Città del Vesuvio
Sitting upon a small island
A town rich with culture and beaches covered in white sand
Peaceful little place living under Roman rule
Whose people are granted a nice sea breeze that keeps the town cool
Hephaestus’ armory at the island’s center
The home of every blacksmith’s mentor
One day out of nowhere
That sleeping mountain had awaked and its fiery wrath the people had to bear
Smoke and soot blackened the sky
So dark that not even birds dared to fly
A pillar of lava sprouted from its mouth
Decimating everything to the south
Townspeople run and hide
Praying to appease the Olympians they may have defied.
Trees and buildings, people and pets, buried in a coffin of ash.
In four days time, all gone in a flash
Now what remains are nothing but ruins
Scattered and fallen fragments lay like knocked down pins
While that mountain hibernates, still peering down at the wine fields of Naples
As tourists explore that ancient city which was known for its wheat staples.
Those wings fly through the night
Aiding Perseus in his fight
Against Eight’s waves and creatures
Told in stories by Old Greek Teachers
Soaring through the sky as if a bird
Wings make no sound, nor speak a word
Able to lift Hercules and his great mass
Loving the taste of apples, but do not mind grass.
Flying along side Apollo’s chariot
Surviving any wound no matter how deep the cut.
Galloping in that moonlight sky
Dreams of being on saddle and to fly.
Glory granted a place in the stars
Without cage, chains nor bars.
Watching over mankind and seeing those planes, trains and cars
Eternally resting beside a blackened night or spoken in stories sealed in ancient glass jars.
Here in this lime lined, green field
A battle is to be fought without mercy, without yield.
Two platoons of a baker’s dozen each.
Fighting one another for glory and honor in which they reach.
Four judges are assigned to observe this fight
Each knowing what is foul and what is right
One army, nine in total, enters the scene, the other four are on relieve.
A single soldier of the opposing force arrives hold a sword ready to cleave.
The sniper on a mound a distance away gets ready to fire.
Three bullets are shot off, that soldier tries to repel, but his movements are too slow as
if he were pulling a tire.
The head judge tells the man to leave and another man comes up ready to strike.
Holding his sword in both hands as if it were a pike.
But like the first man, he was unsuccessful.
A different man comes ready to charge, but he too fell short of resourceful.
The platoons swap places
The other squad’s opening man came from inside a cave and all the animals howled until
red was the color of their faces.
Similar to their enemy, they too failed to advance.
This continued for a while until Hades started to decline, as the local army was trying to
make a strong stance.
Its last fighter, a weak little kid, took up his heavy saber and approached the enemies
home base, praying to God while looking up at the sky.
The first shot is released and the kid swings, that iron ball was repelled and soared high.
All of the stationed enemy platoon ran to stop it, but is could fly.
It flew over the barricade and all the beasts wailed, that man hit each supply station and
made it back safely home.
The adjudicators called the battle over, the local army won and that award they received
made of gold not chrome.
Forever in that great green field, stories of the past still remain
But these stories for the future will never wane.
Driver’s Privacy Con-demned?
Come on down
Get Your D.L.
But Give Us Your Name, Address and Cell
Don’t Worry, Your Information is Secure
Until We Sell It Out the Backdoor
How Dare Congress Enact
That Drivers’ Privacy Protection Act
But Here, Unlike In Printz
We Cannot Convince
That Information Sold Does Not Commerce Make
So Here Too Cannot Foresake
As States Are Not Commandeered
But Rather Just Prohibited
As Individuals Under General Applicability
It Is Within Congress’ Capacity
For the Tenth is no shield
To the Commerce Power and Pen Congress does wield
All in All, Let It Be Said
The D.D.P.A. Is Not Dead
Six days a week, what can I say?
Four to work and two for play?
Three Hundred and thirteen days a year might be bad luck
But don't be awestruck
Because leap years will have three hundred and twelve
So take out a pen and let use delve
Into the wonderless world of basic math
So that I can take you down an illuminating path
Here we go, 312 days in a leap year
If you add 3 plus 1 plus 2 it is clear
That the magic number you get is 6
So go be useful and pick up some sticks
The fires about to die
He didn't "let there be light"...why?
Seriously, a world without Mondays cannot be
Imagine a world without a clear sky and blue sea
Mondays allow lazy people to be productive
Well, at least a little more constructive.
