poem

Awake America
America Awake
The serpent's in your garden
And Hannibal at your gate

Glory, greed, and gluttony
The war of sins play on
Master, martyr, emperor
So sate you on your young

© Jill Stone

Wake up and blog with cup o' joe, it gets me started every day.
Should eat something, break the fast but first I need to make this post.
Go to work and think about the things I read on other blogs
And sit down at my desk, but first I must respond to have my say.

Read some comments, make a few and check the news. What I should do
Is get to work but time goes by I need to keep my blog alive.
Is traffic up or down, am I Marsupial or other kind
of Eco-thing? I get all worked up over this. It's dumb I know.

If there's a better way to go it'd better find me
I'm going broke as nickels and dimes defy me
Please link to me or spam me mean
I'll write about in my extraordinary blogging

Some people make a living blogging, how they do this I don't know
The blogads are a thin supply of revenue I won't deny.
But it's so fun, I get to share my rants and raves and diatribes.
Who needs a therapist when I can blog neurotically away?

But now work calls me to the keys, I need to feed my needs
Besides the hosting fees are due and I'm to move the site
To new and faster servers it's so important so I can continue
Blogging on and on and stay within the blogospheric fray.

If there's a better way to blog it'd better find me
I'm going broke as nickels and dimes defy me
Please link to me or spam me mean
I'll write about in my extraordinary blogging.

Do I so worry you?
You need to blogroll my own site? But that's alright
Don't buy my own blogshares
Don't need exchange of links
To subvert the linking paradigm

If there's a better way to blog it'd better find me
I'm going broke as nickels and dimes defy me
Please link to me or spam me mean
I'll write about in my extraordinary blogging

Listening: Extraordinary Machine from the album "Extraordinary Machine" by Fiona Apple

As I devolve from marsupial to rodent
Will my teeth grow sharper?
Will I develop a taste for cardboard?
Will the world seem bigger to me?

Do I want to be rated by a conservative Darwin
Who leaves off 1 and 2 so 3 can be first?
As the watch list grows and tags accrue
Shall I live for the abridged measure from the bear?

As I work my way back to amoebic nothing
Should I continue to straighten my DNA
By blogging to an ever increasing dearth?
Shall hits ever measure the value of my words?

Being outraged does not brighten my days.
Being judged does not inform me.
Being attacked only reveals someone sharing.
Being found unprofound, well, that's life's malaise.

But being ignored speaks volumes with silence.
Connection to absence robs meaning from both.
Why should a tree bother falling when nobody's to hear?
Why should a blog ping the void?

hate takes life in all its forms,
defines the norms of politics
of the right, so wrong.
I go about my day,
doing as I would have done to me
for me
for others
but yet they call me evil
for what I believe...

that I am a person (what a radical)
that kindness has value (what a weakling)
that our responsibility (no, that's our word, bitch)
is to our children
to each other
(you're a communist!)

stupidity is a dangerous thing
when coupled with savvy schemes
that may win the battle
but lose the war

and all of us suffer for it.

yet what are we but peasants?
What say do we have?
What right to we have
to claim anything at all?
we have no coins to back our words,
and that, in their eyes,
makes our words
worthless.

and we turn to our advocates
who claim to speak in our name
yet they sway to a different wind
that fills their ears with roaring
and our words
are lost
not missed.

and yet we speak
the truth is gold.

But I cannot sustain iambic pentameter
Trochee troubles lend me two left feet
Yet April blogging has a poetry parameter
Am I truly up to this
daunting
feat?

Linguistic marvels mesmerize my mind
And paradiddles patter on my heart
And culinary jazz riffs on what I dine
Yet curse the verse do I
How can I
start?

A limerick might get me to Nantucket
For some a brittle Haiku might do
But with these forms I'm likely to just muck it
Up with rough-edged stanzas
That I
Hew.

Illiberal education killed the core
I learned in gothic quads long ago
Now I'm full of life and useless lore
And looking for
true love in
a beau.

This poetry month daunts my verbal wont
I want to write what's right to do it right?
Clueless I proceed on this wee jaunt
And choose a rhyme to end tonight's plight.