In Which Schadenfreude Isn't Going To Cut It

While part of me can't fight the urge to say
"I'm kind of glad it isn't only us" --
There really isn't any decent way
That anything requires this kind of fuss.
Olympics are a plum, we're always told,
And something over which great cities fight
For hosting priv'lege. Might I be so bold,
However, and observe that this stuff might
Make others hesitate, in the first world
To offer to abide such things? I think
In future, when the colored rings, unfurled
Are offered, they will simply cause a stink
Of NIMBYism. They'll be banishéd
Like toxic waste to the third world instead.

In Which Kenneth Cole Blackens His Own Name

A dark and scary thing erupted when
A clueless rich designer tweeted how
The chaos there in Cairo must have been
Just mobs a-crowding 'round his store right now.
The internet's alive now with the blurts
Of those who mock him, push the boundaries
Of taste as they do so. In truth it hurts
No one; they are just jokes and words, but Jeeze,
To think of all that must have lurked beneath
Polite facades ere this event. I can't
Say that I do not laugh, but grit my teeth
To see this on display. That just one scant
And dumb remark provokes a genre is,
The cost, I guess, these days of doing biz.

SuperGod: Now That's How To End The World, Baby

With London Town destroyed within a page

Of starting the whole story, SuperGod

Is special. Gastonny gets to rampage

On many cities in this comic, broad

And quite ambitious in its concept: we,

Who once got anxious, made a Golden Calf

To worship when no real divinity

Did show itself, made our own gods -- a half-

Assed plan if e'er there was, and soon there are

A British fungus god, a Krishna and

Much stranger beings. "Save the world," we roar

But do not specify from whom. The land

Soon pulses with such horrors only one

(That's Warren Ellis) could make up. What fun!

TSA: An Immodest Proposal

They hate our way of life, so they attack
Is what we're told, but seems to me the threat
Is more from our own overlords. Roll back
To feudal days; we shall be chattel yet!
A naked body scan or grope-down, just
Because one used his underpants last year
To fail to bomb a flight? There really must
Be nowhere that they'll stop to keep the fear
Alive and keep us feeling as bovine
As possible. Soon we'll fly in the nude
And have no baggage. We'll be told it's fine,
That clothiers in airports, wise and shrewd
Can sell us TSA-approved duds at
Our destinations, and that will be that!

In Which I Plead We Shut Up About The Ground Zero Mosque Already

You'll find no spot where nothing has occurred
That we could e'er call tragic. Why do some
Get privledged over others? It's absurd.
But that is not the only thing that's dumb
About the current controversy 'round
Ground Zero and a Muslim center. There
Around it sits a lot that's truly bound
To cause offense already, and to spare:
Like crappy souvenir shops where one buys
Mementos made in China -- commerce, though
Is what is truly sacred, I surmise.
We've come so far, but have so far to go:
There's joblessness and homelessness and war
That need all our attention so much more.
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Migraine Day

Today it's solely by an act of will

These lines appear. Had I not so resolved

To write a sonnet daily, e'n it kill

Me, there'd be nothing here. So much involved

In fighting just to sit and look, I peer

Through veinous eyes at this far too-bright screen.

And that is just because I had a queer

And mightly upsetting, ugly dream

In which today became the one I failed.

The tinnitus still sounds, and I must pause

Between waves of harsh light, from which I've quailed,

And those of nausea, all of this caused,

No doubt, by my own faults. I estimate

Beyond what I can handle, seems, of late.

In Which I Rant A Little About A Stupid News Story

"Dude, listen to this; it will get you high!"
"What? I can't hear you; my drugs are too loud!"
"These beats make me like Lucy in the sky!"
Oh, crap like this just really makes me proud
That I was ever in the fourth estate,
With off'rings such as this still getting seen
And taken with such seriousness. It's great
To see how science education's been
Successful. Guys, e'en if it's proven true
That these binaural beats can change the waves
Of someone's brain, that's nothing. Pull on through
The water with a paddle: it behaves
Perhaps as though a boat traversed it, but
You didn't make a boat appear, you nut.

In Which I Lament Something That Is Lacking In Summer 2010

July's begun, a time when many seek
Surcease from scorching in the cool and dark
Of friendly local cinemas. I weep,
Though, as I once again survey the stark
And hopeless offerings for these great screens
This season's bringing. This year, there's not one,
I care to see at all. Some say this means
I'm just too picky; no, I have some fun
At stupid 'splodey blockbusters, as long
As they have ought to recommend them save
A bloated budget. Is it just so wrong
To want a story with what goobers crave
(A lot of CGI, they guess). I rue
This year. I think I'll stick to Doctor Who.

In Which I Cast A Cynical Eye On The Lost Finale

The Island was the Bardo, that is clear

And everybody died at some point, yes,

But as finales go, I cannot cheer

The Lost one overmuch, although I guess

'Twas better than the end to BSG

(But not by a whole lot). Some things were cool:

Giardia of leadership? Why not!

The toilet flap of power? And each rule

About what may not happen is just rot

Depending on each dude's management style?

OK, it's pulp, so credibility

Is mayhap not the point. We kept the dial

On ABC for six years and we saw

The products that they hawked, so where's the flaw?

In Which I Ponder The Next Big One

As long as just one planet is our home,

Our legacy is hostage to its whims.

We've changed a lot, change still more as we roam

It surface. But lo, how our prospect dims.

We burn on through the fuel that's easiest

To use to go beyond this atmosphere,

This gravity, and with it burn our best,

Perhaps our final hope of leaving here

As we are now, bipeds with hair and hands

And hearts of flesh. Will only memes escape?

Some fragile proof that we were more than bands

Of a tool-using, hooting, talking ape?

Today an earthquake shook our world anew

And we went surfing on the waves it threw.

In Which Sleep Deprivation Alters My States, Or Something

I do shift work, as everybody knows,

Which means I am obliged, times, to fill in

For someone with a boo-boo, runny nose,

Or something much more grave, to our chagrin.

That's how I found myself at work five hours

Before my normal starting time, at One

A.M. with little sleep and with my pow'rs

At near their nadir. I'm sure it's been fun

For friends and colleagues to watch all my flubs,

And cognitive backfires -- I cannot find

The home row on a keyboard; more like clubs

Than fingers are these digits. Where's my mind?

I only managed victory at chess

By taking on a fellow victim, yes.