More Pearls of Wisdom from Dick Cheney

The last week of the 2000s, which will go down infamously as the Double-War Decade, finds former Vice-Fraudulent Cheney mouthing off again against the new administration. The Prince of Bombast (when not of Darkness) now opines that President Obama “is pretending we are not at war.” I think, now that we are rid of Fraudulent Bush, and Cheney can no longer arrogantly drop the F-bomb on the Senate floor, the former Vice-Fraudulent feels he owes it to his bombastic base not to let a month go by without saying something outrageous to ruffle feathers somewhere.

This charge, after Obama has just publicly discussed and defended his decision to commit 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan. At his Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech, no less.

I hear the former Vice-Fraudulent’s memoirs are soon to be published. Where do I get in line for that one? Maybe I can suggest a few titles:
· How to Point Fingers and Influence People
· How to Point Missiles and Influence People
· How to Shoot Quail and Influential People’s Faces
· Dark Shadows
· Dark Shadow Government
· Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Leaks But Were Afraid to Ask
· Elections and Other Trivialities
· Police Reports and Other Trivialities
· My Life in the Axis of Evil
· A Layman’s Guide to Hiring and Firing Non-Conservative U.S. Attorneys
· All the Puppeteer’s Men

Dick Cheney. What a pathetic excuse for a politician.

Knowledge

We may never know
Who killed Kennedy
What babies think
How souls are born
Where the universe stops
When war ends
Why evil exists
But I know that
I love you

What Does Christmas Mean?

Children in the shopping mall
Sit on Santa’s lap
Tell him everything they want to get
But what does Christmas mean?

Colors flashing on the street
This panoply of hues
Majestic what I hear and see
But what does Christmas mean?

Away in a slaughterhouse
They make the Yuletide meal
Arrays of flavors for the mouth
But what does Christmas mean?

Into factories of faith
The throngs of faithful file
They say their prayers learned by rote
Anything to bring them hope
But what does Christmas mean?

Sphinx Redux

In the morning we begin
On the wings of everything
Love is blazing in the air
Colors flashing everywhere

Afternoon, come down to earth
Take all we can for what it’s worth
Learn everything’s ingredients
Sell them to the innocents

Evening finds us out at sea
Gazing shoreward helplessly
Everything is sinking deep
So many shells, not one to keep

Can I See Her Again?

I know the summer’s over
Can I see her again?
Leaves are turning wild hues
Unspoken rebellion raging through
Can I see her again?

I have turned my keys over
Can I see her again?
Gone my river and my muse
Into that unforgiving night
Can I see her again?

No rest for the weary
Says my brain unto my feet
Every footstep on the street
Every morsel that I eat
Dissolving in this paint

This taint of gray upon these bars
They are bamboo and not steel
It is that I need to feel
As they clang away my life
Can I see her again?

Sleepless River

I remember water rising high
And up over the banks
A stranger saved me from drowning
Even now I still give thanks

But dreams they came to torment me
Chastisements from my soul
Everyone who lost their lives
Now sees me getting old

I wait as long as I can
With all the sorrows they deliver
And when the morning comes
I cast them on the sleepless river

She looked at me with whirlpools
Rolling in her eyes so blue
Said every time I broke my heart
I rolled right into you

I listen to these words of rue
Drink in all I can take
I watch the current pull her tears
And leave a lucid lake

I wait as long as I can
With all the sorrows they deliver
And when the morning comes
I cast them on the sleepless river

I walk the town in solitude
Love's echoes make me shiver
I freeze until the morning comes
And ride the sleepless river

Gray Matter

I search for words and sparks
Through this sea of soupy gray
Turbulent in recent times
Dancing and darting wild

Someplace within the cortex
And these waves of memory
A picture tries to surface
Of a me that used to be

To the new me bring a cipher, song,
Or story to keep me warm
Flow to me before the muse
Into the vortex, too, is gone

Facebook

Something artificial to bring us near
Panacea for this cheerless age
I remember you from my last life
Check out my house, check out my wife
A bit more screen time does no harm
Let’s play some games and waste some time
When the pixels fade away
I will talk to you someday

Man Cannot See

He looks in the mirror
He likes what he finds
He looks to the future
And never behind

So much water to tread
So deep he could be
Who covers the distance
That man cannot see?

