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Showing posts with label Troubadour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Troubadour. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Charles Baudelaire, Be Always Drunken



“Be always drunken.
Nothing else matters:
that is the only question.
If you would not feel
the horrible burden of Time
weighing on your shoulders
and crushing you to the earth,
be drunken continually.

Drunken with what?
With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will.
But be drunken.

And if sometimes,
on the stairs of a palace,
or on the green side of a ditch,
or in the dreary solitude of your own room,
you should awaken
and the drunkenness be half or wholly slipped away from you,
ask of the wind,
or of the wave,
or of the star,
or of the bird,
or of the clock,
of whatever flies,
or sighs,
or rocks,
or sings,
or speaks,
ask what hour it is;
and the wind,
wave,
star,
bird,
clock will answer you:
"It is the hour to be drunken!”

― Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen
Read at the Troubadour, First Mondays at the Troubadour, February 6th, 2017

Attached to a Phone Cord



It was an image out of time
A man walking with telephone in hand
The long handset at his right ear
The bulky base hanging from his fingers
At his waist, the curling cord
Like a bandolier across his chest
A long cable trailing along the floor
A slender, flat worm, fixed to the wall
Shifting as he paced around the room
Watch, as from time to time he switches
The parts of the phone form hand to hand
Pausing for a moment to cradle the handset
Between his shoulder and his ear
The phone base swings from left to right
The handset mid-sentence, from right to left
An archaic dance, a vision from childhood
When we were tethered by the cable
To the phone, by the cord
Within which electrons flow
As now they pass right through us
Ten thousand conversations at a time
Binary signals in the ether, invisible fingers
Digital ones, and zeros, drawing pictures
Touching nerves
Inside us 

Read at the Troubadour, First Mondays at the Troubadour, February 6th, 2017

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Election Last (2012)

It happened in a time not much different
Than our own, not too distant
Four years past, a day in Arizona

The man did not vote in the election
On the 6th, though he was eligible
He was registered, he merely opted out

He was married to a woman
She thought it important that he vote
She was angry President Obama won

She voted for Mitt Romney
As most in Arizona did
“Red-state,” reliable, Republican

His vote, would not have changed a thing
Arizona would have gone to Romney
The nation to Obama still

It happened three days after the election
He in the parking lot, walking
She is in the pick-up, driving

It happened in the middle of the day
She, circling him in her truck
He feeling threatened; and then

Feeling front bumper smashing into him
Feeling the grill in his back, the pavement
In his palms, in his face…slamming into it

Soon, he was in hospital
Soon, she was in jail
Lives changed forever

She was angry that he did not vote for Mitt
For Mitt, she ran him over in her car
Because he did not vote at all

It happened in a time not much different
Than our own, not too distant
Four years past, a day in Arizona


Four years past, is not much time
We have coarsened much since then
A country more divided, cultures more at odds

What will the future bear?
Shouting tales of woe, and violence
Tyranny, and treason

                                    A divided nation 

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Cat (A Triptych) - Given at the Troubadour


Given at the Troubadour
First Monday's at the Troubadour
2016.08.01

Light - Given at the Troubadour

Light

A ray of light
Narrowly escapes
A closing door
Illuminating space
Enlightens an object
Casting a shadow
Creates a question

Given at the Troubadour
First Monday’s at the Troubadour

2016.08.01