Tuesday, May 19, 2009


it is midnight and quiet here though 400 miles away in Cambridge, Mass., a police line crosses an ivy-covered gate and is tightly wrapped around my daughter's peace fear where yesterday lived freedom shots where yesterday lived shouts danger where yesterday lived blissful blissful blissful oblivion thereof that lovely long lost belief that life will never end for me or anyone i love or even know casually yes i remember that and spring in new england the reward for waking up for class in winter Ben and Jerry's as we walked bouquets bursting umbrellas left behind a long bike ride to Walden Pond the regret of procrastination the only thing cordoned off the grass so it would grow in thickly like the notes we'd written in our spiralbounds the courtyards full of young lovers and friends lying close to one another heads on one anothers' laps books propped open some unread some dog-eared the worst to happen a lousy final grade our national naivete is obsolete again 9/11 pounds in my heart another tower crashes and yet this is just one victim or is that so? how many students must be slain before we know that guns indeed kill children all that is evil is too close to mine and to yours always has been a cloud passes across the sun she reaches for her cardigan the young lovers who were studying or not go inside it's not even safe in there no matter how comforting his arms how will she stay warm what will she dream how can i sleep i love her so she is my breath why isn't that enough to keep her alive unhurt forever?

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

May 12th is National Limerick Day!

Thank heavens for Dick Strawser, limericist extraordinaire (music assists with poetic meter, of course) for reminding us all that today is National Limerick Day! And I hadn't written one yet! But better to be late to write a limerick than to be a late limerick writer. Now lame, can't help with that ... (b)lame the form. Of American Idol I tire It drags us all into the mire Chris, Adam, or Gokey, It's all just so hokey, Though fodder for easy satire.

America Idle

Ryan Seacrest announced tonight that American Idol sponsor Exxon Mobil supported a trip to send Carrie Underwood to Africa to deliver mosquito nets to poor children. The audience cheered mindlessly: Ahh, such model corporate citizens. In 2007, the company blew away all prior records set by greedy corporations, making $1,300 per second, which translates into $10.25 billion for the year. And we are entertained. We sit on our sofas And watch them compete Like Simon we chime in And picture defeat It’s easy to find fault With notes sharp or flat With poor fashion choices Too skinny, too fat It’s up to the voters Which amateur wins Is vaulted to stardom His new life begins We wish we could be him We wish we could sing But we sit on our sofas And don’t do a thing. May 12, 2009


Looking at the horizon I see clouds Thunder Hail Instead of going indoors I head right for it The cloudburst Is cold Like my choice

Monday, May 11, 2009

Harvard Buys Yankees

(Cambridge, MA, May 11) -- In a surprise move, earlier today President Drew Faust of Harvard University announced that the Harvard Board of Overseers voted in a special meeting this weekend that Harvard will be purchasing the New York Yankees. "It's unfortunate that we'll be investing in the Yankees, despite our own origin in Yankee culture and regular presence in Yankee Magazine," Faust said. "However, we must abide by the vote of the Board of Overseers. With this huge expense in store, we'll be discontinuing the Harvard Athletics Program to compensate. After this year's stock market mishaps, and because a large portion of our Endowment was invested with Bernie Madoff, the budget simply couldn't handle both." Stipulations of the purchase, negotiated by Goldman, Sachs & Co., are that if The New York Times closes The Boston Globe, Harvard will suspend the remainder of the 2009 Yankee season. Furthermore, the Yankees are required to purchase Manny Ramirez's contract and Johnny Damon will be benched until 2010. Red Sox manager Terry Francona said: "I have already been in touch with George Steinbrenner concerning Harvard's purchase and its stipulations. It was a very unpleasant call." Steinbrenner refused to respond to repeated phone calls from The Globe. "He did agree to suspend the broadcasting of 'Sweet Caroline' during games, however," added Francona. Regarding the poor performance of the Yankees against the Red Sox so far this year, rumors abound that several Harvard students buried a baseball last used by Tim Wakefield under the new Yankee Stadium pitcher's mound. This rumor has not been confirmed. Dewey Machalot, Managing Partner of Goldman Sachs, Inc., said, "Additional rumors about Harvard purchasing Yale are untrue. They did consider it, but Yale's asking price was much too high. It was in the hundreds of thousands." "We would consider purchasing a better university," said Faust.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

This Just In

Newspapers closing around the globe are reporting that the Red Sox are demanding concessions from the Yankees. (Didn't Yankees found the Red Sox? So confusing, I don't get it ... I've been insulted by Dixie Chicks for being a Yankee -- even while wearing red socks -- one in particular --you know who you are -- called me YANKEE -- for not understanding why she would fry chicken in the morning.) What concessions, what? They are not devastating to the labor class. That they cease playing "Sweet Caroline" on their loud speakers, that Derek Jeter stop strutting, at least when in Massachusetts. That certain outfielders who defected to NYC from better teams and more pleasant places and historic parks that haven't been abandoned like old gloves be allowed to grow their hair so long again that it obscures their clearly faulty vision. Without these concessions, reports are stating, the Red Sox will be forced to close the Yankees. That would be a shame. May 2009

Mother Earth Gave Us Birth

The limerick, a much underappreciated form, especially in Gender Studies, is available for constant self-amusement, and one my sister Dr. Christine V. Paige and I use as a regular form of conversation and written communication. She is better at it than I; it is perhaps the only thing, other than dentistry, sewing, close harmony vocalizing, performance arts, general niceness, and horsewomanship, at which she dominates in the never-ending battle for Sibling Superiority. As you can see I have lots of trouble acknowledging her talents. I invite you to contribute. Our editors shall review and post the worthy. Mother's Day 2009 I awakened one day with a shock To realize I'd birthed a whole flock Why don't they at college Provide us the knowledge That children your whole life will rock?

Sunday, May 3, 2009

The Sonnet

Since college years, I have not attempted a sonnet. I've recently determined to reinvestigate form as I've become intrigued with its implications in all aspects of living, from the artistic to the mundane. I've found that within form, I've found joy ... the confines are exquisitely freeing and connect me to the masters. The below is something I've worked on for several months. Like Shakespeare's Dark Lady, the subject is elusive ... and that's because he's every good divorced (or no longer in long-term relationship) man I've met over the past 10 years, so many of whom are my dear friends. Women in Harrisburg whine that there are no good men. It's untrue. They are ubiquitous. The problem is that they've been as wounded as have we good women. It takes a long time to be willing to open up again after having been told for years that you are unworthy. Men have a hard time saying that -- playing the victim is counter to masculinity as defined by American (and perhaps worldwide) societal expectations. But if you look closely, you will find them. Befriend them. They need us. Gentlemen Is his kind life one touched by longing still Or a still life that seeks no love of yore? A glass that is by rising tide half-filled or gardens as from drought thirsty for more? His eyes like windows all his passions show -- Of vision, caring, steadiness he's made. His smiling heart by beauty ever pleased Though love, for peace, has been the price he's paid. No light like his should ever go unknown In nights of blackness it will pierce the sky Though starved for tender recognition gone He never has forgotten its delight. Dreams waken him with silent blinding fear And friendship quiets all his unshed tears. Copyrighted material