Wall Street Betting

The men of finance, betting as they do
On anything that’s tradeable, are in
For Mitt, and if the Mormon is to win,
He’s well-advised to favor any who
Are betting any fortune on his name.
And I confess that all the middle class
Are betting, too, and any, given pass
On wagering, are still the very same
We vilify for wagering the most
(In monies, though perhaps the very least
In total, gross percentage).  What a beast
Elections are; I’ll give a bitter toast
To betting on a leader giving in
To any need created by the win.

Pussy Riot vs. Catholicism

The president is punishing the few
Who called his resignation, in a way
Suggesting that the Devil held a sway
Within their very hearts – ‘if any two
Are gathered in my name, then so am I.’
So says the risen God.  But here are three,
And asking nothing more than to be free
From punishment for voicing any cry
Within a sacred area.  Alas,
The smarter ruling men use other means
To blow dissenting voice to smithereens;
The greatest have their countrymen, en masse,
Enforce the subjugation on their own.
And Russia’s church is casting them a stone.

Mexican Standoff

Scalia’s giving hints of quite a fight
With enemies of gun control.  Alas,
I’m well and willing here to give a pass
To efforts at debating.  Any light
And wisdom in opinion here is shot
By anyone obsessing over crime,
Or over evil governments, the chime
Of ash, and dead Davidians, and naught
But killing and gestapo in the air.
It’s quite a worthy fear, but any hope
That people will be rational, to cope
With any new calamity, or fair,
To come to an arrangement is a flaw
In thinking we can satisfy a draw.

Phelps

You know you're a success when your failure is more interesting than another's success.

It’s very much a tribute if a fall
From teetering perfection is a gauge
To measure other failures, and assuage
The second, third, and fourth that any wall
They’ve broken through was whole ere they arrived,
And not yet smashed to pieces.  What a shame,
We measure failure with a fallen name
And never recognize if we derived
The fall from such a grace from such a height.
I’m thinking even Michael didn’t know
The striding he was hitting, ere the low,
And pipe that he was hitting, and the sight
That traveled round the world had brought him down –
The gauge we use to see another drown.

To Err is Human vs. Do No Evil

The motto “do no evil” doesn’t work
As well as we’d have hoped.  The human part
Of any great endeavor is an art
Of taking greater care that any quirk
That pushes us to recklessness, abuse
Of power, or desire to be god
Is kept the hell away.  I mightn’t laud
The motto, in respect to recent use
Of private information, but, alas,
To err is very human.  So it goes,
And any businessmen that may impose
A limit to ambition are a class
That doesn’t yet exist, and I surmise,
That, like all other folks, they’re full of lies.

Acclamation

Bogdanovich is saying, “it is us.”
And I suppose he’s right, although I think
We’ll nod in our agreement, give a wink
To curbing movie violence, a fuss
To making the effects too very real,
And then continue watching.   We agree
To join in opposition, then to see
Whatever movie’s playing, for the feel
Of any tension, violence, or fear.
I thought a while of the many men
In Unit seven thirty one, again
And then again restraining men to peer
Inside them while they’re still alive.  It shows
Our hesitance gets weaker as it goes.

Granted

I mean no disrespect to the victims with this poem, nor do I mean to take responsibility away from James Holmes for his crimes. But I've seen and read enough tales of mental breakdown in higher education to wonder if a closer watch at pressurized students might be a worthwhile thing.

7/24/2012
The shooter got his money from the top.
A shame that any hope he would have made
Of any brilliant studies is arrayed
Around a ring of bodies.  Any drop
In studies isn’t noted by the few
That knew him.  So, in short, there isn’t much
Suggesting here that he was out of touch
With any hard reality.  A new
Debate is going on about the guns,
But I had hoped another would arise,
Wherein, when education is the prize,
A very paltry few become the ones
That suffer breaking down, and breaking bad,
Extinguishing the hope we would have had.

Aurora, part three

I wish a better story had the lead.
The tales I know of heroism fly
Too quickly far away, and may belie
The power they suggested, ere the bleed
And draining of my bravery is done.
The inspiration lasts an hour or a day.
Its opposite, alas, will go away
When weeks have added years, with anyone
Who gives me recollection, even brief,
Of any moment when I was afraid.
The human mind is built and fully made
For well-recalling fear.  A pity, this:
Our images may terror reminisce.