The swords fall from heaven
The angels all sing
A pallor of smoke
Just obscures everything

So much undiscovered
So far till he’s free
Who covers the distance
That man cannot see?

Game 1: Phillies

How satisfying it was to see the Phillies take Game 1 of the 2009 World Series, in Yankee Stadium, against the New York Yankees. The Yankees represent everything that’s despicable about modern day sports. The Yankees, who go out and buy championships (forty WS appearances in the past century); the Yankees, who spent a billion dollars on their new baseball palace; the Yankees, with Rudy Giuliani and Alec Baldwin in their stands; the Yankees, who represent all that’s opulent and overblown in baseball.

This is David versus Goliath in the sports world. David wins round one with a slingshot. David has mostly homegrown talent, with a few amazing acquisitions; Goliath, with its endless pockets, goes shopping for talent every year.

Cliff Lee was dazzling. He pitched a masterpiece. It may not be so easy for the rest who follow him in the rotation. But the way they are playing right now, the Phillies can beat anybody.

Game 1: Philadelphia.

Dreams of Freedom

Every day the shadow grows
People walk the streets in gloom
Maybe I should find someplace
Hide myself inside some room

My head is heavy with remorse
There is less to do and say
A lonely man, a wild horse
Since they took my wings away

The sun is out on the horizon
Church bells peal as she sinks low
They’re all I have to keep me going
These dreams of freedom that I know

This could be the end of time
The entire world becomes a cell
This could be the night to rise
The heat is rising here in hell

And far away the sea is sparkling
Upon an ocean in the west
My maiden voyage found no maiden
But she will come when I’m at rest

The sun is out on the horizon
Church bells peal as she sinks low
They’re all I have to keep me going
These dreams of freedom that I know

The sun is out on the horizon
Church bells peal as she sinks low
They’re all I have to keep me going
These dreams of freedom that I know

Given

I am not given
To gadgets and buzzers
Bright flashing lights
Vibrations and pulses
Time-bound contracts

Miscarriages of vital juices all

I am forgiven
To admire things of permanence
The mountains the oceans
Forgone conclusion
The unflinching eternity
Of your eyes

Athlete in Twilight (for Brett Favre)

The sun is setting fast
On this matador of Sundays
Time, a raging bull but
He took time to its limit
Time rebounds faster than flesh
In the dark room he reviews the films
His sinew, his stride, surely as smooth as it was a decade ago
No that could not have been a hitch, a falter
Everyone around him agrees
The contract agrees too
Final hours he wrestles
With legacy and limb
Keep on going keep on playing
Hunter’s moon is not here still

Swallowed by Time

Maria’s laugh
The sloping hills
The cardinal in the azure sky
Red, blue, and green
Dissolved like pills
Were any of these
Ever mine?
Pictures fading
Through my throat
I cannot call them
Swallowed by time

Boat upon
The simmering sea
Liquid life runs out of me
Dancing people dot the shore
Sandy granules in my hand
Were any of these
Ever mine?
Images fading
Back the tide
I cannot hold them
Swallowed by time

Dreamless sleep
To sleepless dream
Something swirling in between
Turning through this night of stars
The sun will rise but it is far
Planets fading
Through my mind
I cannot see them
Swallowed by time

What Is in the Way

Love flowing like a river
From sea to shining sea
Straight on through the heartland
Watch the cornfields breathe

What is in the way?
Something’s holding us….
What is in the way?

Ideas shared cross borders
Things that all can know
Perfect sublimation
Of the seeds and dreams we grow

What is in the way?
Something’s holding us….
What is in the way?

Would that I could go to you
Be it night or day
Open arms to hold you tight
Open minds at play

What is in the way?
Something’s holding us….
What is in the way?

