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Its 8:30 in the AM
The Corn Moon
is being routed by a
Manassas cloud bank

NPR be barking
Irma this, Irma that
my tremblin Rav4
stuck in the rush
is idling behind
a pair of gray hairs
spewing
leaded premium
out the back
of a big old black Buick
sportin Florida tags

inching north up I95
I’m relieved to be
a thousand miles
ahead of the
monstrous *****
denuding Barbuda
deflowering the
****** Islands
and threatening to topple
the last vestiges of
Castro’s Dynasty
by disrupting upscale
bourgeois markets
for cafe Cubanos,
cool Cohibas and
bold Bolivars

she’s a CAT 5
counterclockwise
spinning catastrophe
churning through
the Florida straits
bending steel framed
Golden Arches
shaking the tiki shacks
gobbling lives
defiling tropical dreams

the best
meteorological minds
on the Weather Channel
plug the Euro model
to plot a choreography
of Irma’s cyclonic sashay

they predict she’ll
strut her stuff
up a runway  
that perfectly
dissects the  
Sunshine State
ransacking
the topography
venting carnage
like battalions of
badly behaved frat boys,
schools of guys gone wild
sophomores, wreaking havoc
during a Daytona Beach
spring break
droolin over *******
popping woodies at
wet tee shirt contests
urinating on doorstoops
puking into Igloo Coolers
and breaking their necks
from ill advised
second floor leaps
into the shallow end
of Motel 6 pools

but I’m rolling north
into the secure
arms of a benign
Mid Atlantic Summer
like other refugees,
my trunk is
filled with baggage
of fear and worry
wondering
if there’re be anything
left to return to
once Irma
has spent herself
with one last
furious ****
against the
Chattanooga Bluffs of
Lookout Mountain

Morning Edition
Is yodeling a common
seasonal refrain
the gubmint is
just about outta cash
congress needs to
increase the debt limit

My oh my,
has the worm turned
during the Obama years
the GOP put us through a
Teabag inspired nightmare
gubmint shutdowns
and sequestration
shaved 15 points
off every war profiteers vig
it gave a well earned
long overdue
take the rest of the week off
unpaid vacation
to non essential
gubmint workers
while a cadre of
wheelchair bound
Greatest Generation
military vets get
locked out of the
WWII Memorial on the
National Mall

this time around
its different
we have an Orange Hair
in the office and there's
some hyper sensitivity
to raise the debt ceiling
given that Harvey
has yet to fully
drain from the
Houston bayous

the colossal cleanup
from that thrice in a
Millennial lifetime storm
has garnered bipartisan support
to  clean up the wreckage
left behind by a
badly behaved
one star BnB lodger
who took a week
long leak into the
delicate bayous of
Southeast Texas

yet we are infused
with optimism that our
Caucasian president
and his GOP grovelers
now mustered
to the Oval Office
will slow tango
with the flummoxed
no answer Dems
to get the job done

pigs do fly in DC
Ryan and McConnell
double date with
Pelosi and Schumer
get to heavy pettin
from front row seats
beholding droll  
Celebrity Apprentice
reruns

The Donald, Nancy and Chuck
slip the room for a little
menage au trois side action
transforming Mitch and Paul
into vacillating voyeurs
who start jerking their dongs
while POTUS, and his
new found friends
get busy workin
the art of a deal

rush hour peaks
static traffic grows
in concert with
a swelling  
frenetic angst
driving drivers
to madness
terrified
they won't
get paid if
the debt ceiling
don't rise
they honk horns
rev engines
thumb iPhones
and sing out
primal screams

unmindful drivers
piloting Little Hondas
bump cheap Beamers
start a game of
bumper cars
dartin in and out
of temporary gaps
uncovered by the
spastic fits and starts
of temporary
decongested
ebbs and flows

A $12 EZ Pass
gambit is offered
the fast lane
on ramp
has few takers
just another
pick your pocket
gubmint scheme
two express lanes
lie vacant
while three lanes of
non premium roadway
boast bumper to bumper
inertness
wasted fuel
declining productivity
skyrockets
the  wisdom of
the invisible hand doesn't
seem to be working

DOJ bureaucrats
In Camrys and Focuses
dial the office
to let somebody
know they’ll
be tardy

gubmint contractors in
silver Mercedes begin
jubilantly honking horns
NPR has just announced that
Pelosi and Schumer
joined the Orange team
the rise in the debt ceiling
will nullify their 15%
sequestration pay cut

