Today's words:
Song
Exam
Microscope
Reform
Ferry
Conductor
I wrote a song
About what's it's like to take an exam
Under the microscope
Of people who don't trust you. Like trying to reform
The life of the ferry
Conductor.
For what kind of life does this conductor
Lead? Singing his song
Back and forth on the ferry
Every day. So what if he passed the exam
For the job? They speak of reform
When all they want to do is put him under a microscope.
And under this microscope
He risks losing his job as a conductor.
That's what they call reform.
Replacing people with robots, a song
With the hum of machinery. They've a new exam
To drive the ferry.
But what about the people who take the ferry?
How do they feel about this microscope
And this new exam?
They love their conductor
And his song
And couldn't care less about reform
Unless it made his life better. That's real reform,
According to the people who take the ferry.
They all know the song
And sing along. They don't need a microscope;
They know their conductor.
So how about that for an exam?
A new exam
Geared towards real reform,
Helping the life of the conductor
Of the ferry.
Even under a microscope
You'll still hear his song.
And in the end, the exam for the ferry
Reform wasn't a microscope,
And the conductor continued his song.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Friday, July 25, 2014
Day 145
Today's words:
Pie
Skirt
Clay
Laugh
Nuts
Stadium
"I'll just have the pie,"
She said, smoothing her skirt.
Her eyes were dead, the color of clay.
Nonetheless, she gave a little laugh.
"They'd have to be nuts
"To think of building a stadium
"Here." But it wasn't a stadium,
It was an arena, kind of shaped like a pie,
If one had gone nuts
And worn a skirt.
You laugh,
But it's uglier than anything, with clay-
Colored walls; more like rusted clay.
So, not a stadium;
An arena. Apparently there's a difference, but it's no laugh,
How they took peoples' homes, for a pie
Wearing a skirt.
It makes me nuts
How developers get away with crap, just nuts.
Politicians are modelling clay
To them, and anyone in a skirt
Had better run. Keep your stadium
Or arena, or whatever it is. I'll just have some pie
And try to laugh
At how horrible it all is. It's not a laugh;
These guys really must be nuts,
With their pie
In the sky stories of blight. The clay-
Colored stadium
(Oops, arena) is what's blight. I won't skirt
The issue; we were robbed. You can skirt
It all you want but that's the truth. I won't laugh
About it, or ever set foot in your stadium
(Ahem, arena). I'd have to be nuts
To do so. No clay
Pie
For me; you can skirt the issue with those nuts,
As they laugh and play with the clay
Politicians building their stadium that looks like a pie.
Pie
Skirt
Clay
Laugh
Nuts
Stadium
"I'll just have the pie,"
She said, smoothing her skirt.
Her eyes were dead, the color of clay.
Nonetheless, she gave a little laugh.
"They'd have to be nuts
"To think of building a stadium
"Here." But it wasn't a stadium,
It was an arena, kind of shaped like a pie,
If one had gone nuts
And worn a skirt.
You laugh,
But it's uglier than anything, with clay-
Colored walls; more like rusted clay.
So, not a stadium;
An arena. Apparently there's a difference, but it's no laugh,
How they took peoples' homes, for a pie
Wearing a skirt.
It makes me nuts
How developers get away with crap, just nuts.
Politicians are modelling clay
To them, and anyone in a skirt
Had better run. Keep your stadium
Or arena, or whatever it is. I'll just have some pie
And try to laugh
At how horrible it all is. It's not a laugh;
These guys really must be nuts,
With their pie
In the sky stories of blight. The clay-
Colored stadium
(Oops, arena) is what's blight. I won't skirt
The issue; we were robbed. You can skirt
It all you want but that's the truth. I won't laugh
About it, or ever set foot in your stadium
(Ahem, arena). I'd have to be nuts
To do so. No clay
Pie
For me; you can skirt the issue with those nuts,
As they laugh and play with the clay
Politicians building their stadium that looks like a pie.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Day 144
Today's words:
Mask
Wealthy
Press
Mite
Blonde
Spotlight
Wearing a mask,
As usual, the wealthy
Tycoon prepared to give a press
Conference, but it was all a mite
Too contrived, down to the blonde
On his arm in the spotlight.
Because he's always in the spotlight
He feels the need to wear a mask,
But that blonde
Doesn't care; she just wants to be with a wealthy
Man, even if he is a mite
Bizarre. Tonight she was going to press
Him to give her another gift, while the press
Followed them, shining the spotlight
On their every move. He might
Even remove his mask.
But what of he weren't wealthy?
Would he still get the blonde?
The blonde
Was a darling of the press.
Before her, the wealthy
Man had avoided the spotlight,
But now he just wears a mask.
So there's a mite
Of progress. But just as a mite
Can bite, and cause an itch, the blonde
Could needle him to remove his mask.
The press
Would love that - to shine the full glare of the spotlight
On the face of the wealthy
Man. Proof that even the wealthy
Can be brought down by something as insignificant as a mite.
So fix that spotlight
On the blonde
And hope she can press
Him to remove his mask.
