NBC interview of Aaron Broussard in Jefferson Parrish

Watch this interview with Aaron Broussard, president of Jefferson Parrish in New Orleans. Remember it when you're being inundated by the lies the Bush Administration has launched on the American people. If we let Bush &Co. continue in their charade then we continue to let them get away with murder. When is enough finally going to be enough? Interview.

Poetry fops

Poetry is a hard gig. It attracts snobs, fops, and experts. Most of it isn't and most po-ets aren't. In fact to call oneself a poet is to invite self-delusion, skepticism, ridicule and shame. And clueless critiques. Which brings me to the subject of my current rant.

I finally got the critique of the poems I submitted to the Nevada Arts Council fellowship panel last spring. You may remember I did not make it past the first cut. At the public judging, one of the judges, heaping praise on the winning contestant, exclaimed her socks were detonated by the line, "I have seen heaven and it looks like Paris". How can I compete? Ah well. Perhaps I am just bitter.

It is clear I did not please the judges. They wrote that they were confused and disoriented by my poems which, obviously to them, is a bad thing. I call it a good beginning but what do I know? Oh well. There's no going back. I'm doomed and nobody likes me. All rightie then. Enough throat clearing. On to the comments...

"There are some marvelous moments here. Taken as a whole, though, the poetry here is a bit uneven. There is something of the mystic-poet here; one is reminded at times of William Blake, at other times, of T.S. Eliot.

I sense no real unity in these poems. Their structure and arrangement shift from poem to poem and from moment to moment in some poems. Occasionally there is an interesting insight or moment of wisdom such as "For every prayer / there is an equal / and opposite prayer." The irregularity of the line lengths makes it seem like there is no design. The images in "Road's Eye View" are captivating, but the second stanza is confusing and disorienting. The poet seems to be focused on and oriented towards moments, some of them entrancing, but those moments don't add up to a coherent all-encompassing effect or anything one might call a theme."

Bushed by Katrina

1886

Bush golfing on Tuesday
as Katrina hits the coast.





It's part of the poet's job description to track the evolution of language ... so... it is my duty to note the evolution in the word: bush.

The word "bush", of course, is an established noun and adjective as we see in these excerpts from dictionary.com:

bush n. (bsh)

1. A low shrub with many branches.
2. A thick growth of shrubs; a thicket.
3.
a. Land covered with dense vegetation or undergrowth.
b. Land remote from settlement: the Australian bush.
4.
a. A shaggy mass, as of hair.
b. A growth of pubic hair.

adj. slang. Bush-league; second-rate.

and freedictionary.com:

bushed, adj. (bsht)
1. extremely tired;
2. exhausted;
3. very tired; "was all in at the end of the day"; "so beat I could flop down and go to sleep anywhere"; "bushed after all that exercise"; "I'm dead after that long trip" all in, beat, bushed, dead.
4. tired: depleted of strength or energy; "bushed mothers with crying babies"; "too tired to eat".

Now, given our experience with George W. Bush as our so-called "leader", the word "bush" has taken on meaning as a verb:

bushed, v. (bsht)
1. fucked: as in Katrina

bushed, v. (bsht)
1. FUCKED
a. as in: BUSHED by Katrina
b. as in: BUSHED by global warming
c. as in: BUSHED by Iraq
e. as in: BUSHED by ___, ___, ___ etc, etc...

Bush's "zero tolerance" policy

1882

Bush fiddles and golfs as the leavy breaks and people drown.












 
"I think there ought to be zero tolerance of people breaking the law during an emergency such as this — whether it be looting, or price gouging at the gasoline pump, or taking advantage of charitable giving or insurance fraud and I've made that clear to our attorney general. The citizens ought to be working together."-- George Bush

Essentially, Bush is saying "Let them eat cake" as people search for food and water from gutted, flooded, abandon stores. As usual, this billionaire loser is totally out of touch with reality. He's even got his henchman Attorney General Gonzalez "on the case". Maybe they'll send the big, bad looters to Guantanamo.

So, what was the President doing as Katrina tore through the South? Golfing and clowning around with more photo-ops. And where is the National Guard? Mired in Iraq fighting the war he lied us into. What an asshole.

Language Barrier birthday party #2

Life goes on, in spite of terrible disasters, in spite of friends and family writing me off ... when it seems better, when it seems worse ... no matter what, time and life dance on ... and today, for me, is a good day. It's the two year anniversary of the Language Barrier, my asylum outpost border crossing. It's lonely out here as usual but at least one old friend dropped by to celebrate with me today and that's one more than I expected. And outside my window, the crows in the bird park are enjoying a feast of big, black grapes and tasty peanuts. Plus, I submitted more poetry today, this time to Poetry Motel in Kailua-Kona. I love the name and had to send something to them. I've been mailing out submissions for a while now and am eagerly awaiting at least a damn rejection letter but so far no replies. Okay, off to the post office then a bike ride to the river.

Spirit Barrier

Spirit Barrier

I remember it all
the human flood
the empty chair
the calf crying
before a growling wind
lost histories leaking
through the spirit barrier
a delta of pain
draining into
a bayou of suffering.

I awake beneath
the magpie'’s beak
see it reach
for my eye
see the world
turn red and black
and white and fade.
This is not death
these quills
brushing against my breast.
I am smudged and washed
and swaddled
in the stiffening sheen
of my own blood
and readied for flight.

asha


I wrote this poem last spring. At the time I was disturbed by the some of its images but left them in because the poem insisted on it. The drawing is an excerpt from something I also did about the same time. The imagery in both is violent, but necessarily so, as they describe the time when light must find us because we cannot find it. In the wake of hurricanes Katrina and Rita it no longer seems exaggerated.