Sunday, August 30, 2015

Friday, August 28, 2015

Poem: The 1950's

By Jack Brummet

The 1950s were about
The American Jitters: The Day The Earth Stood Still
Huntley Brinkley, The Thing, Ed Murrow, The Blob
Fidel, Godzilla, Senator Joe McCarthy, Gorgo
Who will own the moon,
Wild-eyed Nikita pounded his loafers on TV
As he promised to bury us,
The Cold War ignited on Ike's watch,
Jack Kennedy inherited the residue,
Alarms shrieked duck and cover,
Dad was in the basement,
Sandbagging the jam closet,
And caching beans and gasoline.
We scared ourselves for good
And grew up to fear nothing but nothing itself.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

poem: The Cover-up

By Jack Brummet

The logical beauty of cover-up theories
Is they can never actually be refuted,

But snowball with every new telling.
The absence of facts

Further inflames the conspiracy theory:
The lack of facts

Points to the utter, diabolical
Efficacy of the cover-up.


Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Poem: Convergence

By Jack Brummet

It is one ocean with many names
And into the ocean, sooner or later, flows
Every river, spring, raindrop, creek, and swamp,
Every lake, lagoon, aquifer, mudpuddle, and pond,
Every snowflake, icicle, glacier, flood, bay, and teardrop.


Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Poem: Joshua Brought Down Jericho

By Jack Brummet

Jericho was locked down tighter than a submarine.
It made Helms Deep and Fort Knox look porous.
Joshua studied the walls, scoping a way inside,
When a man with whirling gaslight eyes appeared
And grew ten feet tall and five feet wide.
It was The Lamplighter himself. "Take the shoes
From your feet on my holy ground,
And follow the ark, with seven priests with seven trumpets.”
Seven priests tooting seven horns led a parade
Around and around and around Jericho
Like Sambo marched the tigers around the tree,
Or the way the earth spins in the dark around the sun.
They marched in silence six long days.
On the seventh day they lit out at dawn
Behind the seven priests and seven trumpets
And marched around the city seven times.
After the seventh orbit, the priests blew a cadenza.
And the roar swelled each passing minute.
Every man, woman, boy, and girl,
―Young, old, red, yellow, black, and white―
And every critter, bird, and bug
Was buried in the rubble and dust
As the walls came tumbling down.            ----o0o----

Painting: Walking Machine

By Jack Brummet


Poem: Escape

By Jack Brummet

 Some of us try astral projection.
The rest of us leave in dinghies, bikes, and cars,

Racing down highways, expressways,
Streets and boulevards.

A continent of smoking skull orchard
Recedes in the rear view mirror.