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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

the USA ~ 10th deadliest plague country

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2020

Wheee – World Population Milestones
(currently 7,800,000,000 humans)

10 Billion (2057 projected)
9 Billion (2037 projected)
8 Billion (2023 – projected)
7 Billion 2011… took 12 years
6 Billion 1999… took 12 years
5 Billion: 1987… took 13 years
4 Billion: 1974… took 14 years
3 Billion: 1960… took 30 years
2 Billion: 1930… took 126 years
1 Billion: 1804… took 315,000 years

hmmmmm….
are we dying faster, or borning less?
or both?

Out of 215 countries, the US is the 10th deadliest for Covid-19 deaths per million… we’re way down in 3rd world territory here.

10 worst Covid-19 national death rates per million population
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
10 – 617 – USA
09 – 627 – Equador
08 – 642 – Chile
07 – 645 – Brazil
06 – 654 – Bolivia
05 – 656 – Spain
04 – 686 – Andorra
03 – 858 – Belgium
02 – 952 – Peru
01 – 1,237 – San Marino

World-wide average is 124.5 deaths per million population,
with South Korea at 8 deaths per million, and Japan at 12.

US has 4.2% of the world population, yet 21% of it’s almost 1 million reported plague deaths

One scientist estimated 94% of American deaths are due to Trump’s incompetence and corruption, and could have been prevented… this would mean 192,000 American deaths could have been prevented by competent, honest leadership.

Are you a Chump for Trump?
If so, why?

(of course, most or all are under-reporting their death rates, while many – like Florida – have been caught outright lying)

 

Lady poem 9.12.2020 – Niello

Tuesday, September 15th, 2020

latest Lady poem

Niello

The flush
tapestry of thinking leaves
hung just so by Henri Rousseau.
The acorn peeks through its
foreskin in peopled prosperity.
The sparrow, aplumb in hormones
slings its song, nourishing rosin
message in sunlight.
The sparrow waddleshakes and bathes
in padded static on the driveway,
a shrine of shallow ripples
on a pointillist radio.
I’m ever on the halfway stretch,
the exigency of a foothold purchase,
pulling fruit through the shadow shape
that floods its faithful containment field,
the torch forwards the apple in its
swaddled pillow of tunnel.
A purring car rafts a bough of freeway
through the whump whump of analog.
The backseat baby’s sated gaze
regards the niello of roadlights streaming
in the liquid night.
Be the light of every flying, bend the knee
on the now of the heart, expect good.
Be baby reaching for the mobile of stars
turning from the ceiling night.

– Lady, 9.12.2020

 

sieze ya on the downsize

Thursday, September 10th, 2020

Last year thru this date I had 217 poems.
This year 41.

recent 3:

2020.9.3 – Got gas
2020.9.4 – How to Read my Poetry
2020.9.7 – End the Beginning

~ ~ ~

Got gas
got road
got wheels
going somewhere nowhere fast

I get my pleasures where I finds them
in this bowl of pus

Vrooman Rd
vroom vroom vroom

no hole in my howl

~ ~ ~

How to Read my Poetry

Read if and when and where you will
cuz it’s all true
and none of it matters

There was a crooked man
who walked about my poems…
now I wear his bones

~ ~ ~

End the Beginning

You can tell the lay of the nest
by the smell of the eggs,
the rot of the tree
by the fall of the apple,
the way of wend
by gin of end.

I’m but a young man in an old skin
of fogged and fire furred past.

 

Lady’s Lament

Sunday, September 6th, 2020

foto collage by Lady

Lady lost her Grand Aunt and cousin 2 weeks ago to Covid-19. We found out they were ill one day, and dead the next… mother & daughter died within 3 hours of each other in different locations.

She collaged this poem to them from Facebook fragments.

~ ~ ~

August is Something to Behold
For Aunt Marion and Cousin Sandra

Churches turn into breweries
and breweries turn into churches
this week in the temple of the heart
First of all, my thighs
second, the wall art

For the best birthday cake recommendation
the finest curmudgeon’s permaculture trail
the first potatoes of the year
the gift of golden honey
white sunflowers and black corn

an earthworm jumps
a little thing gone wild
it writes by night

A crow brings a penny from heaven
Water rolls off a duck back’s
Keep your fingers crossed
it all works out for the best
may you forever build what you can

The tortoise was born
when the world did not yet have the telephone, photography, nor even the light bulb
thought extinct, he returned

Grandmother riots sunshine smile in the
community mural, proud homeowner
Mother tilts the mirror frame from a thrift store
Hello sweetie
The exact time lightning hits the water,
the light in me, the light in you

