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Politics for Poets

Crazy

Color

Sometimes the reds are more than just red. When the sun hits them the orange leaves glow like neon lamps. Yes, it really is that beautiful.

But the color becomes ordinary. People don't look at it, seek it. Chase the folliage and it might elude you. You see the colors as you drive by but when you stop the camera isn't finding any good pictures. It's a buzz chase, of sorts.

If you don't think about it, let your day progress, sometime during the day you'll go catch a glimpse. Suddenly the color ambushes you!

Oct 30, 2013 (10-30-2013)

well . . .

I think I've blogged enough today.

"I'm all blogged out."

Content quickly gets stale, wicked, so it is always updated. Some content is hit with updates more often. Also: some of the content here is of a much higher quality than other content here. So if you don't like something: hey dude, whatever.

~ OK Now.

They say we are 'silent'. What should we do? We have noticed the devolution. Do we put ourselves at risk by talking down the cause of the psychopaths? Would anything we do be heroic? These forces, they've been set in place, and those who do the marching . . . are often not bad guys.

Praise God!

It gets left out
and no one takes it.      

The following poem is fresh, whipped up, off the cuff.

  

  When she takes her time
    she never says anything wrong.
   The sky along the appartment buildings.
 The city bus from the recovery building
    People with kites.
 The ocean electric and large
    a giant sun across the sky looms like
               a mountain
       it crashes into she
    feels shattered
     words come out all wrong
  like a quick throw away poem
      on a throw away day.

  She can't throw anything away
    the stuff lines her walls and fences
 on the inside, along the fringes of the lawn
   hundreds hundreds of little treasure
   and she isn't giving anything away.
 Everything has a price on it,
    what they do,
     what they say.

  Outside her hedgerows and fences
     where the little boys act like menches
      she does not see them, 
  will not discuss them at the meetings
      where they should not be
      who they ought not to talk about
  they should just know
     she can't bother
     to listen.
 If she were forced to listen
    she wouldn't hear.
  she'll say "La la la la La
       I can't here you
     hey lady!"

      It shows up as an Internet Video clip
  her being crazy at the town meeting.
   Beating the war-vet police officer
       with her designer purse
    spilling his coffee 
     all over the hood of the crusier
 The cheif wanted to indight her but
       the cop was her son-in-law
  and when the prosecutor heard what the young man
        had failed to do . . . 
   on account of drunkeness and too much golfing . . .
     minor sins, he
   didn't go out on her
    they had to press charges then
   cause the mother-in-law
    had gone to far
 because the story her daughter told her
      was a lie.
  

  Praise God!

"Counsel in the heart of man is like deep water; but a man of understanding will draw it out." Proverbs 20:5 KJV 


















Wake up!

And this really is at 
the end of the column