Random Poetry

Frugal Or Broke – Across The Boards

From Gallup:
PRINCETON, NJ — Baby boomers’ self-reported average daily spending of $64 in 2009 is down sharply from an average of $98 in 2008. But baby boomers — the largest generational group of Americans — are not alone in pulling back on their consumption, as all generations show significant declines from last year. Generation X… »

More Lies, Damn Lies & Statistics

Well, the place is lousy with optimists these days.  The Stress Tests have been released – although I’m highly skeptical of them simply because they grossly understated the derivatives risk and hardly mentioned all those “toxic assets.”  For lack of a better word it was nothing but theatrics.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t doubt… »

Keep An Eye On Bond Spreads

Minyan Brandine Rife says that a good tell on the economy is the high yield bond spread over treasuries.
As you can see, since early March, Corporate Investment Grade (subjective, but I digress) spreads have come in substantially from 6% to 4.78% as of yesterday’s close. It goes without saying that this isn’t a small move… »

Not Worth Reading

My Ars(e) (Poetica)
It’s not really, really worth mentioning
but I’m compelled by imps,
and that rat-bastard, Dave Javu,
egging me on beyond reason.
Never will I father an epic
nor will I assume the patience of Dante’s verse.
Neither will what I write be remembered,
even by my own tongue, as I rot.
I mother whimsy with engorged breasts
where the juices get… »

The Truth

I Am
I am my favorite
old coffee cup
with indelible stains
from sitting too long unwashed
bearing a chipped rim
I instinctively avoid
that would let blood
from the unfamiliar.
I am my old hat
inspiring sniggering glances,
as my children blush.
Hosting a perdurable smell
of campfires and sweat
– and more than a little worry,
but serving my head
from nagging rain.
I am my old dog
my legs fail… »

A liitle bit

Rough Writers
Be off with you, poets
ride like hell
to main street
where tradesmen work
and die
all for little happinesses
of mundane life
Give them back language
that has been stolen
and ridiculed by critics
inflate them with verse
mouth to mouth
pique them, and inspire in turn
exhume their ghosts
Ride like hell
with hats ablaze
borrow a Yawp
if must needs
for little time remains
before culture’s silhouette
fades to obscurity
– Dave… »

Some Poems

Just to mix things up.

Trash
Confetti words
tossed from balconies,
there impatiently,
bury raw manuscripts.
I mine through chatter.
Pitching scraps
feels, somehow,
like wasting food.
Each thought I cut
- even nicking bone -
exposes what matters.
I bag the trash,
leaving in view
a clear glass canister
with one lonely coffee bean.
I see what’s not there,
pleasured by its wasting.
—

Lolo Peak
In the distance
a silhouette
of a fresh fat man
standing… »

Long After MacFlecknoe

Scriblerus
Martin Scriblerus is dead
I honor his ghost
who speaks to me
on subjects political
and, at times, poetical.
I wish he were here, with me;
Scriblerus, not his ghost.
I would take him for a strole
along the streets of enlightenment.
I have been shown them, I’m told
by those who know I lack;
by those appointed by a snickering
plebiscite of virtue and compassion;
those who,… »

Entropy

‘TIS a mess that nest
THAT awful mind
OF unkempt visions
A blathering blind.
WILD bythoughtproducts
FLOWER at night
WHILE un-arranged
RESTING… »

Shadows Dance

Long figures tethered to the periphery
of ghosts, of memories, of wishes
and dreams and nightmares
dancing, hippityhop, hippityhop
to remind me of when
i might have been a man
of means, of goals, of principal
or an astronaut or president
O’ but Gaspard, I AM a poet
absorbed into the green sea foam
As minions bob and weave
in the penumbra of my attic
A silhouette… »

Fishing and Hackle of a Man

the Hemingway
pushes back the river
with his thighs
as he plays puppeteer
dancing an elkhair caddis
on a slackwater eddy
alone with the purl
standing below
God’s peaked grandstand
where the river’s humor
stored in magnificent caches
rationed each day
large ponderosa argue
with the wind
pundits of history both
cow finches and sparrows
speaking as arbiters
punctuate the dialogue
the angry grind of water
ever enlarging the bank’s kerf
exposing gnarled roots
that weave… »