Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

november storms approach
newspapers tumble through alleys
promises ride on the airwaves
like suits through the rotunda
wire transfers, blowback
bold new visions

when the storm hits
black is white, up is down
image and logic scrambled
summer's brief calm swept aside
in a howling gale of punditry
squalls of liquid truth

the receipts are all stashed
the real price is never known
young martyrs hurtle out through space
beside the words which put them there
like disposable promises of the season
like stray bullets of the great spin

freedom isn't free

it looked different this morning,
more like sun kissed mist skimming
over important details
unimportant to me,
except for the love
which bore witness

.it happens in the "fall" that's why i always say "everybody throw yer tv sets out the window!".........nice one mnaz....mark

Dear mnaz:


This is a fine lyrical response to the putrid spray of ions we are ordinarily forced to endure , not only from the mass media, but from the "Join Arnold" types who haunt my neighborhood.

Though I guess if ghosts are in the majority, perhaps I'm haunting their neighborhood.

Fine imagery and a kind of clean power in this poem, trying to raise a periscope above the fecal river's surface and glimpse the sun.

--Zlatko

'the' penguins tin sardines
canned in corrosive singular
cells

>the receipts are all stashed
the real price is never known
young martyrs hurtle out through space
beside the words which put them there <

a small shout. and bravo.

Peace,

Sierra