To David Brooks: or Maybe Paul Krugman's Just Off Today

I've come to a decision regarding certain transfixing aliennesses in the NYT net edition.
I'd heard a complaint that resonated but what David Brooks spirited away.
Was the hardened look and faithfully heralded by and buy for a class still not cut above.
The clue that gave me its full sham-hood how shamed I was my twisted head down.
How worked up I got! How awful the lot of all of us trodden by trowels of journalism.
Though no journalists I know is at fault.

Kept quiet now, in awful doubt, as slowly I rebuild to stand and damn that pushing me down.
I only hope to out-tiller those plows ploughing the thick blankeys and demons around.
Except I'm hopeful that now honestly surrounded by those who predictably think they see.
Awful sure I feel to be building such fields as this moist burial will one day allow.
To carve not misguided truth from my filthy and uninformed tumultuous day.

Plus, the powers will never take love or honesty's toil, and to all of you out there we cling.
We foibled and flowered, bent pleasures we're after, laid scared at the battles last hour.
Where together once towered, I ask only behalf of my fellows all counted,
please bend such course and see fit our best to surround ourselves with the graces.

Yet the pace of a bending long course is what David Brooks offers.
If you've read no history to see the meaning of this statement,
well man that's just what they're after.

Cause you'll buy what they carve with gotten smart appeals, much to rhetoric's disaster.
I hope you buy local, what the free man gives out and say out loud what you're after.
Our goal is survival and information's the medium where our toil is laid bare for the master.

You give me a country sick only of info that stabbs memory tooth aches your brain.
I'll give you a healthee who thinks not of wealthy and keeps mind of the lies so bizarre.
Why would you say: "We’re not going to revolutionize 18 percent of the American economy overnight" when you know that that's what we all see? Then they rile me up at the end with:Paul Krugman is off today.

Sonnet for the Explorer

This was written a year ago in dedication of the Safari Explorer, the largest and newest ship in the American Safari Cruises Fleet. Not sure why I forgot to post it back then - busy cooking I guess.

At journey's end this working vessel ports,
tied up, though soon untied, unloosed again,
fashioned with cabins of nature's resorts,
where worries uncoil on this vessel when,
Christened at last as three others have been,
red sigil, white shining, blue on the hull,
bankrolled with one stunning stroke of a pen,
so, may the view windows ever be full,
may wond'rous places give thousands their fill,
may inspired eyes see undisturbed lands,
sharing the sacred with rapturous skill,
with steadfast support of decks and of hands,
loyal, this tribe, we're together as friends,
Cheer ship as Explorer's journey begins!

First History Taught, Changels Are Angels

First history taught language,
and then it taught philosophy,
which sprouted into physics,
cosmology and chemistry,
and these were good for dentistry,
for architects and sophistry,
but held up with the heretic race,
who held math up in the one God's place.

So history taught inquisition trials,
and showed the world that face,
while chemistry used multiple phials,
to try to divvy up the place,
but language through philosophy,
grew crowds upon the place,
where remember November,
when the fifth ran agendas,
to bomb a master chase.

And history taught that one word's used,
for the faces of an out-of-favor ace,
it may change from junkie to jew
to folks from outer or inner space,
imaginary or real as tar roofed neighbor,
that enemy is out there,
it's real, or imaginary but voted on, pretended on,
your home and your body are theirs,
but for the small place that they place you,
you'd not roam free or safe,
if these arrests weren't dressed to impress you.

If you believe this you're prince to filth,
for what you fear is fear itself,
and you let life
stop the truth
from how I found some, just by simple sooth:
do leaders I know follow
a Golden Rule,
seen currently more in the mule,
that it's not a permanent occupation,
and not far from original Declaration,
that the law is sacred and since she's blind,
we have to surround her, not just from behind,
and give her to Guantanamo lightly,
keeping some for our desperate dying blameless,
to rectify history's war madness with reckless shamelessness,
to try to support what we're all getting behind,
what gives when we bend together in time,
but anger consumes and informs our open eyes,
to gaze righteous steadfast nutritious dissent, debate,
and dare I say the very Enlightenment that The Greatest
Union Of States, located through the hardest education of history,
in this place that one place once called another place, this place,
America. A dream not of the past, but a realization in the making,
that I define through my voice, my community,
and heck, even the internet, like Obama started doing,
like Dean the baptist before him, just to seek the strength,
of people with small voices, in a world ruled by banks,
and glide we now on this moment that sounds like change,
only to discover there is no such magic moment,
but what Toni Morrison could describe,
that change is a Changel perched on your shoulder,
with something of a chirp to a constant squeak,
that says many disorderly things as you live,
like "use your own bags to go shopping in,
and what all other conveniences that you can't rescind,
when doing yourself these things is fair draught,
that life is extended by a balance of drudgery and posh."
and as a result, you plant more in your yard,
since organic veggies fetch dollars abroad,
and instead of square footage which is just more to clean,
you invest in the solar to take hot showers for free,
and where leaves go formerly to the dump,
you'll turn them to dirt to grow more and more,