I Cannot Think

I cannot think
Without my MacIntosh by Apple
Cannot think
Without the program I was given
Cannot think
Without the baseline algorithm
Cannot think
The world just moves in vectors
And the people speak conundrums
Surely there’s an app for this
Troubleshoot the brain
Too much hardwire too much strain
I cannot think
How people live with such emotion
Cannot think
The matrix of the ocean
And the puzzling uberskyline
With these soaring animals
And those floating things below
They cannot think I cannot think

I Know Someone Is Listening

The room entombs my silence
I know someone is listening
The walls encase my facelessness
I know someone is listening

My eyes belie my ignorance
I know someone is listening
The truth used to stupidity
I know someone is listening

Solitary, numbed by time
All pictures cloud my soul
Answer me before I fade
As vapor in this hole

I know someone is listening
Someone unbound by time
Glistening in silence too
Another soul like mine

Still LIke You

My mind is a lake
Full of jumping catfish
Spilled-out oil
Loose country girls
Wakes from weird winds
Pee from wild babies
How can I still it
How I want to be
Still like you

My mind is a storm
Cataclysms and vacuums
Lightning and hail
Fronts warm against cold
Target of crossed air
I fly in their crosshairs
How can I still it
How I want to be
Still like you

My mind is on you
Serene in the dawn
Looking upon
A whitening screen
What have you seen
I can still see it
How can I still it
How I want to be
Still like you

The Wrong Clothes

In response to this outrage of a news story:
http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/africa/07/29/sudan.journalist.lashings/index.html

I have worn the wrong clothes
My jeans are tight and my blouse is low
And in the wrong village where all soon will know
The lashes awaiting me there

I have the same long black hair
It is curled in a bun in my hijab
I am sorry for flesh that is soon to be burning
For I have worn the wrong clothes

These men with the knives in their eyes
And the blood on their hands are still laughing
They hold holy books but all that they know
Is that I have worn the wrong clothes

This World Now

That world I saw when I was young
Was never meant to last
Infinities of time and space
Not true as time burns past

That world of kings and princesses
And castles midst the mead
Was home to all my truant days
The place my soul would feed

That world with doves and daffodils
Emblazoned in my mind
While all around me life devolved
Into a frenzied kind

This world pounces on its victims
This world lays its souls to waste
This world spends its time in shadows
This world has no couth or taste

This world preys on every addict
This world masquerades as sweet
This world leaves the righteous homeless
This world starves you in the street

This world racketeers and rapes
This world charges by the dream
This world ambushes the children
This world is too cold to redeem

Her There

As the sun streaks
Through unrepentant windows
One morning following storm

You will see fog’s reminders
Chiffon dress, carpet’s imprint
Footprints in well past bedroom’s door

Wineglass by the bedside
With wide vanilla mouth
Her shadow, her hair

Her station in stereo
Her music exhaled
Her dreams dancing over the air

Her name in the curtains
Her pain on bent elbow
Her feeling dispersed everywhere

You feel every atom that makes up her dew
But you will not see
Her there

The Shape of Time

When I was a child
Time was a ramp
To accelerate into
The infinite sky

Now I am old
And I see it an arc
Not a colorful rainbow
But a curved aberration
Arcing itself down until I

Bye, Bye Michael

Like many, I was cynical about today’s memorial service for Michael Jackson. I thought for sure that this would be way over the top, that they were deifying this troubled man and making a mass media spectacle in a slower-than-average summer news week.

Yet after watching this unfold on CNN, just like the tens of thousands of fans who didn’t pull up that lucky email, I must say that the memorial was a moving and poignant event, tastefully produced and heartrendingly delivered.

This memorial service gave an accurate, unwavering picture of who Michael Jackson was not only in American culture but on the world stage. It is important to understand that this man’s performing career lasted an incredible 38 years—longer than Elvis and more than four times that of the Beatles.

One of my own very first albums was a Jackson 5 record. Ironically, I don’t think I remembered this until I watched the memorial. How I loved the voice even then, like sugar, that sweet.

In a sense, part of me died when Michael died. My brothers and I loved this music—affluent white kids listening to music from a black family from the poor outskirts of Chicago. There was no way to listen to it and not be touched. His voice gave a sense of immediacy and warmth right there in that room with you, wherever you were. And as I grew, Michael was there in the soundtrack, in the dance numbers, the ballads, the videos, the sensual moves, the soaring voice, the seductive call, the plaintive whisper. Not only with his dynamic presence, but in the way he told kids everywhere that it’s OK to be sensitive, to be vulnerable, to be multisided, to be black, to be gay, to be androgynous, to be human. And what a tragic and paradoxical figure he became. Yet nothing that happened to Michael in his later years could diminish that feeling of humanness he always evoked.