The wealthy man and the blonde
Might talk to the press
But in the spotlight he'll always wear a mask.
Mask
Wealthy
Press
Mite
Blonde
Spotlight
Wearing a mask,
As usual, the wealthy
Tycoon prepared to give a press
Conference, but it was all a mite
Too contrived, down to the blonde
On his arm in the spotlight.
Because he's always in the spotlight
He feels the need to wear a mask,
But that blonde
Doesn't care; she just wants to be with a wealthy
Man, even if he is a mite
Bizarre. Tonight she was going to press
Him to give her another gift, while the press
Followed them, shining the spotlight
On their every move. He might
Even remove his mask.
But what of he weren't wealthy?
Would he still get the blonde?
The blonde
Was a darling of the press.
Before her, the wealthy
Man had avoided the spotlight,
But now he just wears a mask.
So there's a mite
Of progress. But just as a mite
Can bite, and cause an itch, the blonde
Could needle him to remove his mask.
The press
Would love that - to shine the full glare of the spotlight
On the face of the wealthy
Man. Proof that even the wealthy
Can be brought down by something as insignificant as a mite.
So fix that spotlight
On the blonde
And hope she can press
Him to remove his mask.
The wealthy man and the blonde
Might talk to the press
But in the spotlight he'll always wear a mask.
Day 143
Today's words:
Cocktail
Fax
Hardware
Cuff
Lead
Legs
I set down my cocktail
And walked over to the fax
Machine; another flyer from the hardware
Store had just come in. I tugged at my shirt cuff
And sighed. This can lead
Nowhere good. Time to stretch my legs.
The legs
On the cocktail
Waitress were long and shapely. Was she trying to lead
Me on? The fax
Machine spewed out another ad. I rolled up the cuff
Of my trousers and prepared to bicycle to the hardware
Store. I judge a neighborhood by its hardware
Stores. Once gentrification sets in they're gone as fast as two legs
Can carry them. Sometimes I'd really like to handcuff
These developers, but mostly I'll just have another cocktail.
I'm thinking of getting rid of my fax
Machine; all I ever get is ads. E-mail has lead
To its obsolescence, just a Home Depot has lead
To the death of many local hardware
Stores. So no more fax.
Trying to attract the attention of the girl with the legs
To bring me another cocktail
And turning down my cuff.
I once got a silver cuff
Bracelet as a gift, but the relationship didn't lead
Anywhere and I sold it. Ah, here's a fresh cocktail -
After that I'm off to the hardware
Store, with the memory of her legs
In my mind. I'll take the fax
Flyer with me, just to ask them why they still fax.
Just an off-the-cuff
Remark might get them thinking. The owner was old, with short legs.
I know his store had once been in the lead
In the hardware
Business but that was long ago. I'll buy him a cocktail
And we can talk about fax machines and how they lead
Nowhere. I'll tug my cuff and ask about hardware,
While thinking of her legs and sipping my cocktail.
Cocktail
Fax
Hardware
Cuff
Lead
Legs
I set down my cocktail
And walked over to the fax
Machine; another flyer from the hardware
Store had just come in. I tugged at my shirt cuff
And sighed. This can lead
Nowhere good. Time to stretch my legs.
The legs
On the cocktail
Waitress were long and shapely. Was she trying to lead
Me on? The fax
Machine spewed out another ad. I rolled up the cuff
Of my trousers and prepared to bicycle to the hardware
Store. I judge a neighborhood by its hardware
Stores. Once gentrification sets in they're gone as fast as two legs
Can carry them. Sometimes I'd really like to handcuff
These developers, but mostly I'll just have another cocktail.
I'm thinking of getting rid of my fax
Machine; all I ever get is ads. E-mail has lead
To its obsolescence, just a Home Depot has lead
To the death of many local hardware
Stores. So no more fax.
Trying to attract the attention of the girl with the legs
To bring me another cocktail
And turning down my cuff.
I once got a silver cuff
Bracelet as a gift, but the relationship didn't lead
Anywhere and I sold it. Ah, here's a fresh cocktail -
After that I'm off to the hardware
Store, with the memory of her legs
In my mind. I'll take the fax
Flyer with me, just to ask them why they still fax.
Just an off-the-cuff
Remark might get them thinking. The owner was old, with short legs.
I know his store had once been in the lead
In the hardware
Business but that was long ago. I'll buy him a cocktail
And we can talk about fax machines and how they lead
Nowhere. I'll tug my cuff and ask about hardware,
While thinking of her legs and sipping my cocktail.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Day 141
Today's words:
Wool
Doughnut
Cork
Wisdom
Gears
Medicine
My sister knitted me a wool
Infinity scarf - it's basically a doughnut
You wear around your neck. It keeps the heat in, like a cork
Preserves a bottle of wine. I don't know who had the wisdom
To come up with the idea, but the gears
Do turn, and create a new medicine.
"Shut up and take your medicine,"
The school nurse would say, bandaging my scrape with cotton wool.