And at last we arrive at a place we'll all be,
when the money for everyone is no emergency,
and still capital does and property strives,
called wallet to some though lighter on the 'I's,
collectively balanced for those chief basic needs,
so no pride swelling chest of America's glory,
need be hungry in a land rich as never before,
with euphoria here, but sickness breeds near,
so we just poke a few fatty's and say,
enough with your Ponzu, take a break from your scheme,
we'll get this ship going, once the rich are redeemed,
they've won the paddy, the whole daddy wagon,
we'd like to make crumpets to cross all their tees too,
but flour in masses was just hard to come by,
since futures were bought up before they were thought of,
and only for five percent more was any of us prepared,
but the sons and daughters are suddenly profit impaired,
and even the bright minds are doldrums of hoopla,
so no one even speaks of the violence of the flag pole,
but I heard a bird thinker with experience aplenty,
who took steps to put law back on track with the law.

I didn't do nuthin' but listen some more,
to the Changel that was chirping on the shoulder before,
I did the hard things, some
that wouldn't even occur to you to do,
and so many things that my neighbors
knew to do. And I listened,
maybe for the first time.

And just like you, all my fear was upon it,
at once I saw how hard any ideal-lined road is,
and I listened much more than I spoke,
but spoke without heed of two steps away,
just listening to the change that was leading this way.

Trick or Trial Hate Stance

"Whatever happened to WESTern Democrats? Huh?! Cause' that's what I AM," blasted a corporate-savvy chef I once worked for.

And bless him for it - his philosophy was something closer to "Don't get in the way of people doing things. Period. And then: COME ON everybody, let's be reasonable about things. Let's face it, if a farmer, a chef, a cattleman, or a business executive can't maximize their economic potential, why bother having a job or caring at all.

I don't ascribe to that exactly, but I get where that ilk is coming from. Further-but: if I were forming a coalition, I'd get a cattle-branding WESTern Democrat on my side. In fact - I'd give him or her a Pied Pipe to play the tune leading our kids to the topsoil amidst the groundswell of neglected machine-tended land planing the oft Secured 4-H Homeland. If I were Jefferson, I'd move Kings with my words and play to the discourse that common folk wisdom holds to ply diplomatic trade pools into a Sea of precious metal laced change. (-which is also oft Secured).

You do the math. Derivative trading crooked the neck of American squash tactics. Pf: AIG. Hence, the integral reciprocal sees our social umbrella graphic drop roots to grass level (touching down as history settles the recorded score of what was just so fresh and just so clean, and what must be ejected summarily from the tent humanity will go to the trouble to knit together) and such actions represent time healing through triginometry of diplomacy, so we're left back with the same equation we had before and before; how loose-ey is the goose-ey and how funky is our chicken?

One last message: our collective gravity has outstripped our collective luxury of irresponsibility and we'll sudden upon equilibrium in a four-horses of the... kind of way any time from now til the next chorus of ages. The higher we regard the consciousness and reason that stands before and between us, the closer to salvation humanity will silly to see [sic] by recognizing harmony despite any noise creeped upon by chaos.

Stop-Gap Initiative of Words

There's no combination of verbs
run relies upon the stop-gap initiative of words
and the masses chunked lying to their own decisions
tough ran out of adjectives and lost objects to subjectivity
papers ran out of advice, engines ran out of steam, properties began a gain,
claims jumped in cold water running courts to chop up institutional scores
chumps by the 80 million tenderfoot and shooting skeet,
a flag made oil by chicken eggs so soil became a paste,
what dams we built to bridge the West
was levied up with interests holes
so liberty could find new bounds
and the cheapest baby could
and the softest baby couldn't.

Spidereggs

Toast pin tar top hot roof scramble
spider legs fly with spider goop muscle
fight a tiny nature forming bands
miniscule the trouble trouble good
fighting tiny suburban warfare too
too small by separated sun lobbed
lengths so pico physics you know it
it unwinds when literal billions of eggs
became billions of years old every year.