So watching performers and celebrities, civil rights leaders and talking heads, preachers and pastors from around the world come out and literally sing his praises, I suddenly realized this was right. This was the right action for a man who did so much right and so much good in the world.

The world saw and heard his children for the first time. It was impossible to listen to that pretty little girl speak about losing her daddy and not feel tears well up inside. Having lost my own father suddenly at the age of 12, I know that pain. I know that pain.

I’m glad that I got this chance to feel a farewell to Michael. I know that now, more than ever, our collective innocence is gone. A light went out on earth. But if indeed there is a heaven, a star is shining there forever.

Skeleton in Love

She waits until the moon has risen
Calls her lover’s name
Almost a ghost he moves at last
She smiles and holds the flame

He sees her in the depth of night
And listens to her song
For him she is the only light
He hears the wind all wrong

She leads him to her lonely place
Where many chance their lives
And when the sun rises anew
The skeleton arrives

Ashen

Perhaps her face would not look so ashen
If she won the Lotto, got that car,
Took that cruise she’s sure she deserves
Found her ideal flesh enhanced
Saw her stock surge, bagged her gold…
But then her soul’d be gone.

For Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan, troubador sublime, just turned 68 a few weeks ago. That's 68 in human years, and I, like a faithful dog, went out and fetched his latest CD offering, Together Through Life. It's true that his voice is a raspy skeleton of its former raspy self, yet the cutting edge irony that pervades his best lyric writing is still there after all these years. I particularly like the last track, "It's All Good," which satirizes the sugar-coated sunny optimism that much of popular media and Madison Avenue will shower the public with, especially through the use of trite cliches (like that of the title) for soundbytes.

In tribute to Bob Dylan's moving one step closer to septagenarianism, I offer up this blackly humorous blues lyric (to the tune of "Meet Me in the Morning," c. 1974 Blood on the Tracks). Or in tribute to Quentin Tarantino.

I Save My Tenderness

Well I’m getting awfully hungry
And there’s a pig out in the street
Said I’m getting awfully hungry
And there’s a pig out in the street
Think I’ll just take him with my bare hands
So I have something to eat

They tell me that I’m vicious
To think up the thoughts I do
They tell me that I’m vicious
To think up the thoughts I do
But I fire back I ain’t so vicious
I save my tenderness for you.

I live in a downtown dungeon
There’s a bank just round the block
Yes I live in a downtown dungeon
There’s a bank just round the block
But I’ll have me some that money
I’ll crack the safe, I’ll smash the lock

They tell me that I’m vicious
To think up the thoughts I do
They tell me that I’m vicious
To think up the thoughts I do
But I fire back I ain’t so vicious
I save my tenderness for you.

Well I’m jobless fifty weeks now
And any day they’ll stop the check
Said I’m jobless fifty weeks now
And any day they’ll stop the check
I’ll just go get work as a bouncer
Or a hit man, what the heck.

They tell me that I’m vicious
To think up the thoughts I do
They tell me that I’m vicious
To think up the thoughts I do
But I fire back I ain’t so vicious
I save my tenderness for you.

You

It’s an opaque nightly war
Millions of neurons at battle
For the uppermost hand in my brain
Lists and laundries, notes and meetings
Quite adept at rendering me insane
All of this smoke screen
All of this jive
All of this leaving me
Less than alive
For there is only
Has only been
Will ever be
One flame
You

Late Inning Stadium

Watching these pinstriped young men
Gracing the field, grazing the fields
Green pastures without valley or shadow
They are younger than the sun
And I am older now than time
The ball that they chase is the sun itself
As I sink low into the sunset
I see myself within that uniform
As the moon rolls up past the lights

CSN, Y???

