Wikileaks and Poetry

[Mole]

If you liked the poem, "To the Chosen One", you might like to see and hear the young poet, Goethe, in love, by clicking on - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rh12UDNNM2g

 

[Mole]

Hacked last night and released today -

Reunion

As the popular girl walks among us with the microphone,
most of our stories are about loss,
or include exquisitely precise
medical and pharmaceutical details,
as if the words could suture the wounds, or save us even one last breath.
I came to dance with the Puerto Rican women
of my class of 1967, and to remember a few pals lost in the war,
who had been so beautiful, you were happy just to look upon them,
and one more boy
lost to his own drunken wildness
under a moon who doesn't remember us.
It's not a going back we long for, but a staying still
for one incomparable moment, all the lost loves' faces
spinning in the mirrored ball.

- Bruce Weigl.

 

[Mole]

If you liked the poem, "Reunion", you might like to see and hear the poet, Bruce Weigl, by clicking on - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I76K2H1vPPs

 

[Mole]

Sent by anonymous and posted today -

No One's in a Hurry

The box elder bugs are on
both sides

of the glass. They appear to
be walking

across the sky. The window
is warm

and full of sunlight.
Crawling silhouettes,

tender antennae. No one's in
a hurry.

Two Japanese beetles, round
and curious,

appear out of nowhere . . .

- Michael Judge.

 

[Mole]

Stolen last night and fenced today -

Critical Mass

Lifted their bikes up-
side down above
their thousand
heads and
cheered
locked the grid
blocked the inter-
section shut
the whole East
Village down
cars jammed
against that
stopped moment
that break in
time's flow
nothing moving
nowhere
to go unless
inward until
the helicopter's
searchlight shook
the air and cops
billyclubbed
a couple kids
to set example
hauled off
a truckload of
others forced
apart the forces
that swirled
together there—
but what I still see
are the wheels
held upward
spoked with light
freed from
the pavement
spinning into sky.

- John Brehm.

 

[Mole]

If you liked the poem, "Critical Mass", you might like to see the poet, John Brehm, by clicking on - http://johnbrehm.net/

 

[Mole]

Fell off the back of a truck last night and published today -

The End of the War Gave Us

The end of the war gave us
light in the roots of trees.
We passed each other a handwheel
and rocks appeared in rows

with our heads above water
under pitch and starpalm.
The dead splintered like ghosts.
We passed each other and held hands

pulled light from the roots of trees.
The rocks appeared in rows
under starpalm and pitch.
The end of the war gave us

light in the roots of trees.
We walked down a road at night
and the roots of trees splintered
into highwater and held hands.

The dead splintered like ghosts.
We dove into highwater and rocks
carried a handwheel to cut down trees
and divided the earth into rows.

The end of the war gave us
light in the roots of trees
under pitch and starpalm.
We carried the dead to rows

passed each other a starwheel
pulled light from the roots of trees
and divided the earth into rows.
The end of the war gave us

light in the roots of trees
under starpalm and pitch.
We carried the dead to rows
passed each other and held hands.

The rocks appeared in rows
under pitch and starpalm.
We passed each other
carried a handwheel to cut down trees.

We divided the earth into rows
pulled light from the roots of trees
passed each other a handwheel
under starpalm and pitch.

They threw wood into starpalm
and carried a handwheel
dove into highwater for their lives
and rocks appeared in rows.

The end of the war gave us
light in the roots of trees.
We passed each other and held hands
with the dead who splintered like ghosts.

- Charles Fort.

 

[Mole]

If you liked the poem, "The End of the War Gave Us", you might like to see the poet, Charles Fort, by clicking on - http://www.charlesfortpoet.com/

Or if you would like to see a performance of one of Charles Fort's poems, you may click on - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fb79MZuVjWk

 

[Mole]

Filched last night for you today -

The Peninsula

And when autumn finally arrived, I drove
to the southernmost point of Maryland—
strip of land like an outstretched arm
holding a lighthouse in its palm, tower's

base weathered by surge, half ocean,
half Potomac. And when sundown came

and the tourists had gone, I walked the jetty,
as we too had walked, plotting from rock
to rock, until we reached the crest, then rested,
our bodies towering over granite.

From boat or car, we could've been
any two people watching the bay

merge with something greater: blue-brown
river joining the sea, orange canker
festering in the leaves and brush behind us.
And when your words returned, I found

a few yards from shore, the place
soldiers built a hospital to house the Rebel

wounded. Pointing to a stack of planks
you traced the moat and mapped the perimeter,
though "no sane man" would swim to war,
but wait it out for his body to heal, or

the tide to turn, so he too might
return home, worn as a field

torn open by rain—which is really
the earth being broken, or the sound we make
breaking each other in silence,
something turning the air—a coldness

neither can explain but senses
massing gradually toward us.

- Shara Lessley.