– Lady K, Cobbled together from phrases found on Facebook

~ ~ ~

then she reworked that poem into this, using Jayce Renner’s cutup app https://cutuphaha.stackblitz.io/ and then massaging the result…

In the August mural

Your thighs open
Your birthday cake is made from light
Your mother tilts the thrift store mirror
the telephone rings
pennies roll from heaven
water rolls off a duck’s back
the world is born the turtle returns
the smiling week leaves its seconds
the church is a brewery
the crow brings honey
the temple is of corn
the sunflowers riot
the earthworm fingers the soil
that nurtures the potato’s heart

~ Lady K

foto collage by Lady

 

now I wear his bones

Friday, September 4th, 2020

How to Read my Poetry

Read if and when and where you will
cuz it’s all true
and none of it matters

There was a crooked man
who walked about my poems…
now I wear his bones

 

sstb2:GOD

Sunday, August 30th, 2020


Godman

Stumbled across one of my found poems… this is an error message that appeared on my computer 16 years ago, back when I was a programmer analyst for hire – have no idea what it means

sstb2:GOD

Version 31N20512 03:06559

END OF PROGRAM
sstb2:HELP GOD
USER DEFINED COMMAND FILE: GOD.DPAICMD.SYS

RUN GOD/JOLOMIZO.PUB.VESOFT
sstb2:


God’s dice

 

monthly Medusa in a daily way

Wednesday, August 26th, 2020

Hearty thanks to Smith (Steven B. Smith) this morning for rocking us forward into another day of craziness! “The sun comes up, the knives come out… [but] we go on.” writes Kathy Kieth, publisher/editor of Medusa’s Kitchen.

1965 – On The State Of The State
1989 – On Your Knees Please
2014 – Meditation
2014 – Never Nuff
2016 – My Lady Love
2018 – Once More Round The Bend
2018 – On The Block
2020 – Grim And Bear It
2020 – The water rush of wind

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2020/08/grim-and-bear-it.html

I asked Kathy Kieth if I could advise others to send poetry – “Sure! I think of Medusa as sort of an open mic, rather than a poetry journal, and we need a continual rotation of new voices, especially in these times of trouble…”

so there you go – send stuff to https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/… blame me if you wanna.

 

 

lady pages torn from the past

Friday, August 21st, 2020

Lady writes good stuff, but seldom publishes, or crows, or shows folk.

Some of these poems are from her 2004 double-sided book from editor Bree and her Green Panda Press (turn it over and it’s 10 poems by Charles Potts), while others are 2005-6 poems she taped in for readings.

She has another book on Dianne Borsenik’s Nightballet Press – Firecracker Mandalashttp://nightballetpress.blogspot.com/2012/09/hot-off-pressfirecracker-mandalas-by.html













 

no spineless I

Wednesday, August 19th, 2020

The spine is supposed to be straight.

(is that a screw lower left,
or are you just happy to see me?)

A Crooked Man

There was a crooked man
not politician or banker
nor CEO or priest or moral shanker
(though all fine crooks in each their way)
but a simple guy with crooked sight
who thought fair meant fair
and right meant right
no matter how rich or big or tall
the same truths applied to all
if A were rule for man with penny
A must abide for man with many
if B is wrong for one with naught
it’s just as wrong for one with lots
as poor pay tax and serve and fight
so should rich add their might
and give to keep this going going
this very world they seem to be whoring
using lawyers politicians guns and money
not to mention TV and honey
to dull our minds to take our score
demanding we must pay far more
so wealth in growth can glow galore
they say less more than we deserve
think we’d be happy we’re not tempted
by all they buy with money exempted
and they’re probably right
in Zen light
for stuff is trouble
stuff takes space
stuff grows like fungus in dark dank place
stuff needs storage stuff needs safe
stuff sucks storer stuff takes place
stuff becomes bad bit breath
stuff stiffs stuff
stuff self-smit
so bet on tortoise
forget the hare
stuff is rigor mortis
stufflessness free air
winning is failing
failing success
oh the meek shall inherit
one hell of a mess

– Smith, 2011

 

In the Temple of the Echo

Wednesday, August 5th, 2020

In The Temple of the Echo — my 58th feature past 56 months on Medusa’s Kitchen, thanks to the generosity of publisher/editor Kathy Kieth, who has been posting a new poetry feature by a plethora of poets national and international daily for the past 15 years.

as usual, 10 fotos, 9 poems:

1973 – Junky Luv
2005 – In the Temple of the Echo
2014 – Inner Animal
2015 – I’m for Falling
2015 – Kundalini Wheelie
2017 – Is Happens
2019 – Island of Lost Souls
2020 – Tempus Fuckit
2020 – Social Isolation

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2020/07/in-temple-of-echo.html

 

 
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