Simple apple, scoured bug of millenium
conch shell shouting oceans infinity
when the treble of galaxies of beasts
swirled entropy back into order so *
. * became the tonic strength sounded LIFE
until shore drew reason from brains or veins
we withered those trees that inversed us
as we grew old we grew lines to catch cry
and cried a scrying cold into the deathly dry air.

Intelligent is conundrum when Design
is withheld from what Humanists called eyes
who cracked a code for God's sake to muse
not as a manifold to stay silent when
all that was lost was is sight in hope
but just a critical mass of one too many
shut the doors off to keep God in and
couldn't but help to keep people out.

I let it all in with the doubt to be
there with me as ancestry you've not
known as I've looked the beasts and
plants and math and geomatic and seen
no doors no wars no poor no scores
whose very nature my allies that lie
behind me where I see Humanistically
truth which eludes collectively as it did all those years before.

But I was always too late

The circus rolled through town, and I thought they were awry,
and I tried to shut them down, for I had better rings in mind,
the Hawker hawked me, the clowns just clowned,
the Bearded Lady bopped me, and the Strong Man held me down,
all the freaks were laughing, and I wanted to laugh too,
the crowd just stood there paralyzed, thinking it a zoo,
though blood was shed, though prayers were said,
the panic still ensued; while water coolers boiled over,
the dolphins escaped real neat, they flimmed their flam,
they thanked their m'am, and swam or flew so fleet,
a child stayed in the aftermath, and saw what deeds were done,
they rubbed their eyes for all the ash, and then they cleared the lawn,
a King swam down upon the sky, to poll the silly kid,
"what say you boy, how murderous, the things that they all did?"
"why no sir, please" begged the boy, with dust still in his eyes,
"I'm sure they deserved just what they got, though I know not where and why,
"But I'm confident I loved them all, though we had no chance to say goodbye,
"The only tragedy I think I thought I found, kept me here where I belong,
"Down against the ground, here where cover is found, so do not apologize."
The King changed then, into a crown, of constant shape and mass,
and gave the child himself to wear to imagine and live in the world again,
so come all things which come to pass a world unto itself aghast,
how rebounded all our doubts what future brings, what past is past,
apologies seem needed hence but weepingly prevented again,
by the little voice that will not rest until it's given what we've gained.

Dr. King, I'm Made of Similar Stuff

Walk in salt step and see me take every challenge vigorously on
Tiny bells in my Jester crowned head stumble greatly in drunken master
My play ingratiates and imitates mastery happening all around me
Your pomp prism hails Delilah, Ken and Barbie, whose houses are variable
My house is bricked intent turned calamity with robust zaniness
Try Trivial to answer less but before in primacy to wait for age patiently
Resource takes mind warps of leniency to satisfy the frog brain croak high
At midnight to zenith chirped chorus between us, all landscape no heat
How dreams crinkle the sheets to remind us all how hell heats
All salt and ash in clay where fire earth air and mother meet our DNA

Talkocrat Monocrop

What two things should we fear the most
what two hopes give us our best
how many shouts is a carousel of chorus
how fast does it spin when feet leave ground

how do we fast when our feast is sumo-sized
how do our dollars turn wishes grade paper
fear our weakness and broadness succumbs us
see our vision of production and tradition

I plugged in the truck this morning but still
the cold turns coals in eyes water wheels
I learned to make vinegar for sour is power
I washed out products, grew roots in farm pastures.

Monocrop is dead.
we'll forge plantation.
sweat is wasted.
drink to cooperation.

Damn That

Damn that habit
that means one day
at a time to cure,
to live free again.
One day, one hour,
one second inside,
one minute, one moment -
how horribly deficient,
it seems,
yet is not,
to lack that
which catches
at the throat
but won't
come out in that
moment we need it
most.

It makes us sad,
to hear the silence,
of the cry,
from our inner light
screaming adeptly cold
for desperate help.
How empty
our silence is
to be alone with that
knowledge that burdens
the steps
that inevitably follow
a solitude.

We can only grow
to change
with light
like plants
like trees
in a forest.

We can only grow
to change
our approach
to the
plain
elusive
truth
we've already approached
ad homonym times
before.

None of us knows
what approach
truth takes next,
so don't presume
to pretend
to know.

You don't.

But, that's beautiful too.

So thanks.

Keep it up.