What would I do with myself
Hey, that shelf isn't gonna make itself
Here I am on a Tuesday
Thinking that the weekend just ended
I have an exam tomorrow and am in dismay
I wish the week was extended
Its Wednesday and the exam just finished
I am exhausted and need some sleep
My week and soul are both dimished
Time to go count some sheep
Off goes the alarm
Like a thundercloud in my head
As if a hammer is playing chopsticks with a firearm
Its too early to get out of bed
Thursday as it were
Is probably the worst
I need a hard liqueur
I think this day should be curst
Another miserable day at school
A new exam on Tuesday and a paper due next week
On how to use a mule to get a joule
Don't ask me, I think the teacher's a freak
Okay, Friday is finally here
Party now and paper later
Now watch me make that bag of chips disappear
Don't be a food hater
Ugh, I ate too much
It's Saturday and I still got that paper to write
What's that smell? Penuche?!
Nothing better than writing a paper with some fudgy delight
Okay, it is 8:30PM and not a word put down
No more procrastinating
Don't want to be a clown
Why am I still waiting?
Let's do this!
Using a mule to get a joule of energy
Step one: get the mule to move in kinesis
By feeding the mule some celery
The end...that wasn't so bad.
Time for a shower and a nap
Maybe a show about Stalingrad
I gently close my eyes and then SLAP!
"Wake up, you're late"
"But mom, it's only Sunday."
"What are you talking about? It's half past 8."
"Let me just sleep in today."
And so I slept in
Good thing exam isn't till Tuesday.
A whole 24 hours to begin
Studying about a battle called Midway.
Crack a peek at the clock
It read a quarter past 7
Oh shit, what a crock!
My exam is today! At 11!
I wouldn't care about the work
But geez, I wish I had another day.
It truly is not a perk
To live in a world with Monday.
The Invisible Memory
I am sitting in class
Looking forward at the teacher
From the corner of my eye
He is sitting there
Staring on at us, not saying a word
He listens intently at every word spoken
We all know he is there
Yet we say nothing.
The dinner table is full with all sorts of delicacies
Lobster, Turkey, Sushi, Corn on the cob, Mashed Potatoes, and so on
We all sit down to enjoy this meal
But there he is in the corner speechless
Not wanting to sit or partake
We all know of his hunger
Our stomach’s twist at the thought
Yet we act like nothing is wrong and continue our meal.
The office is pack full with wealthy businessmen and women
Typing away on their new computers and phones
Sipping coffee while talking to colleagues
In the nice air conditioning
There he is on the other side of the door
Not wanting to come in
Just staring through the window
We all know his dreams of joining us but cannot
Yet we act like he is not there.
The party is filled with old and new friends
Everyone is there drinking, dancing and laughing
Each person has his or her own partner
They all waltz on to the dance floor
In the center of the floor, he is standing
We all know his loneliness
Yet we brush against him as we dance, as if he was air.
The line at the bank
Stretches out the front door
Men and women all checking their balances
Counting the many zeros that are there
Over our shoulders, we feel his glare
Not joining this line of zero counters
As we clench our wallets
We all knowing he is void of even a copper piece
Yet we shrug him off and continue counting.
People running around from store to store
Collecting items like cloth, food and glamor products
We all complain that we bought too much
Over the sound of the rustling bags
We all hear him staggering through the crowds
We all know of his tattered rages and shoeless soles
Yet we ignore him and move on to the next shop.
At the graveyard, a burial is underway
A rich man has just passed away
All his lovers and friends have gathered to say goodbye
Flowers envelop his grave, his name donned with golden lettering
As the ceremony concludes, we all walk back to our nice cars
On our way back
We pass him standing over a blank, forgotten, stone wrapped in weeds
We all know of his sorrow
As we continue to move forward towards our expensive, foreign cars
Yet we make ourselves to believe that there is no such disremembered grave.
From birth to death
He is always there
Looking on with solemn, pitiful eyes
We try not to notice
But he is impossible to miss
His presence is everywhere
The harder one tries to forget him
The more he is seen
If we had just acknowledged him
And gave him a little aid and support
He may go away
If by sheer fate our roles were reversed
We, who have it all, will become him and he us
Nothing more and nothing less
Just the Elephant in the room.
A warm summer day built to the past.
Rising mist, lifting air and whistling sounds.
Days at school not to hold the last?
No heavy breathing, no heart that pounds.
Saw the kingfisher perched in a stare.
By the fallen tree and rocks wearing moss.
Squinting my eyes and wondering at the glare.
My first cast is long with an effortless toss.
The splash takes to a wide hooping ring;
A tug, a bump and then I feel slack.
To remember that ripple makes my thought sting.
Watch that line tighten, straighten and move back.
I land her in quickly like nothing at all.
A five pounder plus, how I do love this, she’s meant for the wall.