"pbs" poems
Memes! Angels, aberrations of opposition super standing
overseeing you,
The screamin' heebie jeebies.
Yo, where you wanta go, you axin me we just go
with it, the flow 'know?
What I mean is, are we memes or mes or messes of yeses
gone all johnny rcome late-rotten scarred scared, some thing not so far
from sacred when you put your mind to the whole idea of life being
at all. Thinking this is not easy. We are Able. Our belly's living waters cry out,
you are your brother's keeper, yes, you are.
Be leavin' that be, I am is, and you is,
too. When you apprehend the meme named
war.
That meme has led the me-me mob for as far as men
remember, but
now, machines remember for us, all the facts, just
the facts, ma'am.
Why'd the d go into a comma, Pop?
Welt (Duetch, bitte) Enshaung, glaube ich, vie leicht, aber
are we ever going to filter out these German bleed-overs?
stay tuned, next week the meme beacon is pulled down,
who shall pre or post or ex maybe vail, travail, like
trip
wow, I hate being a 20 year old vet back in the U.S. of A.
FTA All the way, Airborne
******** Herman Hesse ********
Jorney to and fro the east to west, and soon, et
cetera. Siam is a mere myth now, eh?
As the Narnia thing not called a heathen lie was allowed
allowable in mere Christianity.
I've only seen the English POV's on PBS, they may be filtered through
feedback, meme belching bursting bubbles from new wine 'nold vessels about to plode into eternity, singing along.
Thank you, very much. May I introduce, duce, intro duce, y'gittin this?
Duce means 2 if you see e squeen between, you see that?
Fun. No reason for fun? Who here, now, believes that or, no,
bees leavin' those lies be told?
Hunh? Y'know? Watch man, waht of the night?
See, what I mean? All this from me hearin' some guy say,
"Come and see, like that was okeh. For any body, n'me, too.
Thinking, as a past-time, is pointless. You know, if you act like it.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 1:21 AM UTC
Granite plaque in a tulip bed, end to the Oregon Trail.
Teminus for ordeal by ox and prairie schooner,
where slight survivors began rejuvenation,
the wretched fortunate refusing a backward glance,
children with ancient faces set atop skeletal frames
tried desperately to remember what it meant to play.
Manifest Destiny's broken terra incognitae rested.
Swamp Mama Johnson's concert in the park,
a blues-to-the-wall celebration of life and love,
was a saxaphoned shibboleth for offbeat orphans.
Homeless youth played hacky-sack in time;
a baglady danced with the little girl with Downs;
a camera rocked on the shoulders of the PBS man
--- Olympia gave hommage to ghosts in the gazebo.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
I’d Love to go to France
And sail upon the Sine
I’d love to go to Germany
And Sail upon the Rhine
I’d love to see the castles
Of England and of Spain
To see the royal Princess Kate
And her lovely husband William,
Oh, to have Prince Charming as a mate
And then the rain that stays mainly in the plane
Having traveled there in luxury by lavish gilded train
I’d love to see the mountains
In Switzerland and Austria
And see the vast rice fields
In Countries like Korea
And drink frothy bubbling ale
From a tavern near a windmill in the Netherlands
And climb a tiny mountainous hill
In enchanting charming Whales
I’d love to see the canals
In a Gondola in Venice
Or maybe go to China to watch some table tennis
I’d love to see the pyramids
Of Egypt and Peru
And see the Ancient Monoliths
On Easter Island too
And feel the spirits of Celtic and Norse Gods rise inside of me
At magical stunning Stonehenge
While far off in the distance Scottish Bagpipers play for free
But Alas, Alas sadness ensues
These things I’ll never see
Poverty always haunts me
And I won’t win the lottery
I’ll never see the breathtaking things
That others take for granted
Though they will always be here
Part of this amazing planet
I’ll have to take in what I can
And not hope for what cannot be
I’ll have to imagine all these things
In my own special way
and see all I can see
Watching shows like, “Rick Steve’s Europe”
Scheduled to air, everyday
On PBS TV
Sarah Hall Minks Copyright 4/28/12
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 11:12 AM UTC
History
A simple Story
To thine own Self
Be True
The Path Leads Upward
There are many approaches
To the Summit.
But only One can
Attain it at a Time
Each must lighten
The load to
Make it
To that Final Place
Where Heaven takes Us
Up
Anti
Gravity!