NPR reports the
National Cathedral will
deconsecrate two hallowed
stained glass windows of
rebel generals R E Lee
and Stonewall Jackson
it's a terrible shame that
the Episcopal Church
will turn its back on the
rich Dixie WASPS
who commissioned these
installations to commemorate
the church's complicity
in sanctifying the
institution of slavery,
WWJD?

as I ponder
this Anglican
conundrum another
object arrests my
streaming consciousness
upsetting an attention span
shorter and less deep
than the patch of oil  
disappearing under the front
of the RAV as I thunder by
at 5 MPH

to the left I eye a
funny looking building
standing at attention
next to a Bob Evans

I’m convinced
Its gotta be CIA
a 15 story
gubmint minaret
a listening post
wired to intercept
mobile digital
confabulations
from crawling traffic
inching along
beneath its feet

this thinking node
pulsing with
intelligence
reeking with
counterintelligence
the tautological
contradiction
guarantees the
stasis of our
confused
national consciousness

strategically positioned to
tune into the
intractable Zeitgeist
culling meta code
planting data points
In Big Data
data farms
running algos
to discern bits
of intelligence
endeavoring to reveal
future shock trends
knows nothing
reveals less

the buildings cover
is its acute
conspicuousness
gray steel frame
silver tinted glass
multiple wireless antennas
black rimmed windows
boldly proclaim
any data entering
this cheerless edifice
must abandon all hope
of ever being framed
in a non duplicitous
non self serving sentence

the gray obelisk a
national security citidel
refracts the
fear and loathing
the sprawling
global anxiety
our civilization's
discontent
playing out
in the captive
soft parade
ambling along
the freeway jam
imobilized
at its stoop

Moning Edition jingle
follows urgent report of
FEMA scamblin assets
arbitraging Harvey and Irma
triaging two
tropical storm tragedies
and a third girl
just named Maria
pushed off the Canaries
and is on its way to a
Puerto Rico
homecoming

while
gubmint  bureaucrats
anxiously push on
to their soulless offices
the rush hour jam
has peaked
my WAZE
is having a
nervous breakdown

next lane over
a guy in a gold PT Cruiser
is banging on his steering wheel
don’t think this unessential worker
will win September's
civil servant of the month award

Ex Military
K Street defectors
slamming big civie
Hummers
getting six mpg
lobby for a larger
apportionment
of mercenary dollars
for Blackwater's
global war on terror

Prius Hybrids
silently roll on
politely driven by
EPA Hangers On
hoping to save
a bit of the planet
from an Agency Director
intent on the agency's
deconstruction
the third 500 year hurricane
of the season
is of no consequence

obsolete
GMC Jimmy’s
are manned by
Steve Mnunchin
wannabes
the frugal
treasury dept
ledger keepers
pour good money after bad
to keep the national debt
and there clanking
jalopies working

driving Malibus
DOL stalwarts
stickin with the Union
give biz to GMC

nice lookin chicks
young coed interns
with big daddy doners
fix their faces and
come to work
whenever they want

my *** is killing me
I squirm in my seat
to relieve my aching sacroiliac
and begin to wonder if my name
will appear on some
computer printout today?
can’t afford an IRS audit
maybe my house will
be claimed by some
eminent domaine landgrab?
Perhaps NSA
may come calling,
why did I sign that
Save The Whales
Facebook Petition?

The EZ Pass lane
is movin real easy
mocking the gridlock
that goes all the way
to Baltimore
a bifurcated Amerika
is an exhaust spewing
standing condemnation
to small “R”
republicanism  

glint from windshields
is blinding
my **** is hurtin and
gettin back to Jersey
gunna take a while
GPS recalcs arrival time

an intrepid Lyft driver
feints and dodges
into the traffic gaps
drivin the shoulder
urging his way to the
Ronnie Reagan International
I'm sure
gettin heat from
a backseat fare
that shoulda pinged
an hour earlier

Irma creeps
toward the Florida Keys
faster then the
glacial jam
befuddling congress

I think I just spotted
Teabag Patriot
Grover Norquist
manning a rampart
bestriding a highway overpass
he’s got a clipboard in hand
checking the boxes
counting cars
taking names
who’s late?
who’s unessential?

man
whatta jam we're in

Music Selection:
Jeff Beck: Freeway Jam

Orlando
9/21/17
jbm
written as im stuck in jam headin back to jersey
091622

The rain emptied its heavy heart,
And all of them get their crowns in white
Their robes contrast with mine
While some hold their golden wands.

