ones,
begins with an illusion about who the beloved is—
then triumphs in inspiring them to rise to that illusion.



Why Three is a Crowd in Bed

This poem has nothing to do
with a ménage à trois.
I just put that title there
to trick you into reading.
My actual subject is enslaved
animals forced to work
in bestiality-themed bordellos
run by the Russian mafiosi
in countries like Thailand.
An exploration of this issue
though is so distasteful to me
and probably to you too
that it really would be better
if I wrote about threesomes,
which could be humorous—
but I already said I wouldn't.
OK, what about foursomes?
People do that too, right?
Have you ever been fucking
in a cute bed-and-breakfast
when you distinctly heard
another couple fucking just
on the other side of the wall?
This is what the French call
un ménage à quatre fortuit.
Some people find it a turn-on
and others a real dampener.
Just how did it affect you?
The person you were fucking?
Everyone has such a fine time
hours later down at breakfast
eyeballing the other guests.