Aurora, II: War and Peace

Aurora’s hidden pain is burning, back
Behind the story burning at the helm:
The shooter’s acting out within a realm
That’s hidden from reality.  The lack
Of any self-awareness may allay
Ability to prosecute him.  Damn.
When sanity is hidden on the lam,
It’s easier to lead the tale away
To tragedy within the poisoned mind
Of he who holds the weapon.  But it’s wrong.
The greater evil is amid the throng
Of people viewing images, unkind,
Of evil war within the killer’s head,
Forgetting all the peace within the dead.

On Murdoch, et. al.

If Rupert hadn’t been the head of Fox,
It’s doubtful I would even know his name.
I’ve never read a tabloid, nor the fame
Of any rich or famous, nor the pox
They put upon themselves, or that is put
Upon them, nor their habits, or their views
Cared very much about.  And, per the news
He offered ere the hacking was afoot,
I criticized the Blue, and held aloft
The policies of these United States.
We’re prone to giving heroes many breaks,
And claiming our opponents to be soft
In all of their morality.  The urn
Is sitting there for Murdoch.  Let him burn.

Aurora, part one

I wish I knew of anything to say.
It’s easier if soldiering were all
That causes lack of living, or a fall
From luck in an endeavor that a fray
Would pale in a comparison.  Alas,
The unexpected death is hardest.  Fear
The sudden pain in knowing any near
Are gone as suddenly, that any pass
Of luck or circumstance may any pain
Bring you as well as any other.  Well,
I mean no disrespect to any hell
That soldiering may bring, but any gain
That’s won by sacrifice is still worthwhile.
But this will not but make the Devil smile.

Going Postal

I’m very glad I have a better job
Than all awaiting payment from a group
That passes what it doesn’t read, recoup-/ing
Losses by re-voting the macabre
And long-devoid of sense financial plan
That got ‘em there so very long ago,
When, putting off defaulting, and the woe
That comes with being poorer, every man
Decided there that borrowing is best.
I’ll well admit to doing it myself.
But I am not defaulting on the health
Of several million men and women, rest-/ing
Wholly on the faith that I’ll provide.
And here begins the postal fratricide.

Hussein, Bane; Bain, Hussein

Barack Obama has a middle name
That sounds a bit Iraqi; so it goes
That any play of wording overthrows
All common sense and sanity.  The game
Is making dumb associations; here
Are Bain and Bane, two villains for the Left,
In close proximity, although bereft
Of any illustration that’d clear
A board that’s free of idiots.  Alas,
You can’t expect the fighting to be fair
If you’ve already hinted that the heir
To your opponent’s crown is of a class
That worships in Arabia.  A plague
On all misusing wording that is vague.

More Scrutiny, and Fatigue

I’m betting other things are going on
Within the world, or these United States.
I’d rather here ignore the many fates
Put forward for my country – that Iran
Will be a future war zone, that in Greece
A new collapse is brewing, that the men
Who fired Bain employees will again
Be firing Americans to fleece
The poorer middle class.  I cannot care.
I wonder if dictatorships arise
By pumping all the people full of lies
And wearing out their sanity.  Beware
The long, fatiguing weary of an ad
Declaring everything to come is bad.

Scrutiny, Scrutiny

Two days ago the Drudge Report had led
The headlines with a Romney ad, and here,
As best as he can make the thing appear,
Is one Barack’s opposing blow, the head
Of state attacking how the head of Bain
Had handled having jobs.  The funny part
Is media’s reaction to the art
Of telling half a truth, the very main
And core requirement of any man
In race for public office.  I’d assume
A good and thorough look at any whom
I’d ask to be a leader is a plan
That’s worth applying evenly.  Alas,
We nitpick one, and let the other pass.

Condoleezza Rice, VP

It’s Condoleezza Rice, perhaps.  That’s all.
The rest is speculation.  Many in
The party will be happy; they’d begin
Re-reading any speeches ere the brawl
That’s set in 2012, reviewing those
Oft-lauded and condemned decisions made
When she was helping W. evade
The false or purest reasons to oppose
Invasion of Iraq.  But any news
On how she would compare to other names
Thrown in for this election, ere the games
Begin, does not exist, except the views
That sit within the speeches said before.
Analysis must wait a little more.