Along The Way to
Supreme individuality: Collectivities
That demand Our
First Loyalties be to the
Group will Fear and distrust
The One
Who's First Loyalty is to
The True Self
So the final
Assent leads by way
of
Crucifixion
Christ is the Logo
The Icon of the
True Self of All
Everyone is on
The Way.
Honor your Mother
And Father
Raise them Up
For Salvation is of
The Blood
Your Blood
It is in the Overcoming of
Every Fear that
Prevents Man from
Being Good.
Towards Love
In Love
We are all ascending
Why? Because it is
Wonderful
The Most Wonderful
Experience of All
To Be Good
To Know That You are a Child
Of God...Inheriting
Eternal Life as
Your Birthright.
Bon Voyage -Mes Amis
Fellow Travelers
It is a Voyage
Well Worth Taking
Once...You
Must Forgive me
If I repeat Myself
I am of Old
First typed while listening to RIck Steves on PBS " Making Travel A Political Act" Thanks Rick
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
[Click]
…
*"Welcome back to Story Hour on PBS. Today we have a very special guest, who’s going to read us a very special story. Do you kids know anything about Greek Mythology? No? Well, you’re gonna learn some today. Everyone… say “Hello” to Bill."
“Hiiii Billlll”
“Now, children… he can’t hear you…”
“HIIII BILLL–”*
Hear the voice of the Bard!
Who Present, Past, & Future sees;
I am the Dean
of Cosmic Beans
That grow to poetrees
Then every man will ever clime
to he that sits upon
atop this rhyme
this mythic vine
Dwells the giant Albion
The giant of the sees,
his jealousea and fierce
bid him to seize
an Odyssey
assisted by a Circe
Circe, in play, did then, inturn
the shipsmen of his Highness
and with a Feast
did tern to beasts
not one of them a tygress
As Circe distracted with the beasts
Did Albion then turn
He stole the Fleece
from Circe’s niece
and left it to the terns
The terns, in turn, interned at sea
did little to digress
flew fleece of ram
into the hands
of swift and mighty Tigris
From Milton’s tale of sim’lar tree
that of Eve and Adam
With fearful sea
and symmetree
The Tyger ate The Lamb
*“The Tiger ate the Lamb?”
(crying)*
[Click]
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 6:04 PM UTC
"If some people like your painting, fine.
If some don't, well, there's the door.
Take your work seriously
But don't take yourself seriously
Paint for yourself
Enjoy yourself"
I was watching a show on PBS today
"The Beauty of Oil Painting" with Gary & Kathwren Jenkins
Gary said this and I marveled at how much this echoed the attitude we should cultivate when writing poetry.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
I had a premonition in 1972.
I had this awful feeling
that sometime in the future
there would be only one
national park, instead of the 64
we have now, left in America:
10 square miles in the remote
northwest corner of Montana.
I just finished watching on PBS
a video of John Denver, in 1974,
performing in the Red Rock
Amphitheater located in the
Rocky Mountains. That was 49
years ago, but to me, John Denver
embodied, even if unwittingly, the
emergence of concern of the bur-
geoning existential, catastrophic
threat of climate-change Earth now
faces. Few have taken bold, proactive
measures to save all living creations
on our only home. Al Gore and
Greta Thunberg come to mind readily,
but, in reality, the multinational
corporations that still rule Earth
deem profits over prudence, let alone
curative, worldwide action. John
Denver died in a plane crash in 1997,
49 years ago. Jesus, John! Why did
you have to die so early in your life?
I, and the rest of the world, hope
my premonition is never realized.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 26, 2023
Apr 26, 2023 at 5:09 AM UTC
Jeffery Brown, reporting the news every night
Looks at the world through multiple lens, and writes
Poetry from a layer of glass glued to a layer of glass
Which has separated slightly. Magnifications at last
Divided and shared as divvied-out treats.
http://video.pbs.org/video/2365488825/
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
talk can grow some legs
it starts to walk around
it starts hatching rotten eggs
and babies lay on the ground
then they stand up
they start eating each other
they can't find baby daddy
so they all eat their mother
before they starve to death
some walkers start to see
they are riding daddy's back
they could eat all day for free
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 5:07 PM UTC
I first fell
in love
on my head
with a boy who
was not
ready yet
(That's my type.)
