Trash!

Delete, efface, cancel, expunge

TRASH!

Delete, efface, cancel, expunge

TRASH!

Away I take my time to take it

Away I take time then take it

TRASH!

This is the time it must me taken away

This is the time when we cart it

When we smell a wafting molecular menace

TRASH!

She will come around the bend at  dawn

A 10 ton rear-loading dump truck

That sends mice scattering down the street when they her compressor compress

Under the crushing weight there is no time to decompose

no time to filter out what might not belong

Everything is here: in this mozaic of refuse

The music of Bach flows

It is long after the picnic we took in the heat of Pompei 

Today we trash it

Then sit down with a glass of wine and enjoy the day

.

Jobbik Party looses a precious Tapir

Tapiregerdi was one of the most outspoken members of the Jobbik Party. In Hungary he had free say to put down jews, gypsies, blacks and any ethnic monstrosity other than pure Hungarian.

The Hungarian police supports the Jobbik, and Tapiregerdi (or Tapirmouse in English) was invited to speak in front of many crowds and pocketed lots of money from fundraisers.

One day Tapiregerdi was approached by Ducky Duck and who decided to rat on his old friend: Tapiregerdi was a Jew and the Jobbik was going to hang him sooner or later. Tapiregerdi tried to pay off Ducky Duck and even offered him a bottle of champagne.

But even the best foie gras wouldn't have made Ducky Duck change his mind. 

 On April 8th, 2013, at 10:10 am precisely, Tapiregerdi was denounced by Ducky Duck of being Jewish. "Tapiregerdi a jew!"laughed Captain Rendorsheg, the head of the police and occasional drinking partner.

Big Josephina, better known as Captain Rendorsheg, the head of the Hungarian Police having a discussion with Tapiregedi in March of 2013.

Today, Tapiregerdi has swung 180 degrees: she now denounces the Jobbik Party and is a staunch believer for the rights of Jews, Gypsies and all minorities to reside in Hungary without  discrimination. Tapiregerdi has made many calls to discuss this issue with Big Josephina -his former girlfriend- but she has cut all contact with him.

Beasts of the Trenches

Beasts of the Trenches, an homage to the book by Eric Baratay

Here I lie on the battlefield

Injured

I think I saw my Sargent die

One of his legs still has his boot on

Lies not far from my hoofs

I can hear the rats making house calls in his entrails

They do go to the trouble to feed themselves.

Now I remember:

I was galloping when a mortar exploded

It propelled me into the air like a Dove with flattened wings

Suddenly a war dog came to my rescue

It licked my bleeding abdomen

Before me and behind me the wailing of soldiers resounds

They are almost blind in this field where

Fog and smoke mix like a bourbon highball

We, animals, hear loud and clear above the darkened clouds

We can sense the poisoned air

"Nonsense!" I laugh to myself

And I see the clouds of flies approaching 

Signaling my end.

Written by a War Horse, Yser, France, October 22, 1914

Bêtes de tranchées

Bêtes des tranchées , une hommage au livre de Éric Baratay







Je suis couché sur un champ de bataille


Blessé


Je pense avoir vu mon sergent mourir


Une de ses jambes portant sa botte


Git près des mes sabots


J'entends les rats visiter ses entrailles


Ils se donnent de la peine pour se nourrir.


Maintenant je me souviens:


J'ai galopé sur un obus


Qui m'a propulsé dans l'air comme un pigeon colombin avec ses

ailes écrasées


Soudain un chien de guerre vient me secourir


Il lèche mon ventre ensanglanté


Devant et derrière moi des soldats crient

Ils sont presque aveugles dans ce champ ou

Brouillard et fumée se mélangent



Nous, les animaux, nous entendons les cris bien plus fort


Nous sentons l'air empoisonné


Et nous voyons les nuages de mouches qui approchent


Signalant notre fin.



Écrit par un cheval de guerre, Yser, le 22 octobre 1914.

My QR Cemetery

Wearing my Pestalozzi smiling brace

It is Time to go visit my beloved at Montparnasse

(Wearing the brace is mandatory)

If you are caught with a tear or a sob

The sentence is particularly harsh

So many call it "Montsourrire"

It's a place where you flash a smile

Weaving through the small cobblestoned alleys

I find myself finally in front of Him

I pull out my smartphone an point it at his stone

I can sense the scanning, beaming

Split lights that gloriously connect me to his site

Every stone now has a QR:

Next to me, behind me

Gracious faces are all smiling

A new poem appears

(He programmed many before passing)

It goes:

"I love you more than a thousand garbage trucks

The great expectation I had

When that noisy rumble and flashing lights that came down 

Our street at sunrise

When tons of trash would be trucked away

Never to be seen again

Pales to the expectation I lived to hear your breath 

to see the flash in your eyes

and the rumble in your soul."

A tear dribbles down my cheek that is about to twitch

Thankfully my smiling brace holds firm

Then the poem is interrupted with a film about apples and compote

There is buffering

I can hear the music coming from my neighbor's QR Stone

It is the Avengers, not the Avengers super heroes but the one with

Emma Peel and John Steed 

Ironically I am holding onto an umbrella and 

wearing kinky black boots

Suddenly I feel elated

floating

full of digital love

Condensation floated out of my mouth that cool November morning 

Then I remember SMOG

The scientific measurement of ghosts

I quickly turn the scanner on me

I need to QR myself, now!

Graffiti Penguins Are Following Me

For years I have been followed by Penguins

I started when my mother used to dress me in a white suit

But the only thing white I dreamt of in those days was to become an astronaut  

Astronomy or Astrophysics wasn't big in our family. Science, sure, as long as I studied biology I was told. Nevertheless, the penguins kept following me and what was odd is that they had graffiti written on their chests. I thought I could read what had to be a message but I couldn't and I would wake up in a sweat.

Then one bright day at a flea market I saw it! The penguin with markings on its belly!

But a lady had her finger on it, she wouldn't let it off except to pay. I tried to outbid her but in vain.

I was distraught. I decided to go for a walk in the woods. It was the first snow of the year and the freshness filled my laden lungs. I was watching my steps, attempting to forget the penguin and listen to the soft crunching of the snow. Both Pooh and Piglet came to my mind and I wondered if they too had been followed. Then, the sun struck my eyes in a particular way. I looked up and saw a knife planted in a tree. There was no sign, no paper, nobody around, just this knife and a handsome one at that.

I tried to put on my thinking cap: could this be a message? Am I to kill the next penguin that crosses my path? Am I to be bludgeoned by a giant penguin? Did someone hate me for fearing penguins? Many questions raced through my head. I tried to keep my breathing down as not to attract attention. I had wished I had taken my shepherd along with me but I left him walled up for the day.

Stopping by my Canadian Drainage Pit on a Rainy Evening

A homage to Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"

I thought I knew a way to drain

My village house, under water, seemed to need a crane

Every attempt to dig or hoe a trench with my hoe

With each rain I ran to the mop; now my tender foe

Stretching its paws, my little cat must think it uncanny

That I spend hours gazing at a trench

Like a 90 year old nanny

Yet between my house and this giant puddle

The universe is wet and muddled

Then I gave my mop another swipe

Splashed droplets zigzagged down my unshaven face

"Could there be some error in this hole I am digging?"

My efforts went unanswered 

Except for the raindrops that went pinging

A big puddle, dark and lovely, is the joy of a child's soul

And the demon for the one who can not drain

Do you get it? I have given my word

And must dig yonder before I rest

and must dig yonder before I rest.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.