Link to a song lyric apropos my post from yesterday:

http://www.lyricmania.com/crosby+stills+nash+++young-stand+and+be+counted-lyric.html

What America and China Have in Common

An interesting piece appearing today on CNN’s website profiles the states of mind of Chinese youth who were born post-Tiananmen Square uprising. The story focuses on one Chinese college junior in particular, who knows “next to nothing” about the incident and its political/cultural implications. He does, however, know a great deal about computer technology, karaoke singing, and drinking and girl-hunting, pursuits in which any cultural consciousness has apparently been drowned in 21st century China. There is one fact, however, that seems to validate this yojng man's desensitization: Discussion of the uprising and pre-1989 politics in China are, in fact, illegal.

I was struck by the parallels between what goes on now with the youth in China and what has happened in post-1960s America. Much like their Chinese counterparts, the youth of today have largely morphed into techno-savvy, club-friendly, social media hipsters who could care less about the group consciousness movements of the sixties, the colorful era of civil rights, long hair, hippies, the Beatles, and all things countercultural. China is going through the same numbification that we did, twenty years later. The only thing that’s missing in our deal is going to jail for reminiscing about the past. We just make biopics about it.

Wall of Numbers

I can see myself at 15
Chasing the ball chasing the girl
Looking out at the hills and the endless sea
Everything in the world so infinite to me

But between myself and this vision
Is a wall higher than I can see
And thick enough to encase 200 of me
How do I scale this wall
How do I tear down this wall

I can see myself at 5
Off to school and the wonder of being alive
Opening books delving into life´s mysteries
Everything so endless to me

But between myself and this vision
Is a wall higher than I can see
And thick enough to encase 200 of me
How do I scale this wall
How do I tear down this wall

I can taste the wine touch the grass feel her lips drink the water
If only for this wall
And soon I will be 75
Staring hard at reflections of me
Regretting my failings savoring a few moments
And realizing the wall was not a wall at all
But something I created to keep me from me

Baby Love

What happens to love
Like this in your eyes
How can it be smothered
By the high tides of time
This love is the fountain
That flows from the source
This love is a mountain
Where rivers change course

This love is a miracle….

You laugh and the years
Just roll back inside
You laugh and the light
Rolls from your soul to mine
This love is incessant
How can it be changed
This love is forever
This world is deranged

Next to Nothing

I know next to nothing
As soon as I see you there
With eyes beckoning full of fire
Turning me to flame
I am next to nothing
And you wear your skin so well
It was all I ever wanted
To take you in my arms
I once knew most everything
But once inside your charms
I know next to nothing
Next to nothing I know well

All the Martyrs Have

So much they want to do
So much they struggle for
But all the martyrs have
Is the moment and the war

We see them with their halos
We give them all the floor
But all the martyrs have
Is the moment and the war

It’s a sad ironic tiding
In a heartbeat to the moon
They leave here in the morning
They leave us far too soon

They dream of new beginnings
They hold so much in store
But all the martyrs have
Is the moment and the war

I hold this withered flower
For the one that I adore
But all this martyr had
Was the moment and the war

It’s a sad ironic tiding
In a heartbeat to the moon
They leave here in the morning
They leave us far too soon

It’s a sad ironic tiding
In a heartbeat to the moon
They leave here in the morning
They leave us far too soon

Midwest Law

Here on the plain
Where sky and clouds
Negotiate their deals
On a daily basis with the farms
The farmers are just witnesses
To the justice Jesus brings
Their crops a strange currency
That cannot bribe judge or jury
And suffer retribution
In drought and deep in frost
Summer is sometimes succor
But it too can be swept away
When something else is hidden in the wind

Somewhere in This Darkness

Down upon the bayou
Where the river meets the sea
There lived a dark eyed maiden
And she was the world to me

Lips more sweet than honey
Hair that flowed and shined
She was the watermelon
The juice, the seed, and rind

Now somewhere in this darkness
That the floods have brought to bear
Is a lady who is floating
In my mind and everywhere

Stomping Cajun music
How it fiddles with my mind
Ever since that blackest season
That did catch us from behind

Not without a farewell
Was her musk taken away
And not without a teardrop
Am I singing this today

Now somewhere in this darkness
That the floods have brought to bear
Is a lady who is floating
In my mind and everywhere

Ford's Theater

Abraham Lincoln
I am with you in the theater
I am keeping the killer at bay
I want you to stay there laughing
I don’t want to see it end that way

