Ode on an Oreo
Little puck, small, black
Within you resides flavor
Without you, my hands
_
Little inverted
Cookie, smooth on the outside
Rough in the inside
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So alike, you, me
dark and delicious, cautious
Oh little black puck
Wallstreet: Green is Good
Obama Wall Street
And the twain shall never meet
Or so they would hope
_
Criticized as talk
And not a lot of action
GOP is mad
_
Financial reform
Might mean smaller bonuses
Oh, perish the thought!
Volcanoes Blowing Up
Eyjafjallajokull in Iceland
Think that is two syllables?
I’m sure it must be
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The ash in the sky
Has been delaying some flights
Can’t get to Finland!
-
So watch out people
The earth is turning itself
inside-out somehow
Barry Soetoro
Barry Soetoro
Who are you? People seem to
think you’re president
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Sorry Boretoero
I couldn’t resist the name
My apologies
_
Boring Soretoero
Even I had a nickname
in college, really.
New format
Gentle listeners
I’m triyng a new format
for many reasons
_
Sometimes Bill won’t say
That which we want him to say
or make cute faces
_
In order to post more
I shall alternate between
video/haiku
_
Don’t read that last slash
It throws off the syllables
Plus, how would you? Slash?
_
So here’s the first one
But it’s not about our Bill
Bear with me children
Welcome
New friends are silver
Other haiku sites are gold
Voilà, an alloy
http://www.barack-haiku.com/tag/barack-obama/
Seriously folks, check this out. There’s some real talent out there despite what my site would have you believe.
Bloviations on “Bloviations”
I bloviated
Let’s turn to the dictionary for this one (brief pause for effect) to discourse at length in a pompous or boastful manner. Right off the bat we can tell that Bill is exercising his authorial voice and stepping outside of his normal mode of discourse. Bloviated is in the immediate past, implying that these bloviations occurred recently. But Bill never specifies exactly when he bloviated. Clearly an implication that these bloviations are not noteworthy, no uncommon. At no point hasn’t a bloviation occurred recently. A striking bloviation (in 5 syllables no less) on the American parlance that so commonly bloviates to the point of no meaning.
Or was it just spit-t-tle?
The human mind is occasionally unreliable. Here we see that illustrated by questioning the very first line of the poem. This is not an actual slip of the mind however, it’s a commentary on human speech. We are so unsure if what we actual said was a trite bloviation or rather saliva, flapping about our gums. Have our words become so meaningless that they are interchangeable with bodily fluids?
Somebody got killed
What more is there to say. The most paramount of life’s achievement, death, is nothing more than saliva and bloviations. When we get past all of the charabia and nonsense we learn that speech is capable of some gravity. Bloviations and saliva aside, the world is happening around us and it cannot adequately be captured in speech, or saliva.
There’s [sic] no words
Welcome friends.
Tonight we take a step back. Back to a time when, well I’m not really sure. I don’t know when this clip aired. Anyway we’re going back. Back to see a young Bill O’Reilly. I liken it to listening to some of the earlier Rolling Stones albums. Sure the later stuff is a lot more polished but they were still doing a lot of cocaine. Shall we?
There’s no words
Irony at play, this should be a yellow street sign in an ironic neighborhood (capitol hill am I right people?) where a depiction of irony is shown to be at play in order to get us to drive slow. And slowly drive we shall, picking up little bits of ironic scenery, downshifting to irony mode, turning on our irony blinkers when needed. “Bill” we (I) ask. “How can there be no words when you’re speaking to us with what appear to be words!? (?! which one is it?)” Irony ladies and gentlemen. Words without words, sound without noise, there can be none of which there isn’t.
What does that mean, “There’s no words”?
Holy shit.
Look at how he reaches back to the beginning of the poem, like a poetic stepfather reaches back to beat his misbehaving son (me) in the back seat on a long car ride. Only Bill beats the shit out of timing and poised literary repetition. We question the very foundation we stand on. Asking, what was that that we just read, what does it mean? There are no words.
I’ve never seen that.
And why would you. Brilliance. We are left in a cloud of literary dust, questioning who, what, when, where, why, to whom, for whom, am, is, are, was, were, why (again) and what the hell. Denial of the very first line of the poem. A self-response to the questions we asked ourselves. After all, there are no words for what is spoken.