and I left,
and I left
words unsaid
and I reddened
the face
of the boy
in my bed
for a boy who
was greedy,
could tell I
was needy,
could help stop
the bleed, but
was not
ready yet.
next was the boy
that I won
(No one won.)
he's the boy
who said "likewise"
and smiled
like the sun.
like a vision,
my dreams,
beautiful
make-believe,
so it was
and would be
about every
six weeks.
then, oh,
was the guy
who would hold me
real late
while we watched
pbs
and we tried
not to date
but he loved me,
we did,
and he made
me feel pretty
on my period
(he would move
and get married.
we’re happy
for him.)
in between
was the guy
who lived
inside my brain;
we drove ourselves
mad
and each other
insane.
I don't know
where his
band's playing
or how to spell
his kid's name
(Yes I do.
And he's cute.
I don't know
what I'm saying.)
next and last
but not least
was a boy
I would meet,
young and blonde
and could sing
and so
in love with me.
he wrote songs,
melodies,
composed small
symphonies—
but what I thought
of him
he did not think
of me.
it's been lovely
but lonely
when those
who would hold me
have told me
they loved me
but not
really known me.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
Topolobampo, Xoco, Xoco River North,
Frontera Grill, Frontera Fresco, Fonda Frontera,
Tortas Frontera, Frontera Cocina,
Lena Brava, Cruz Blanca,
Red O.
PBS specials, Michelin stars and public cooking demos
be ******
that's too many, right?
Load up your guac with all the pork belly and pepitas
you want.
Star in a self-indulgent Lookingglass Theatre play.
Soak up the accolades of being a culinary genius
more than a Jalisco-style slow-braised goat
sits in its own juices.
But hey man, come on,
give us a break.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 3:07 AM UTC
Ill-lettered functionaries at PBS
Are pleased to announce that Woodstock defined
A generation. In reality,
Generations are not defined at all:
My argument is that women and men
Of conscience, courage, character, and class
Define themselves, and stubbornly refuse
To be counted, conned, or categorized
And only followers would acquiesce
To
Ill-lettered functionaries at PBS
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 3:59 PM UTC
long before the days of the netflix
streaming services
people either had cable
on demand
or got netflix dvds
like a mail order
redbox
but i grew up
with public television
pbs
the the public broadcast station
filled with stories
and shows
that wanted to teach
while entertaining
liberty kids taught me history
while cyberchase showed me
math can save the world
when it's important
arthur allowed children
everywhere
to see that we all are equal
and we all can be friends
because everybody that you see
has an original point of view
and i say hey!
why have we abandoned
the important lessons
for the sake of entertainment
my little brother makes jokes
about logan paul
recording
and exploiting
a suicide victim
my little brother told me
he wants to be the next
bachelor
on abc
my little brother called me
a **
when i was nine years old
like he is
i asked my mom
for extra television time
so i could tune into
fetch with ruff ruffman
at 3pm
and see science
in action
i begged for a game boy
not for madden17
i read by the light
of a little reading lamp
not with a blue glowing light
exuding from a new samsung tablet
i'm not saying technology
is bad
or that we should
regress
i'm saying our children
our siblings
and maybe even our friends
are growing up ******* up
and we can change that
but we never do
i want to tell my children
dragon tales
dragon tales
not to turn off youtube before bed
i want children now
to learn before they even
enter a classroom
but i suspect that no one
will listen
or even stop
to care
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 7:35 PM UTC
the sun will burn out
one day
it seems
this is a paradox
it is the sun
after all
light
warmth
life
the heat on your face in the summer
can eventually run out
of marb red cigarrettes
burning on a meal a day
sometimes i wonder
how can she do it
laughing down on you
like the smiling baby face
on pbs kids
incessantly
bringing inspiration
the reason
for
well
everything
to create
eat
just
just
hiding behind cloudy skies
which are metaphors
uplifting wet concrete bones
which are metaphors
in the stark of shivering sadness
not a metaphor
i am alaska
six months of darkness
sleep sun
eat sun
scream!!
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
(Strands of blue satin water flowing)
A girl runs naked, terrified,
through the marshy grass near the river.
The man who dwells in my shadow,
clean shaven, neatly combed hair, only twenty years old,
will delicately violate her.
The camera is filming this for my entertainment.
I am sitting with my family (my mother),
watching this film broadcasted live on PBS.
