Sunday, June 11, 2017

Star Power

The Fusion Race has been begun
By the Chinese in a 102-second run
On reactor EAST February 3rd, two-thousand sixteen

And like the flight lasting fifty-nine seconds at Kitty-Hawk
This light lasted a hundred and two in China blasting
At 50-million degrees Celsius reacting in Soviet Design
Fusing reaction of hydrogen and hydrogen over and again
Bumping up and fusing atoms with atoms
Melting down, fusing, and releasing energy between the meeting
In chain reaction to create more heat to fuse more fleeing
The whole thing running on heat to beat
The twenty seconds by Princeton's machine

The Age of Fusion has begun
And what star will we explore
What avenues of peace will it light
What roads of war will Fusion ruin
But it is in the hearts of Mankind this resides
In the hearts of men that fight and defend
The rocky road shocked with roses with staff in hand
It is must, to see, with Fusion amongst our lands, now,
And the power of stars within our hearts now playing
Speeding US, speeding people into the future's dream.

Legacy of Pennies

I went to the gas station today
189 miles some odd gallons
26 gpm

26. gpm.

My truck gets 15 if I'm lucky
And with 353 million registered vehicles
I've got 5 and find it impossible to save money.
The population of the U.S. is only 323 million.

But with that 26 gpm, I need only one gas tank
My truck has two.
And with that 26 gpm, that small change of 10 gallons per mile
I'm able to go and fill up only once a week.

Cause I broke domestic oil production down for 353 million vehicles
And it's about 11-16 gallons per week, per vehicle, and I have five
PLUS amazon and ups and fedex which can really add up, So
I've driven less than my allotment, a lot less... 3 vehicles less, Or
About 33 gallons less.

Hell of a lot to remembered for,
"Oh, he was less bad than he could've been."
In a world that equates Success with more bad,
If the world is being destroyed by it.

Think of it, I'm doing less bad, and excused
While those creating this world are exalted,
And in the process of doing More of everything(that I'm doing less of)
To end up destroying the world more than, I'm doing less of.

Confused yet?  It doesn't have to make sense.
Apparently, all it Has to make is a dollar,
And they'll just count the pennies later...

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Techlobytic Exposition

I can't write enough
Put enough purple in the painting
My red is a little light like the xerox machine at the Library
But maybe that's its shade, red light
The blues get watered down

I'd like to explore the solar system
Put the orbit harmonics into consonance
Every 8th distance with inclusion for a junkyard or two

I want the bugs to have a brain
And intimate the massive horde which I have no control over
But can interact through sight and sound and smell
Is so numerous, it's like throwing dice to alter the odds
In an endless wave of statistical priviledge of persistence

I want to write that my cats understand me,
And there is no border between what I experience and they
Because I see what they sometimes see, which isn't to be seen
Which is unseemly to whom may think it an affront to have an open mind

And like wanting to pick every flower, I want to use every word
But I can't write enough... or maybe, don't know all the words
Or all the worlds MY words reside in, and so can't pick the yellow spring
To place in a small vase next to electronic picture frame

It's not fair.  I'd like to construct a grand piano, a great pipe organ
That one might play and spits out logical constructs in rhyme and metaphor
Press a key to color them a little deeper purple and a darker blue
Make my red light, alizarin crimson, and have it come out poignant
Like a lemon yellow sun and purple clouds, Heart felt,
To surprise even myself, to help all my problems after song

I'd like to construct a great pipe organ with all the keys coded
And write poetry down like a scoresheet to produce everything sorted
But there's no way to get it into brains without writing composition,
And I can't write enough

I'd like to write, I had this dream and this invention...
And sat writing emotive composition after pathetic composition
So they locked me in a cube, to study the brain-changes, to see if I'd go mad
And now I'm their secret, dead, because they forgot to feed me..
As proverbial skeleton in a closet, trapped,
A secret, starved, and dead, now.  And my purple doesn't anymore matter.

I can't write enough.

Friday, April 28, 2017

There Is No Planet B

It's Arbor Day
With the branching, branching, and branching possibility
Up above the shit it was buried in
To reach into Heaven's holding

It's Arbor Day
With the wondering, wondering, and wondering branches
Up above in the crown of green glory
To wander the Sky's open grace

It's Arbor Day
With the flowers and cones, flowers and cones, flowers and cones spreading wide
Planting the next generation's bowery
To nurse Erect proper up-bringing

It's Arbor Day, It's Arbor Day
And the orchard is greening, the soil is wet
Find a rake, find a hoe.. let's plant
To bed Root needs of civilation

It's Arbor Day
And the plants bowering glory in safe harbor
Breaks the wind, rain, and snow
To partner With in community

Monday, April 17, 2017

And the Doves Cry

On the vergence of yesterday and tomorrow
I am caught, between the infinite all and nothing.
Like a bird on the wing flying through two peaks
With river below flowing one way and only one way
Merging into pooled water or distant ocean
I on the wing, with rain starting, even here
There's flying life up in the clouds
But one has to be small, So very small; To survive..
Floating
around.

In the nexus of heaven and hell
I am caught, between wilderness and civilization
Like a pioneer plowing a field for some barley and wheat
With rocks piled up like a rose bush, cast to side
Merging into tree line or distant forest
I behind ox, with sun shining, even here
There's joyous smiles up in the mountains
But one has to persist, always persist; To survive..
Growing
up

Above the threshold of peace and war
I am caught, between insanity and cleanliness
Like a denizen of life passing night and days
With hideaway disguised like a hollowed out log, quietly dry
Merging into time or distant history
I below sky, with clock ticking, even here
There's not enough time for everything
But one has to wait, always wait; To survive..
Holding
love

Friday, April 14, 2017

Prompt- Clarihew ; from NaPoWriMo.net day 14

Donald Trump
Is a blustery and bossy leader.
Having dinner at Mar-a-lago golf club,
He watched a man eat crow on the 9th hole.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Inna Sense II

Trump bombed Syria
And the mercenaries dividing the country
Get to kill, and kill, and kill, until
Basically there is no country left
But one big well, filled with black grease
That will ease their conscious of stealing the inner cents
Of dollars pumped from the ground in push and pull.

That isn't leadership, but boss hoggitude...
Get on the ground, and pull our country into success
Rather than sitting by desk, sit in the field:
And know what food is,
Talk to the ant, to learn pernicious ambivalence
Feel this heat, and be thankful it rains in this country
Shake hands with the farmer, He/She built this Land...
And every land. before. time. and will do so again..

Cause this Conflict was presaged by water and food shortage.
This Conflict was presaged by hunger.
Should we sooner shoot a man because he's hungry,
Than give him a piece of bread?

Trump in your Tower with the eye above,
Forsake this war, Forsake the beating drums.
Throw down your makeup, we come from humble stock.
The rejects of every nation has made America Great!
Come home, and live like an actual American,
Half-good at everything, and twice as good as the next person.
Come home, alive, to your peaceful family,
Whom want their brothers and sisters to come home, too
And share peace, as well.

Death-making will only ever feed the crow, the goth, and visighoul.
And will put you on the wrong-side of history.