Number 9 Blues
Those eyes,
that song,
a bird the color
of the moon
we met under.
The wind
a ribbon of sadness.
Cold hands,
broken heart—
all the hue
of a trumpet’s lonely staccato.
Number 9 Blues
Those eyes,
that song,
a bird the color
of the moon
we met under.
The wind
a ribbon of sadness.
Cold hands,
broken heart—
all the hue
of a trumpet’s lonely staccato.
Click on photos to enlarge.
I snapped the first photo with my phone one late night/early morning, returning to my house from the studio. The second is my studio from my chair, the third is Morrie and Diego coming to tell me it is midnight and time to bome back up to the house. If they aren’t inside the studio, they are usually as close to the door outside as possible, and never fail to come to try to lure me up to the house at midnight. The fourth photo is looking out from my studio to the lake and the third is perhaps not quite legit. Does a doorway qualify as a door?
I could not stand to watch election results, afraid that election results from four years ago would be repeated. I awakened at 5 a.m. to read a Facebook message from a friend fearing Trump had won. (Thanks, Gordon, for such a pleasant awakening message.) Then a message flashed in the upper right of my screen that Trump was protesting the election. So perhaps he hadn’t won, but the idea that it was close enough that he’d consider doing so broke my heart. Then I looked at the prompt words:
Fools Rule Fools
Utopia is broken, it’s promise growing faint.
Not a pretty picture for liberty to paint.
That it could even be this close signals something broken.
That all our pretty declarations have become a token.
Liberty and fairness? Land of opportunity?
What happened to “Give me your poor?” What happened to our unity?
“Opportunist” works to label one who seeks to rule us,
driven to seek office out of a lust to fool us.
People, take your blinders off. Your piper is a cruel one.
When it comes to ruling over fools, it takes a fool to rule one!
Voting Our Destruction
Some birds will still sing and flora abide
no matter what human might reside
in the colorless house with the POTUS inside.
But not so for those that have already died.
In the past year, seven more
have ceased to run or swim or roar.
The outcome of our land and sea,
each animal , insect and tree
depends on policies they make.
Will Earth survive or will we bake
on the spit of reckless choices,
protests made by unheard voices?
Will we find, at end of day
we’ve voted our kids’ lives away?
These are the species lost to us
in last year’s sparring, useless fuss:
What new denizens will perish
from this Earth we say we cherish?
Yet we vote its life away
And we’re the ones who’ll have to pay.
Today the loss of species is estimated to be between 1,000 and 10,000 times than that of the natural extinction rate. WWF reports that between 0.01% and 0.1% of all species go extinct every year. Considering the fact that there are around two million species on the planet, it means between 200 and 2,000 extinctions occur every year. And note, we are talking about species of which humans are one.
As per the 2018 report of World Wildlife Foundation (WWF), there’s a 60% decline in the population of mammals, birds, fish, reptiles, amphibians in just 40 years. As per the IUCN Red List, more than 30,000 species are threatened with extinction, which means 27% of the nearly 1,12,000 species accessed so far are under grave danger.
In the past ten years, 33 plant species have become extinct. The species listed above in my poem all vanished in 2019. I was unable to find a list for 2020.
Forgottenman found an opinion column suggesting that this 50-minute podcast by /reply-all/ is one of the most entertaining EVER. I love it, too. Maybe you will as well.
A man in California is haunted by the memory of a pop song from his youth. He can remember the lyrics and the melody. But the song itself has vanished, completely scrubbed from the internet. PJ takes on the Super Tech Support case. #158 The Case of the Missing Hit

November 3, 2020
We’re all on tenterhooks, watching and waiting.
We’re tired of tirades. We’re tired of debating.
All of our liberties turned inside out.
What was once done in peace has turned into a bout.
They storm and they threaten and set up false boxes—
the eagle of freedom brought down by vile foxes.
We can’t vouch for our system when so much goes wrong—
when our national anthem’s drowned out by a throng
of those who think that because they are white,
they are superior and have the right
to put down minorities and to change facts,
their white supremacy pardoning the acts
of looting and burning and intimidation.
These acts being staged with no trepidation
thanks to the POTUS who sits calmly by
and approves of it all from his perch in the sky.
We anticipate violence—fear it’s the ones
sowing disorder who have all the guns.
What is the solution? To arm everyone
and have a big shootout when voting is done?
Increasingly, I fear our cyber connection
has been both a bane and a lethal infection.
The villains know how to make use of it
to foment disaster and cause a big fit.
It reaches out hands to enter our homes.
It slashes and pierces and rabidly foams.
Hiding its poison in all of the cracks—
in viruses, malicious websites and hacks.
Turn out the villains, then work on the system
that welcomed them in and pampered and kissed ’em.
Our system of governance was made to be changed,
lest it be exploited by the deranged.
Enact campaign finance and firearms control,
then stem the electoral college’s role.
Time-worn practices need doing in,
for the robes of liberty have grown too thin.
Threadbare and tattered, she quakes at the blast
of self-serving politicians that tear at the past.
Prompt words today are tenterhooks, anticipate, storm and vouch. Image by Peggy Zinn on Unsplash. Used with permission.