uncertainly you may stay today
before i run far far far away today
and leave behind cutted rind withered in kind
from lack of life, love is blind.

for him too, i think i said once before, a nice
little place inside is prbly waiting for his memory's slice
of me and me and me and me before the we reduced to smidgens pecked to death like pigeons at a crumb
on the floor; @ the hearth now, loving along with him in a heart humming humming our song
it sometimes means something more than just wrong. do i belong? should i be strong? srsly dick, come along.

and just because i always go back to what i thought i never really leftinfront i must try to rhyme and reason
and play like treason cause i'm always saying for everything a season. why must death of any life scare me?

om tare tuttare ture svaha

collection plates passing on hands grabbing for man's wallet he hates
him for having to date a passing green grate worth feeding his young
and planning for late.

so it has come tonight that big brother was right to enslave daylight
that corporate hate might give passage, a right of way, to come home
someday and slay big brother at supreme first sight.
then mom and dad and all the rest, howdies and sobs, cakes to hobnob
and catch up with the best, of all the kin who hadn't let in worst upon best.

empty now, like my soul on a stormy picture perfect moment in time, standing
on a ledge anchored in just by a stone hinge lion. never to return until somebody
finds a reason to love what was lost and trust what was not in the first last place
i tried to see and spread the word if not for us then who are we, dare to disturb?

he likes it this way. passing the plate like it's going out of style, mile after mile,
of genetics and tainted root not worth the burn pile. the empty house again, and again,
we pass it so often. never knowing who was within; stone must never soften.

fantastic feelings are jinxed together forever coming and going like my weather vain
as it is during an electrical surge so sweet to purge post eat 'fore dirge.

figure them out and win the prize of silent weeping willowy & wanting eyes, so blue
from sorrow within; but thin and then again some gin would be nice to soothe the lies.

that creep from nowhere but underneath the shelf of self made fabrics and sheath, that flow
in the breeze of a summer's end grief; but gin again no to me will always be forever ennui.

until the next mix of feelings is folded in my heart will bear to beat again, from time to time and
rhyme to rhyme, though closer to home i have for me that one true feeling that is jinxed from within.

~dickcarter

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, nor no mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

-Gerard Manley Hopkins (1918)

Has the Times Tribune come to this? Seriously promoting the editorial comments of a man so cloudy clearly indoctrinated by corporate greed? Who could take serious such comments? Your fragile and often marginalized readers. Perhaps you might try a different approach. You might seriously consider comparing the voices of thousands, even millions, who have been systematically denied adequate health care because of companies like Humana, with those of those you clearly support. Maybe head over to the Knox County Health Department and interview those being treated? Oh wait, I've got it, actually print the truth as it happens to us all. Since when did such dishonesty become so reliable?

Treating health care reform like it's an attack on our sweet and precious corporate owners is not unlike turning up the thermostat in spite of rising energy costs. Outright ridiculous. But hey, at least you have the blessings of Humana. I'm certain the editorial board, managers, writers and copy clerks, not to mention powerless publisher, of the Times Tribune fit nicely into their dream scape of one world, one health care provider, one newspaper, one owner, one god. Oh, and I must not forget about all those awesome jobs that keep Kentuckians in the well-lit dark. Easy for a think tanker I reckon. Truly, it's no wonder your paper will never receive that prized letter from Columbia University. Have you no conscience? You do know who your readers are, don't you (hint: I described a good portion of them in the fourth sentence, above)? And finally, to be a bit more like your editorial free marketer, you do know what's happening to newspapers the world over? Don't you?

Regards,

dickcarter
St Petersburg, FL

a forced smile hides the truth of lovers in lust jerking out a pulled tooth

let the tears fall through summer's end

one day fine, for each bent tine,

if i don't miss the time before i know now, how could i dread the ending's edge somehow? in this stretchy version, the moron cavernously wanders why he is so sad for sorrow, or tomorrow, or borrow; to never get back that that that never even came. i'm speaking to you, of course, through the wanderings of my mind's mine...kaboom then curses came! the canaries was OMG too scary even though their backs were ooh too hairy with yellow shades of wary, to warn of a hard broiled ...too contrary.

the now is the never. the never is the ever. for too, about and purposed with one thing in mind. that thems what killed 'em down at the show, but left the bleacher crawls shivering for snow, is what will be thy name and thus with fuss and muss, thy kingdom same, whose will will willed dun BBBelow, on berth as it lacks in headroom. ame...ahem..rica.

i won't go on anymore tonight, though i should with you while i'm in sight, but won't so don't even take that flight, to towns and cuntries worth nay their might, until you and is find what's so right, with nothing at all in fogged up light. peace & praise & fellowship tonight.

we'll see yuns in church!

-dick

if new means new then old must be you, or is it me that's you, old then new?

fresh and clean, nasty not mean, hardly a way to live, but more than best to die

for you, not me, but then who for this wasted life or lie to give?

new now, see how, you know, no? why?

oh, see now, me, yeah, that's who, not i.

b/c you are i, and eye to eye you see my

color of truth that blanched the lie

of me not you, then who? not whom, to me for proof due death

of that me that was to me, not you, but to me for bottomed breath

of life musts, or else the bye, bye, bye.

welcome new, how to do you do?  whatever it is you need, bring it now

and see me carry it all, and how!

have a sit, near seated tao, for past is so "you know" now,

or then, it's old like men, who strain to straighten the bend.

but young, or new, or confuse me too, holler wow!! and laugh to mend

the broken new that once was then

but crease to fold, new to old, becomes when somehow.

glad.

-dickcarter, 'bout damn time