Wednesday, August 31, 2016

from Anthony Lane on Werner Herzog

Struck Color-Blind Tomorrow,

he would embark on a film about Matisse
most people would miss in limited release

yet discovered, perhaps, one wet April night
scrolling through titles, my fancy in flight

turning up once again one Thursday in June
wandering through galleries humming a tune

lost in “The Window”, I lose track of all time
gone in my daydream you’ve left me behind

to pace the four corners of that flat green room
circle the plant stand by the light of the moon

wait for you there on that crazy quilt rug
embark on my own film, pine for your hugs. 

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Make mine rare

Lightning Strikes 323 Norwegian Reindeer

Hunters made the discovery, stealth and urine
dabbed anoraks all for nothing not to mention
a critical downwind approach and camo blend

that rendered Frode and Jørgen or Ove and Anders
invisible against rock and lichen and cloudberry
but offered little protection against thoughts sublime.

Ove, perhaps, cursing God for poor sportsmanship,
the divine equivalent of dynamiting fish, while Anders
gave silent thanks to fortune, a freezer full of steaks. 


Saturday, August 27, 2016

So it goes

Rump of Summer

Summer is dressed in her finest, a day spent on the beach
Shoreline stroll in a black burkini, a walk out on the reach
But fall arrives with a nightstick to roust out all the crooks
Take it off gals or go back home, give those nuns the hook

Donald Trump is off his meds, his rocker and the rails
Breitbart soars in media-world, alt-white the color of its sails
Ugly game within a game, give Crooked Hillary the booby prize
Trump aims higher, Orwell-land, where two plus two is five.

Hillary Clinton wants my vote, got it stashed in a pickle jar
They snuck in wearing bandit masks when I was at the bar
Ransacked the place, her gang of thieves, Bill and some Wall Street thugs,
She got my vote but I drew the line when she came back for a hug.

Our Revolution, the flame still burns bright, Bernie he’s our man
Hot like a blintz on Clinton’s rear, but for Wasserman, it was in the can
Jeff Weaver at the wheel, twenty-seven dollar donations on the gas
Can’t this thing go faster? Jettison some staffers and top it off with cash.