I look up to the sky and begged it to stay still
But the waters wanna bless
The dry coarse land we’re treading in.
And everyone was so thrilled to dance in the rain
To relish their breaks and take pleasure in their poise.

I stood aside seeing their joyful faces
But my heart was also gloomy as I search from within.
Everyone started to leave
And I was one of those who are left with their remnants.

My head is downcast as the rain pours
And I felt discouraged and rejected for a while.
I took what is left with me,
And before they eliminate the printout,
Before everyone else embark on their preceding steps,
There I am – having my moment.

I had no chance to put up a smile
And I stroll with tears
That is about to fall
But as I try to compose myself,
I have to overcome myself again and again.

Even if grief buries my face,
Something sparkly assaults me from within —
That there was someone else who watches over me
Who always claps at me
When no one else does.

Someone up there is granting me courage
Who knows how I worked hard
Until I set foot at this very moment.

And while nobody else compliments me,
He who knows me best says,
“You’ve done a great job.”

From a heavy heart this sunrise,
My sunset was moved by praise.
Here I am calling this day a triumph
And praying for those whom God told me to intervene for.

I knew that I don’t always get the outcomes that I expect,
But He who started my foundations
Will soon bring me to the finish line.
And I will continue to run this race —
Looking at the Gem of my heart.

Truly, humility comes before honor
And honor and praise only belong to my King —
To my King who sees my afflictions
Whether in sorrow or joy,
Let me serve you
With all of my heart, strength, mind, and soul.
Perhaps it's
the sleep
Deprivation
That ignites
My hidden
rage
I awake
Groggy
Go on like
Any other day
But my hate
It emerges
From its
dark corner
My hate
For school
People, words
Education
love
And life
Let me go now
Let me fly printout dreamland
let me
Sleep away
The deep seeded rage.
Perig3e Jan 2011
At my desk I'm reviewing
a printout of your words in red.
The larger the font size
the more times you used it.
"Love" was the first
justified left,
then in rapid success:
"like", "don't", "know", "heart",
It's the don't know that stands between us.
All rights reserved by the author
Lawrence Hall Jan 2019
The cleaning lady pushes her cart about
Among administrative whisperings
And teachers sneak out of in-service
For an electronic moment in the head

The cleaning lady pushes her cart about
Computers in their wireless conclave met 1
Exchange that hushed arcana passed through PEIMS 2
And sticky notes – they seem to reproduce

Youth is reduced to a computer printout

And

The cleaning lady pushes her cart about






1 cf. G. K. Chesterton’s “Elegy in a Country Churchyard”

2 The Public Education Information Management System (PEIMS) encompasses all data requested and received by TEA about public education, including student demographic and academic performance, personnel, financial, and organizational information. (https://tea.texas.gov/.../DataSubmission/PEIMS/PEIMS-_Overview)
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.


Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Walter Alter Aug 2023
it ain't the gush of hot blood
or a madman’s teeth ripping open
a bag of chips and a microbrew
it is a clenched heart squeezed
by feral anteaters in the Age of Steam
then left at the century's doorstep
following the great migration
of Cimmerians to Penemunde
said the monkey to the parrot
we’ll cut away from our intro now
just didn't want the intergalactic
Mind Police Black Dog Terror Squad
to think I had forgotten their food dish
hence the esophageal spasm
it's all a gateway to paradise
where Lake Placid erupts in flame on cue
I assure you posthumously volcanically
presumed dead still twitching
possibly a victim of hypochondria
needing humanitarian relief
hell what do I know
you got your inductive
you got your deductive
one leads to vacillation
the other to megalomania
I watched the best minds of my generation
lobotomize themselves with ideology
and lop their nuts off with paper cutters
less out of vengeance than mitigated tranquility
journalists were the first to go
many ifs in the Thesaurus of Legends
you see the words
you spectate pleasantly
inconsequential and obsolete
separated from the five senses
by the five in-between senses
sense of irony sense of outrage
sense of monotony sense of wonder
sense of mediocrity
and a great list of impermissibles
as long as your extended elbow
with curiosity the test of courage
discovering that the path of least aversion
was sweet to gaze upon
in a universe of distortions
this is a level 5 commando alert
follow me men he drunkenly commanded
and stumbled out into the darkness
cursing and singing
singing and cursing