Abraham Lincoln
They say you saw it coming
In one of your awful dreams
No one ever sees his own downfall
No one ever hears his own screams

Abraham Lincoln
I cannot bear to relive this
I am barring that door for you
I am the companion you were seeking
I will never let him through

Abraham Lincoln
I see what could have been
Even as the moment is at hand
Instead of hallelujah
Is this scourge upon our land

Spring

Of all the forces of nature
The most incomprehensible is spring
Irrepressibly surmounting the dead of winter
Resurrecting love and laughter and light
From inside the underground encasing tomb
I can’t remember being leafless, loveless, seedless anymore
Spring is here
Loins and sweat and fire overcome it all
Blaze through the dark night
Yellow over black
Spring is back
Hooray

If Money Were No Object

If money were no object
Oh, how the world would shine
Serene would be the waters
And I would make you mine

If money were no object
All there would be to prize
Are these diamonds full of wonder
That I know as your eyes
If money were no object….

I cannot see what people fight for
I cannot give out any more
If money were no object
Only love is left in store
Only love in store

If money were no object
All these wars would surely cease
No more seeking arms and weapons
Only hands to cure disease

If money were no object
Would the world see what is true
It’s as simple as these tender words
That I am giving you
If money were no object….

I cannot see what people fight for
I cannot give out any more
If money were no object
Only love is left in store
Only love in store

I cannot see what people fight for
I cannot give out any more
If money were no object
Only love is left in store
Only love in store

Layers

Radio playing on the gypsy highway
As if time the vagabond tore these recent pages away
I am nothing more than that kid with wild hair
Bopping on the beach with boom box in hand
Looking at lovers, one day I’ll have one
Longing for someone to lie in the sun
Here, I have music, sweet music, in hand
And it’s all coming back in the waves on the sand
As constant as they are, as constant I am

But then searing through this bittersweet reverie
Comes the wind bringing back all the layers accrued
Erasing the music that defined me back then
Just papers and lawsuits, mortgages, cars
And the ocean is so far away
The ocean is so far away

As It Falls

The rain is dripping songs of sorrow
There is little left to say
A veil of clouds becomes tomorrow
Where the sun shone yesterday

And this love that knows no limit
Seeks forgiveness through the gray
With the music of the raindrops
My only melody today

If a robin somewhere listens
To the same refrain I hear
My heart is soaring with him
Taking all that I hold dear

Let the rain prefer its doldrums
Let the spring transpose the song
Let the time heal what love couldn’t
Let the tide bear us along

Reflections on the Catcher

Last night when I saw Holden
In an uptown Manhattan bar
He didn’t look crummy
Hair no longer half gray
Not deep in his thought
Nor pining for sister
No prostitute on his arm
But rather a leggy brunette
He is now directing movies
Enjoying life in Tinseltown
Amazing thing this psychoanalysis
Take the morbid man
And make him sane and alive

Narrowing

I am narrowing the gap
Between something and something else
Yet I am gaining ground on no one
Making tracks on no thing
I feel the black colliding with white
The ice melt
And then become vapor
The opposites attract
Maybe it is living and dying
Maybe it is love and loss
Maybe it is sunset and sunrise
But the gap is narrowing, yes, inextricably
As time dissolves
Into my pores

Beach at Sunset

As the sun sets on this darkening sea
I wonder how these changes took hold of me
The ships in the distance bring angels to mind
Insouciant reminders of a time without time

Ensconced in the air is the love that I lost
The tumult behind, I feel only the cost
A gull sings to brothers who winnow and glide
Moments to the horizon, the day that has died

Another dawn coming, sleep a tunnel to then
A channel to take me until time can bend
The water, the water, let it run through my soul
This and memory a balm that protect me from cold

Hey

A little rebel spirit kicking up tonight turns in this simple paean....

