Sunday, May 21, 2017

News Of The Whirled


 News Of The Whirled




It's all pix
elated into mess, crackled
digital distortion, tonight's
broadcast. The set's

failing.
A hunger, a shadow,

black furred blur
of flesh and age
mouths at the edge


never still except the lull
of false hope

its only cunning.

It's all so neat
so cancelled and concluded
here at the ending

and yet occluded

dispossessed;
the ordered home so long

invaded--

 a house
redecorated
by earthquakes.


~May 2017










 posted for Brendan's News










Images: Stardust, 1993, © Peter Alexander. Fair use via wikiart.otg
The House of Ill Fame, by Heironymous Bosch, circa 1500. Public domain.











12 comments:

  1. if only the (world) whirled you write of could take on Jamba Juice's slogan "A Better Whirl'd" i know at least I'd be happier:)
    cancelled and concluded, and yet occluded get my top banana vote in your smooth(ie) poem

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  2. I love "never still except the lull of false hopes" so much! Also the house redecorated by earthquakes is an apt description of our present reality. Wonderful, Joy.

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  3. This is splendid, on how shallow and arranged the news can be...

    Maybe it's what we asked for (for sure we pay for it) the image of the redecorated house is done.

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  4. Okie earthquakes, another symptom of that old Dire Straits song, Industrial Disease.

    good to read you again.

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  5. Perhaps the vehicles by which we now receive our news are so damaged that we are their brutal language. The massacre is the medium ... so it reads here. "The ordered home so long / invaded--" Shaken, but never enough stirred to act. Great to read you again, Hedge, hope you've fared well in the midst our present news tsunami.

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  6. So many truths...

    Our world is being forced to move too fast, and the movers don't care to account for the vibrations caused by the steps of the huge wants they are sure they need.

    They dig and rise and speed away... while the roof falls on the heads of those left behind.

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  7. This was my favorite;

    " never still except the lull
    of false hope

    its only cunning."

    until I read the ending. Wow, was that ever a slam-bang close, and I don't think fracking is to blame this time.

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  8. In my present state, this poem seems almost to have been written for me: a sort of personal cataclysm.

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  9. It seems there is always something quaking beneath us to cause our topple. How does one decorate for disaster? We shop the worst and hang little positive quotes hoping they will save us.

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  10. 'Only cunning' is a superb observation and commentary on the news. Here at the ending our only hope remains that in destruction lies rebirth.

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  11. How on the edge we are, waiting for the next shock of 'breaking news.' And the lull of false hope is so right.
    Anna :o]

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  12. The final analogy will stick with me a long time.. Such momentum throughout and every line a truth.

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg