Live from Austin!

“A large Pakistani flag flaps in the wind atop a tree-covered mountain…
In the past two years the army has twice failed to defeat the Taliban of Swat.”
– BBC News, 2009-05-23.

The Taliban of Swat

(with apologies to Edward Lear)

Who, or why, or which, or what, are the Taliban of Swat?
How did they get where they are today?
Were they funded and trained by the CIA, or NOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Do they issue demands? Do they boast to the press?
Are their writings in Urdu, or Arabic, or POLYGLOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Are they slow to recruit? Are there entrance exams?
Or will they accept any brainwashed religious CRACKPOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Is the Pakistan weather a pleasure to them,
Or do their black turbans result in their heads getting HOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

After the bombs that they make detonate,
Do they bury their victims, cremate them, or leave them to ROT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Do they pay for their murderous terror campaign
By trafficking heroin, crack cocaine, or POT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Do they hate and fear the USA?
Are they hostile to Disney? Do they long to burn down EPCOT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Is Al Qaeda’s jihad one which they also back?
Did they aid the attack on the Islamabad MARRIOTT,
     the Taliban of Swat?

Will the picturesque northwest of Pakistan
Ever again become a vacation SPOT,
     for the Taliban of Swat?

One of my favorite poets is Laurence Lerner. Here’s a belated seasonal example:

Three poems for Lent

For forty days, rain. Death of cattle, mud,
Drowned birds, torn trees, dead reptiles — the sky dark
And mankind dead. Weather or sin, the flood,
The hidden mountains, and above all, the ark.

For forty days, Christ in the wilderness,
Tempted, and hungry: stones, still stones, not bread.
Kingdoms, but not for him. Nor in distress
In need of angels in the Devil’s stead.

For forty days this year, in memory,
For Lent, without a luxury.

Like verbs.

For days and days… and days it rained. All died,
Birds beasts and cattle, drowned: God’s handiwork
And mankind too. Weather or sin, the flood
Covered the mountains, but held up the ark.

For days and days he walked in the wilderness.
He did not try to change the stones to bread;
He did not ask for kingdoms, would not press
His luck, and leap. And so the Devil fled.

And yearly now we fast in memory,
Yearly give up some luxury,

Like adjectives

Days, forty days, rain, cattle, cattle died,
Birds died drowned beasts wet reptiles torn sky dark
Dead men dead women weather sin death flood
Mountains to water, water to sky, but ark.

Days, days, days, days, Jesus, days, wilderness,
Temptations, stones, still stones, not tempted bread
Not kingdoms, devil. Not, not. Nor unless
Leap angels catching not temptation fled.

So fast this year give up in memory
This year almost necessity,

Like syntax

From A.R.T.H.U.R. The Life and Opinions of a Digital Computer. Picked my copy up in a surplus book store for 99p, I see it now goes for outrageous sums on Amazon. That always saddens me.

One-foot budgie only needs one foot,
To sit on his perch all day.
One-foot budgie only needs one foot,
To relax in an avian way.
He’s got two feet,
He can climb and tweet,
Chew on his toys and play;
But one-foot budgie only needs one foot
To sit on his perch all day.

He wakes up every morning,
Stretches out his wings.
Stuffs his face with bird seed,
Sometimes even sings.
If the sun is out, he’ll jump about,
And use his time exploring.
But if it’s gray, he’ll spend the day
Being rather boring.

[Chorus:]
‘Cause one-foot budgie only needs one foot,
To sit on his perch all day.
One-foot budgie only needs one foot,
To relax in an avian way.
He’s got two feet,
He can climb and tweet,
Chew on his toys and play;
But one-foot budgie only needs one foot
To sit on his perch all day.

Sitting on his play gym,
He preens his fluffy rump.
It’s surely been ten minutes,
Time to take a dump.
He’s got a beak, knows how to shriek,
No training is required;
He may not talk, but he sure could squawk,
Except that he’s too tired…

[Chorus:]
So one-foot budgie only needs one foot,
To sit on his perch all day.
One-foot budgie only needs one foot,
To relax in an avian way.
He’s got two feet,
He can climb and tweet,
Chew on his toys and play;
But one-foot budgie only needs one foot
To sit on his perch all day.

His disco ball is very small,
But still extremely shiny.
Although he is a parrot,
He’s really rather tiny.
He’ll gladly stand upon your hand,
As long as you’ve got millet;
But he’s got a crop that just won’t stop,
So you’d best be sure you fill it…

[Chorus:]
So that one-foot budgie only needs one foot,
To sit on his perch all day.
One-foot budgie only needs one foot,
To relax in an avian way.
He’s got two feet,
He can climb and tweet,
Chew on his toys and play;
But one-foot budgie only needs one foot
To sit on his perch all day.

We should legalize drugs, and make poetry illegal. The Mafia would have to make money by running speakeasy underground poetry slams, smuggling Faber & Faber books from Europe, and offering schoolkids a free stanza or two to get them hooked. Kids would all be writing poetry in order to be cool.

there is too much
everything

filling our lives
like a barricade against the door

behind which stands
the simplicity we fear the most

Cherry blossoms fall
Snot bubbles out of my nose
Allergy season

In the Boston Public Gardens there's a row of metal ducks They live off iron filings that they peck from passing trucks. They never need to preen themselves as other ducklings must but once a month with wire wool they polish off the rust. They never waddle to the pond to stop and take a drink. It's just as well 'cause if they did they might fall in and sink.

[1999]

alphanumeric in my pocket, it vibrates another message

just to touch to hold you close to feel your breathing your warmth is all I want or ask for in those moments I feel that I am human

He wore an overall carelessly

She wore a hat with abandon

He accepted the money with a smile

and handed her a hot dog with relish