This Just In: Politicians Lie

I haven’t checked the facts in any news
Concerning lying presidents or men
Desirous of presidency, then
Accosting or delaying any views
Regarding their own honesty – it seemed
A wiser way to keep from being dull
To any future hope that any lull
In how my country ought to be esteemed
Would quickly dissipate.  I am surprised,
However – and perhaps I shouldn’t be –
That Drudge is giving coverage for free
For what appears as news, but, analyzed,
Is nothing but a Romney ad.  Touche.
There’s not a chance that I can get away.

Trading Weapons

On NRA vs. the UN:

I've long ago decided I'm a fool
For rush-debating issues.  Pity, these:
The tense and ruined friendships, lack of ease
In reading news for finding any fuel
For rush-destroying any reason left
For going back to Facebook.  Here, alas,
Is reason quite enough to give a pass
To say my inclination: that, bereft
Of any Western worry that the world
Will take away the weapons we obtain
For fending off our tyranny, the main
And better purpose here is keeping furled
The massacres that follow weapons trade,
And further El Mozotes we'll have made.

Chicagoland

Emmanuel is fighting any gangs
Engaging one another in a fight
Intended for revenge.  The killing might
Upend his quick avoidance of harangues
By all the country loyal to the man
He left within the White House, when he took
A better job as mayor.  Any look
At efforts fighting violence, again,
Within the Windy City would amass
A thousand new opinions on a way
To fight the murder rate.  But any day
Is often but a guess, and he, alas,
May well be doing nothing to an end
That brings Chicago round, or would it mend.

50-50ish

The polling isn’t telling much at all;
The voters are uncertain.  I regret,
Of all the years I had to make a bet
To write a daily poem, that it’d fall
On one monotonous election year.
It’s Mitt, or it’s Barack.  And so it goes.
The poetry is easy, when it flows
From oft-repeated names that reappear
In any poll or headline.  Drudge has got
A poll suggesting that Barack would win,
Assuming that the error margin’s thin.
And, knowing that it wouldn’t be a lot,
The poll is here proclaiming it’s a fight,
Which we had known before it came to light.
This subject matter’s tiresome.  Goodnight.

Hot, Hot, Hot

The heat is almost over, but it’s more
Than what it was before.  It’s quite a beast
Within the states within the south and east.
(It’s normal here in Texas.)  Any chore
Is better held until another day,
And any work is best if it is done
Before the heavy daylight, ere the sun
Begins a brutal battle to delay
The long, impatient waiting for relief.
I heard the rain is coming, but I doubt
The weatherman’s ability and clout
Within the mind of any given grief
By this excessive heat, amid a sweat,
Revealing he has some endurance yet.

Retrospect

Obamacare is here, and sitting firm.
I wish that I could read the future works
Of some unknown historian, the quirks
In any pundit cut away, the term
Or terms of one Obama fairly seen
And analyzed, and this, and other laws
That he has yet to pass, not given jaws
Or powers of salvation, but a screen-/ing,
Filtering the clarity of sight
That both the Right and Left posess in droves - 
It's Armageddon, or a hundred loaves
From bread and fish; the darkness, or the light.
I know the future often knows the past
Far better than the screams atop the mast.

The 4th, and Iran

Iran is saying War is in the cards.
The analysts are doubting the attack
They're promising is possible; the lack
Of modern weaponry is pitting shards
Against a modern arsenal, a thug
Against a seasoned fighter. But a peace
To give a final end and a release
To all the slaughtered soldiers isn't dug
In deep within the head of anyone
Deciding policy for any state.
We pin a peace on hope they will abate;
They pin a bluff on hoping we would run
From total Mideast war. A pity, this:
We celebrate the 4th with this abyss.

Rorschach, II

The government is writing many checks
To many more Americans today
Whose labor isn’t possible the way
It used to be, before the many wrecks
Or accidents prevented any work
From being done again.  The numbers, high
Though they appear, may tell a lie
As easily as truth – the greatest perk
Of stats without a context is the fact
That numbers are a Rorschach Test alone,
Without interpretation.  Any known
And tested liberals will see the act
Of presidential generosity;
The Right, a thief.  Whate’er we want to see.

Derecho

The capital is sitting in the dark,
But literally speaking.  Any storm,
In making it unable to perform
Its many duties, may deserve the mark
By which we know its power, and its right:
Derecho.  Though it is a tad unfair
That all of its destruction didn’t care
To well-avoid civilian homes.  The night
Is estimated lasting for a week.
And while the heat is on amid the plain,
In central Texas we have gotten rain.
Utilities are cheap.  If any speak
Derisively of weather, understand
It’s often worse within another land.