The phone rings, how irritating!
It is Her.
I hate Her! the naked, terrified girl.
I am polite and say, 'hello.'
She speaks with Her annoying rhetoric.
I lay the dead body of the phone receiver on the floor.
**** Her voice! I can still hear it!
It is taking my attention away from the show.
I grab the receiver and hang up the phone.
The camera continues to film the young, clean shaven man
with perfectly combed hair.
He is now in his backyard, in a cage with his slaves
(fathers of the violated girls).
The man uses a small garden shovel to dig out the fathers' faces
replacing them with that of a hairless, toothless canine.
Will these deaf and mute creatures survive
in a world of supplied narcissism?
The camera is still running for the entertainer.
Struck with the realization that the girl on the phone
had been violated and is now dead,
I pick up the phone.
She is still there, but is now silent.
I tell her that I did not mean to hang up on her,
but I wanted to see the film.
'That is alright,' she says, and remains silent.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 1:16 AM UTC
Tuesday, November 29, 2016,
living room, Freshwater.
4:12 AM: I woke like any other morning
which means my eyes opened
my voluntary muscular system switched on.
This time.
Slowly.
But it wasn't like any other morning.
I woke up in the living room,
lying on the floor
next to Gunther, my dog.
He's not doing well.
He's old
and I spent the night with him.
Mostly.
5:24 AM: Woke up again next to Gunther,
cold and sore after disappointing moist dream;
went upstairs to bed for another 165 minutes.
Whatever 165 minutes later is:
Woke up, got out of bed,
dragged a comb across my head.
Somebody spoke and I went into a dream.
7:12 AM: Drove to work
knowing how many holes you need
to fill the Albert Hall:
12,347,023. Plus or minus.
8:47 AM: during my morning constitutional,
I noticed:
Catastrophic Trouser Failure.
Colleague saw me leave the
East Genderless Restroom
in the basement of House 54 at
8:53 AM with stapler in hand.
I moved cautiously through my day
not wanting to rip my metallic stitches.
9:12 AM: Over the last 7 1/2 minutes
I have flicked 17 ants off the top of my desk.
2:40 PM: After carefully maneuvering around campus
and getting through my day without exposure,
it was time to go home—but not quite yet.
The file uploaded that my students needed NOW
was corrupted and inaccessible.
Workarounds ensued.
Another day at the office.
3:54 PM: The black army has arrived.
My desk is aswarm—
anticipating their conquest—
my desk has fallen.
4:47 PM: Arrived at home.
Used PBS to relax.
9:03 PM: Moved on to Brandy.
Better.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
It's weird; being here.
I'm here to support the woman I love.
I'm here willingly and happily
Soon it will be my turn
Soon I'll be fixing myself
But as of right now the TV plays pbs shows.
And the old Asian woman sitting across from me has been eyeing me up and down.
Reminding me that back where I was conceived,
I'll never be accepted.
Just like I'll never be accepted in my home country
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
The eloquence of the broken is
Incredibly eloquent; Hard men
Do cry when the truth is spoken
Time is once we were young; now
We are young still; that is why we
Cry. Then and now are One but are
Broken into past and present and our
Heart in two; our soul is given words
That pulse from our wounds like blood
For Barbara remembering you on one starry night; and
||PBS story about young people going to Casa Susanna
Jun 28, 2023
Jun 28, 2023 at 8:46 PM UTC
I love to turn on PBS
And find Bob Ross
Painting a perfect picture.
I see strong bold mountains in the background;
Tall trees reaching the roof of the canvas,
And brilliant cascading waterfalls
Pounding against the rocks.
The roar of rushing water so loud
I can scarcely hear my heartbeat.
I can almost envision a hidden cavern
Behind the falls in the crevice of the rocks.
The pool of rushing white foam
Fans out into a liquid blue.
A small grove of wild berries
Grow along the bushes near the rocks.
Beautiful dogwoods of lavender and white
Spot across the meadow.
And a small beautiful weeping willow
Lets the edge of its branches
Float about the water.
It looks so beautiful and inviting,
So safe within the confines of the canvas.
And I’ve seen the absolutely awesome portraits
That God himself has created.
But I find myself weary
Of sticking my naked feet into the waters
Knowing that even in God’s beauty
Something might be slithering under the surface.
© 8/1/2003
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC