"this edition of the Morning News"

"we love you and show the real world. 
your own life is illusion.
you are powerless.
we can show to what to aspire.
give us your anger and we
will tell you where to express.
you are powerless..........

next is Buffy with sports and weather  ........ " 

............ and that's The Sedition of the morning news.





"the sedition" ?

:)

I like your poem and thanks for the welcome.

 

I wrote the following in a boring meeting at work today.
It's great to write poetry in meetings.
Everybody thinks you are interested in what they are saying because you are frequently writing.
The trick is to look up once in a while and appear interested.



a Perfect day

As lost as
a gull in the fog,
fog in a cloud and
a cloud on a perfect day.
As despised as
sleet in a breeze,
a breeze in the wind and
wind on a perfect day.
As lonely as
a shadowed moon,
the moon at noon and
midnight on a perfect day.

            Indeed

in a boring meeting, I wrote
work today, at the following
 — write poetry, in meetings

    "it's great to look up"
the trick, Everybody thinks 
   is to appear interested                 

you are interested, because
they are saying, once in a while   
you are frequently writing —

        And in what?

                                        .  .  . 

a Perfect day

As lost as
a gull in the fog,
fog in a cloud and
a cloud on a perfect day.
As despised as
sleet in a breeze,
a breeze in the wind and
wind on a perfect day.
As lonely as
a shadowed moon,
the moon at noon and
midnight on a perfect day.


                                      .  .  . 



This has been a perfect day. The new surveillance CCTV has (as you did imply it would) proved to be a success — DR's wet-dream! He rang to say he would be back from Miami, Monday next.

His #1 concern is the question of copyright. He needs a feasibility ASAP, on the correlation of low-level b/s vs. strategic collective poems. It may be worth your time to find an exit strategy, plus a few kind words in prep. for collateral damage.

Also, I need you to sign, or at least initial, your future input — it has become an issue, on not so perfect days. Have a good weekend.


Entertainment Committee
Colonia Dignidad
Chile





Hi Scott

As you can see, today is a good day. I love your work and company, most of all I understand. Words. Words are black nails — bury me standing. Bon dia, amigo!

— DR     

why I say not in such style.

very nice.

now what can we do with this ?

talking sport at length with the boys in the cafe only to avoid talking the important topics that we should but know nothing about.
a pretty girl sits close only to expose the married man's hypocrisy.

talking sport at length with the boys in the cafe only to avoid talking the important topics that we should but know nothing about.
a pretty girl sits close enough to expose Married Man's Hypocrisy.

Scott — sport took a hike when I first hit a lung shot with a Park Drive — a staple British smoke. That was back in the day, when a boy choked on his own disability and a farmer could call a frost a frost without a stutter.

Those five final words of yours — boy-o-boy. You can do this, Scott. Try, anyway. Think "Carmen" or at least the thrust of its performance — self-set somesuch of a place. What do you say from the pit of your soul about its fantasy dance — this rattle snake and the torment of a bull.

Meanwhile, I must bang the board with a wild lady from Brazil and some boys from Kansas City — catch you later, then  .  .  .

— DR

Carman, Carman, who knows of such ?
sound thinks too much that is of another, I think.
the wake, in every second, offers pure sponge gold.
will the offer cease when it is held, will the offer stand ? 
all moments have scarcely become anew.
until I can know the dust beneath my feet,
I have no use of Carman.
   
*************************************************

Carman, Carman, who knows of such ?
the wake, in every second, offers pure sponge gold.
will the offer cease when it is told,
will the offer stand ? 
all moments have scarcely become anew.
until I can know the dust beneath my feet,
I have no use of Carman.
   

talking sport for two moments too much
hides the fear of nakedness.
men are always afraid of nakedness. 
a pretty girl sits close, exposing the
Married Man's thin veneer.

Carman, Carman, who knows of such?
sound thinks too much that is of another, I think.
the wake, in every second, offers pure sponge gold.
will the offer cease when it is held, will the offer stand ? 
all moments have scarcely become anew.
until I can know the dust beneath my feet,
I have no use of Carman.

 


Bravo, son
 — you're too modest, Scott
Smashing. Thank you
Good to have you here


Dax

floating upon this cloud,
feeling no pain, surrounding
tumultuous humanity.
that part needs its lovers,
needs its poets.
needs the rain.


a pretty girl, to
the married man's bluff,
sits close.
life, too abundant
for one strike.



good fences make good neighbours
good neighbours return the football.

Great.

g

somehow close, a pasture away,
the exotic, the madness swirled in Spanish,
knows her tango. 
the lie of fences and vegetation
comes to mind.