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon
Dr Peter Lim Sep 2017
We are the civilised
and most-informed breed
but have surrendered
our right to lead-

tribes-people we have
been converted into
the 'head-person' is electronic
step by step it inveigles
it's the shepherd
we are the lost sheep-

it's the mastermind
every thinking mode
it invents--we are hooded
here's the demise
of thought
the prison of feeling
and conscience
ideas fade and rot
the arts and creativity
they are all dead
and buried--

it knows no bounds
and this it does articulate:
' more, infinitely more
shall be brought
to enrich, empower and endow
don't think the future
would replicate the now
this is but a single dot
in the spectrum of things to come-

a collective mind
would come about
encompassing every nation
every people
every place
and space

the ruler
shall claim
the title
of 'The Universal Brain'
it's the 'Powerhouse of Reason'

the stars and the moon
shall learn to speak
the sea would know
how to sing alongside the waves
all non-human life
would languages acquire
and with us it would talk
and communicate
even the flowers
plants and trees
would be made to walk-

love shall be
a phenomenon
forgotten
an amorous apparatus
shall be built
into the heart
its feelings and emotions
shall be monitored
a printout leaves
the Electronic Domain'
with either one
of two words:
' Failed' , 'Passed'--
  courtship and marriages
  are subject to control
and scrutiny
lest irresponsibility
and folly
pollute love's beauty--

we would have been trained
to accept, obey and comply
and shall never complain
for we have the tribal mind
we would never dare to contend
all shall be deemed technical perfection
there would be nothing more
to refine, revise, modify or amend-

we shall all be assigned
a new name
that bears testimony
to the tribe that defines us
( in our electronic identity
none shall meet with any shame)
we'll stand by one another
we are of the same brand
never to split asunder--

you would know
my name
remembering
is this easy-
it's just  ' IT'.
* the term is not mine, I got it from my reading
Emeka Mokeme Mar 2018
I can't tell you what to think,
for your thoughts are
exclusively yours,
and they are elusive.
They come and go as they please.
With it's complexities,
It comes whenever it likes,
overloading your head
with it's multiple waves to create
and recreate your being.
It's rhythmic interchange
balances everything concerning you.
I cannot tell you how or what to feel,
your feelings are exclusively yours.
Both your thoughts and your feelings
are quite interwoven.
Manifesting as emotionally motivated thoughts,
or thoughtfully motivated emotions,
all working in synergy to bring a
perfect union.
The paths you walk,
the things you do generates them.
Only you can draw
the map of your inner life.
Though the understanding
of it eludes you.
But the path you choose to walk
is eternally exclusively yours.
It leads you to that place of your rebirth.
It may be peaceful.
Your printout may be chaos.
This design is your very own,
created by you.
But in all,
only you have the power to change it,
and make it right.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All rights reserved.
corbin sweeny Aug 2018
When I was 23, upstairs in the house
on the busy street
I went to bed and had a dream.

I was in my own bed, in my dream
and a man came into the room
older than me, but not by much
he was nice looking, and had a brown beard
and hair-

get up- he said-
I am a projection here and it
takes too much energy for me to stay long

I got out of bed, amazed.

you must learn to put your problems
into your dream state
and work them out there, he told me
and then they will resolve in waking life

and he was gone.

I stripped and remade the bed, repeating
his instructions to myself, out loud
and telling myself that I could do this, I really could

it was known to me too, that if he was a projection
in my world, then very likely
I was a projection too, of one sort or another.

this is the most clearly overt the dream people
have ever been
though they are rarely out of touch-

they come to take me on the Endless Journey
night after night and show me things
that riddle like poetry
and fill up all the following days
as I try to see through the vastness
of the weaving that is this life
this 3-d printout of the spiritual song
and find my place in it.

I try, in part, because it is that which I must do
and I try, in part, to counter the gnawing
groundlessness that eats me alive every morning
when I awake, in sadness and fear

what a funny tact to use
to try to find grounding in the most
groundless and limitless space there is
the eternal world of dreams
from which everything flows.

it’s all that I know
it is the tool set given to me-
along with the urge to ask questions
to talk to trees and animals
to feel the lift and fall of the wind at night
and to stand calling, with no sound
when the moon shows her face

in that moment that the world calls back
you will never hear from me again
there won’t be a need
I’ll be everywhere, with the dream people
making the rounds
and taking the likely culprits
on a journey that never ends
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2023
Pounding each key
like a Fender Rhodes
the computer bent and wailed
Bits and bytes
of encrypted language
messages derailed

Memory freezes
last chance rebooted
restart zero-sum
The riff uncapped
its printout fading
—typeface on the run

(The New Room: 8/6/2023)
While yours truly sat here
at the desk housing MacBook Pro,
pondering his next idée fixe apropos
for gamut of anonymous readers,
he unexpectedly, noisily and effectually
exploded out rear end;
perhaps ye heard or felt
the ground beneath your feet tremble;
the missus didst not stir in her sleep
yesterday (May 29th, 2023)
when my troubles
seemed so far away.