The gears
On the clock looked like a giant doughnut
As I counted the minutes to 3 PM and the end of forced wisdom
At school. The I'd explode, like a cork
Popping off a bottle of champagne. But cork
Is now in short supply, as it's affected by a disease. No medicine
Has yet been found and the collective wisdom
Hasn't yet produced results, beyond wool
Gathering and doughnut
Eating. The gears
Seem to be stuck. Other gears
Are turning, looking for a substitute for cork.
I've seen all kinds of materials and shapes - even a doughnut-
Shaped one, with wax over the hole. But the search for a medicine
Goes on, even as cotton wool
Seems to be dampening the wisdom
Of the ages. And what does that wisdom
Say? What gears
Aren't stopped with cotton wool,
Or sound-dampening cork?
"If you're good and take your medicine
"I'll give you a doughnut."
Oh, for the days when a doughnut
Could solve everything, and wisdom
Was as easily obtained as a spoon of medicine.
That was before the gears
Rusted, and before the cork
Trees died. I tried to knit a wool
Doughnut scarf, but my mental gears
Aren't that flexible and the wisdom eludes me, like a cork
On a medicine bottle, covered in wool.
Wool
Doughnut
Cork
Wisdom
Gears
Medicine
My sister knitted me a wool
Infinity scarf - it's basically a doughnut
You wear around your neck. It keeps the heat in, like a cork
Preserves a bottle of wine. I don't know who had the wisdom
To come up with the idea, but the gears
Do turn, and create a new medicine.
"Shut up and take your medicine,"
The school nurse would say, bandaging my scrape with cotton wool.
The gears
On the clock looked like a giant doughnut
As I counted the minutes to 3 PM and the end of forced wisdom
At school. The I'd explode, like a cork
Popping off a bottle of champagne. But cork
Is now in short supply, as it's affected by a disease. No medicine
Has yet been found and the collective wisdom
Hasn't yet produced results, beyond wool
Gathering and doughnut
Eating. The gears
Seem to be stuck. Other gears
Are turning, looking for a substitute for cork.
I've seen all kinds of materials and shapes - even a doughnut-
Shaped one, with wax over the hole. But the search for a medicine
Goes on, even as cotton wool
Seems to be dampening the wisdom
Of the ages. And what does that wisdom
Say? What gears
Aren't stopped with cotton wool,
Or sound-dampening cork?
"If you're good and take your medicine
"I'll give you a doughnut."
Oh, for the days when a doughnut
Could solve everything, and wisdom
Was as easily obtained as a spoon of medicine.
That was before the gears
Rusted, and before the cork
Trees died. I tried to knit a wool
Doughnut scarf, but my mental gears
Aren't that flexible and the wisdom eludes me, like a cork
On a medicine bottle, covered in wool.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Day 140
Today's words:
Spotlight
Jacket
Reading
Wig
Forest
Custard
I stepped out into the spotlight
And popped the collar on my jacket.
Ready to begin the reading.
I adjusted my wig
And looked out over the forest
Of the crowd. "Custard!"
I yelled, "Custard
"Melts in the spotlight,
"So you're better off hiding in the forest
"To eat it." I was warming up and I took off my jacket
And threw down my wig
And went on with the reading.
I used to love reading
In bed, with a custard.
Now I wear a wig
In the spotlight
And a jacket
Of forest
Green. I've been to the forest;
I loved reading
There too. I'd take off the book jacket
So as not to smear it with custard.
I never imagined I'd wind up in the spotlight
Wearing a wig.
Why a wig?
You ask. To see the forest
From the trees, I suppose, in the glare of the spotlight.
Reading,
Eating custard,
And wiping my mouth on my jacket
Sleeve. So my jacket
Is torn and dirty and my wig
Is matted with custard.
I should just retire to the forest.
I don't need to give a reading
In the spotlight.
I found his jacket in the forest,
And, farther along, his wig. He'd been reading
Montaigne and eating custard, hiding from the spotlight.
Spotlight
Jacket
Reading
Wig
Forest
Custard
I stepped out into the spotlight
And popped the collar on my jacket.
Ready to begin the reading.
I adjusted my wig
And looked out over the forest
Of the crowd. "Custard!"
I yelled, "Custard
"Melts in the spotlight,
"So you're better off hiding in the forest
"To eat it." I was warming up and I took off my jacket
And threw down my wig
And went on with the reading.
I used to love reading
In bed, with a custard.
Now I wear a wig
In the spotlight
And a jacket
Of forest
Green. I've been to the forest;
I loved reading
There too. I'd take off the book jacket
So as not to smear it with custard.
I never imagined I'd wind up in the spotlight
Wearing a wig.
Why a wig?
You ask. To see the forest
From the trees, I suppose, in the glare of the spotlight.
Reading,
Eating custard,
And wiping my mouth on my jacket
Sleeve. So my jacket
Is torn and dirty and my wig
Is matted with custard.
I should just retire to the forest.
I don't need to give a reading
In the spotlight.
I found his jacket in the forest,
And, farther along, his wig. He'd been reading
Montaigne and eating custard, hiding from the spotlight.
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