Hey

Hey
Don’t even think about me
I’m going out on the ocean
Yes I am crossing the sea

Too much
Of this crazy confusion
Drowning my reason
Just won’t let me be

It’s a long night
In the grip of machinery
Holding me hostage
Keeping the key

Too bad
For the debtors and dealers
I’m firing the cannon
I’m dumping the tea

Hey, hey
Don’t even think about me
I’m going out on the ocean
Yes I am crossing the sea

Peanut Corporations's Vile PR

About Peanut Corporation of America

At Peanut Corporation of America's Corporate Office, we take extraordinary pride in the goods and services we offer and manage on behalf of Peanut Corporation of America's processing facilities at every location. Let our Lynchburg office be your point-of-contact for all your peanut processing and sale needs. Peanut Corporation's Lynchburg Office is a place for ideas. Team members at each processing facility are strongly encouraged to add their input to daily decisions and strategies. Through the structure of leadership in place at each facility, the Lynchburg Office receives communications and dispenses decisions that help Peanut Corporation of America serve our most important client: You!

I copy pasted this gem directly from Peanut Corporation of America's website. Yes, THE Peanut Corporation of America. Good old American commerce....business as usual! Gotta love it!

That Blue

I can still remember
Rolling hills and pristine lakes
Everything untouched by time
Living on in its wake
But most of all I look into
That blue
That awesome blue

A time nothing can sunder
Even years and rumbling tanks
Indelible in memory
Each moment I give thanks
To thoughts that lead me back into
That blue
That awesome blue

Contrivances in picture books
But so alive to me
The sky, the ocean melding to
Imagination’s sea
Swirling in my head around
That blue
That awesome blue

Indelible, impenetrable
That blue
That awesome blue

What I'd Do

I want to live my life
Like time’s wings were clipped
And teeth pulled
Flying across seas tasting new spices
Atop Everest looking down on Tibet
Hang gliding bungee jumping rock climbing scuba diving
I would hold time hostage within this little box of light
Let the world feast on reality shows and pixels
While I live it communicating with the angels
But the alarm rings and I soldier on
To these lightless places
Where the days eat away at my flying carpet of hair
And the dentist drills deep into my savings

Of Apples and Oranges

The apple and orange checked into the hotel's penthouse suite
Where surely no one would dare to compare them
Their relationship, platonic at first, ended in maelstroms
Each claiming the other was riper
More prepared to be savored
By the gluttons below
Sweeter on the tongue
Tarter on the taste buds
Sleeker in the bag
Freer of pesticides
But they were carnivores anyway down there
Devouring their lunch
At the speed of fruit

Barack Obama

He is an ace that the Lord
Had up his sleeve all along
Mysterious face rising out of the ashes
The Lord mixed from thousands of wars

He is the jewel of cremation
Of innumerable soldiers and flags
The smoke of the ages billows before us
Forming a tuxedo from rags

He is a speck of the stardust
That glowed through the fires of Pompeii
By design the Lord left us to wait for this light
That reaches the millions today

NIghtmare Over

Tomorrow the long national nightmare is over. No more ridiculous, reactionary policies. No more mangled sentences. No more rigged elections. No more choking on pretzels. I find it hard to believe, but the Prince of Ineptitude, the Deacon of Disaster, will soon be gone. How I will miss the cronyism, the blank stare, the war lords, the bully diplomacy, the bravado, the machismo, the Bushisms, the Cheneyisms, the guns in your face, the bullets in your friends’ faces, the waterboarding, the eavesdropping, the Halliburton contracts, the rainbow of terror alerts, the Jack of Diamonds, the King of Spades, the Great Wall of Mexico Border, the Bush tax cuts, the Bush Blue Skies Policy, the faith-based initiative, the oh-so-compassionate conservatism. Gone, too, his merry band of madmen, the Rumsfelds, the Feiths, the Wolfowitzes, the Roves of the world!

And is it just a mirage? In his place, a transformative leader, a galvanizing speaker, an electrifying and charismatic personality who takes us back to the time when people had faith in those who govern. I thought this day would never come. No more President-Elect. PRESIDENT Obama. No more President Bush. OUTGOING Bush. The color of his skin is a distraction, a side story. This change comes not a moment too soon. Good riddance, George. Hallelujah, Barack.

My Space

Thank you for this window
Into our warped, depraving group mind
Welcome to the world of “my”
My documents, my space, my tunes, my computer, my outlook, my contacts
But is it really mine
I share it with the world

Saw this coming down
This terminal disease of myosis
My economy in shambles
My children have no chance
And this sick, illusive possession of ours
My shadow till I die
My death
My, my, my