 

[Mole]

Here is a picture of the poet Shara Lessley - http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NoTj3trmsO8/Tqg1MSfvw7I/AAAAAAAAADY/ZvoZjIuo1TE/s1600/Shara_Lessley.jpg

And if you liked the poem, "The Peninsula", you might like to befriend the poet, Shara Lessly, by clicking on - http://www.facebook.com/?sk=welcome#!/profile.php?id=652272329

 

[Mole]

Pinched last night and posted today -

West Fourth Street
—for Jerry Stern

The sycamores are leafing out
On West Fourth Street and I am weirdly old
Yet their pale iridescence pleases me

As I emerge from the subway into traffic
And trash and patchouli gusts—now that I can read
Between the lines of my tangled life

Pleasure frequently visits me—I have less
Interfering with my gaze now
What I see I see clearly

And with less grievance and anger than before
And less desire: not that I have conquered these passions
They have worn themselves out

And if I smile admiring four Brazilian men
Playing handball on a sunny concrete court
Shouting in Portuguese

Goatskin protecting their hands from the sting of the flying ball
Their backs like sinewy roots, gold flashing on their necks
If I watch them samba with their shadows

Torqued like my father fifty years ago
When sons of immigrant Jews
Played fierce handball in Manhattan playgrounds

—If I think these men are the essence of the city
It is because of their beauty
Since I have learned to be a fool for beauty.

- Alicia Suskin Ostriker.

 

[Aquarelle]

I like poetry

 

[Mole]

If you liked, "West Fourth Street", you might like to see and hear the poet, Alicia Suskin Ostriker, talking about you and poetry. Just click on - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9YlospAzbs

 

[Mole]

I like poetry

And poetry likes you.

 

[Mole]

Hacked last night and released today -

The Sycamore on Balance

A symmetry of forces, yes,
but not of shape. The roots: a mess
of curves. Like slow snakes
they incorporate
rocks. The tree's full weight press-

ing down, the trunk arrows skyward.
For humans, centering's awkward.
You lack longevity,
can't fight gravity,
grow heavy. What wayward

cantilevering keeps you calm?
When sorrow settles, blights your limbs,
what dark contortions
fix you to the source?
Contrition. The light-aimed psalm.

- Katy Didden.

 

[Mole]

If you liked the poem, "Sycamore on Balance", by the poet Katy Didden, you might like to see Katy by clicking on - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxvWiJrQTs4

 

[Mole]

Ripped last night and reposted today -

Féis

How long since you last gazed into a face
this beautiful, since a face this beautiful
opened its gaze for you? A full moon couldn't
loom any larger, rising late and low
in hazy autumn, couldn't fill any
lake or pool more full than your eye is full,
holy water rising in the holy well.

You can't follow a third of what he's saying,
his lips moving slow, then fast, then slow, tilting
his face from seduction into friendliness
and back again, the words flying fast, birds
surprised from hedges, the lashes raising
and lowering their heavy wings, the hair
a dense cloud stroking and unravelling

over the hill's brow, the shirt washed to a
pale soft heft. Behind him in the pub, two
pipers, one's lean head shaved down to a shadow,
self-absorbed, arrogantly serious;
one curly-haired, wind-blown, gregarious
and gap-toothed. This one's different, looks at you,
at you only, your search-light. Is there danger?

There's always danger. The pipers pack their
sticks and bags, the guitarists click shut the doors
of their cases, the fiddlers raise their bows
precisely together, the lights go up
without your seeing. So this is what they once
called glamour: leave him so much as a ribbon,
your world can age without you. Water rising in the well.

- Nathalie Anderson.

 

[Mole]

If you liked the poem, "Féis", or even know what it means, here is a picture of the poet Nathalie Anderson, just click on - http://www.swarthmore.edu/academics...aculty-and-staff/nathalie-anderson-x11232.xml

 

[Mole]

Eased from the internet last night -

Ease
after Carl Phillips

The difference
between To Be Comfortable
and To Be

Prosperous,
he has pulled back
the covers, called her;

he has stripped off his robe,
climbed in.

She does what she does—
presumes to be a clementine,
easy to peel, that
soon the crate,

netted, must deliver
to someone.

Is this how it will continue?
Is ease entitlement's
best reward? Is there

no withholding
what exposes itself?

At which time
she came
as if her will was his,

his will was
Spanish moss she'd pulled down
months ago and stuffed,
dry, cured,

in the summer mattress.

Rest well, she told him. Only he
wasn't tired;
he asked, How was your day?

A new girl
came this morning, she said,
but we won't be keeping her.

She tried her best, I imagine,

but I had to
clean up behind.

- Camille T. Dungy.

 

[Mole]

If you liked the poem, "Ease", you might like to see and hear the poet, Camille T. Dungy, by clicking on - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hStSqbgMH98