Jog me memory I did
with a little help figuratively
nabbed, pilfering, ransacking, et cetera
compilation of previously written poems
which involved scrolling thru
screen after screen of feeble attempts
to craft some stellar literary creation.

Worm I going with this line?

Just by a fluke,
I came across a scenario
where humorous embellishment
will (clear as water) diminish credence,
but slight fabrication will help revival
encompassing an outing with then girlfriend,
who eventually became the missus.

Upon the first date (mucho decades ago)
not quite two score
and three and a half years ago
with the gal, whose troth
aye did pledge allegiance to wed
(anniversary inching itsy bitsy
spider like up to
seven and twenty earth orbitz),
we agreed to dine
at an avante garde Tex-Mex eatery

in North Wales, Pennsylvania,
where angels feared to tread
carefully scrutinizing bon appétit
the menu selection,
a touch of Latin lick QED
all American version sans
south of the border cuisine –
Quod Erat Demonstrandum –
translations spit out
in rapid fire Hispanic

by a beady eyed
pierced and inked kid named Ned,
whose couture favored a punkish style
with spiky gelled green hair,
piercings galore and necklace
with a genetically modified
sizable entombed glassy pricey jewelry
encased insect in amber lead,
which beastly fully intact organism
with a miniature grizzly bear like head
momentarily hypnotizing me

pray tell, yours truly nudged himself
out of trance sans this egghead
who made a selection
by randomly landing finger
on an item feigning to be well bred
unbeknownst choice promised
concussive radioactive fallout
squelched with utmost difficulty
nearly impossible mission
to avoid loosing buttuck blast

if belched out the posterior;
**** would have catapulted,
delivered fatalistic deafening roar
wreaking havoc to life and limb
costing countless lives
regarding innocent restaurant patrons,
whose arbitrary choice
to partake of their repast
at aforementioned *****
unnamed restaurant analogous
ending with tragicomic farce.

After this Señor ingested
an ample number of mouthfuls
of beans and rice
that quelled most severe hunger pangs
mine lower gastrointestinal tract,
felt a bubbling and gurgling sensation
played through impropriety struggled
with gaseous mounting perturbations,
what promised to be hot malodorous,
would induce an air raid

from this “wind bag,”
(whose puckered, preserved, pickled, et cetera
and stinky namesake
occupies a place
at the Mutter Museum,
whose saving grace erroneously divine),
when wallet of suede discover herd
visa vis tubby devoid of cash,
thus convenient excuse to beat
the tirade of volcanic eruption
on the cusp of belching forth
found me bolting out the restaurant door
fortunately not waylaid

and madly dashing
(like some fiery comet dancer)
performing a cheeky number
hopping on one foot than the other –
since forceful blast triggered kidneys
to be tapped, thus prancer two step
extemporaneously incorporated
while awaiting available ATM
only to espy debit printout slip
inadequate funds available
zero balance in checking account.

While expulsion of noxious fumes
from thine sphincter courtesy  
brought relief as aye nonchalantly
prior to strolling inside cozy diner,
and slipped into me seat disinclined
to relate eave vents to future spouse,
the ****** aeration and stream of *****
(freed to water secluded copse)
from me magic flute which,
amazingly synchronized
with the Maximus glute
after consuming food
triggered ***** to toot.

Nevertheless, shortfall of legal tender
unfortunately and subsequently found
yours truly shackled,
impressed, forced, et cetera
as dishwashing galley slave
dashed mine coveted
bowed need for highstrung Cupid
annihilating, detonating,
hexing, et cetera
opportunistic spell
to don and trumpet myself
as artful dashing romancer.
Dr Peter Lim Dec 2017
I can't put my faith
in the neuroscientist's MRI machine
brain is not mind which is not measurable
the printout is the result of guesswork--fit for the bin!

— The End —