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Poems by Halvard Johnson
Arrrggh!
Arrrggh, I mused, wondering if she'd ever
be back. On the other hand, I thought, Yukk!
What if she did come back? What if I never
heard the end of her yakking, her interminable
phone conversations, the ones with her daughter,
or her sister, or her brother (and who'd've
thought a guy would be so . . . well, loquacious).
Did I ever establish some sort of template
for our relationship? Well, I don't think I ever did.
I often wanted to (or thought I did), but then
whoever said we all know what is best for us?
I'd like to know more about my reasons for doing
things, my motivations, as they say. But
I don't know where to begin.
Whoever said she wouldn't come back sure knew
what they were talking about, didn't they?
Around here there's no sure way to know what's
going on, even if one keeps one's proverbial
ear to the proverbial ground, so to speak.
Live Feed, 7/8/05
forensic teams in sterile suits
open season on tourists
no known threats of follow-up bombings
extra officers riding trains, patrolling stations
thwarting attempted attack
downgrading alert levels
increases of arrests
under anti-terrorist laws
determined to get on with their lives
what's happened has happened
on the inside track
Points on the Curve to Find
Our father was a small peasant farmer, poor but not needy. Moreover,
as one of the agarians among whom mother had been condemned to live
used to say, only a tool to clarify matters already touched upon
was necessary, altho many students were more aware of current discussions
within the field of gravity, whose character could meet the test at all points.
The miracle-working breath of Liberty, breathed after a monstrous
accumulation of monotonous defeats, found them guilty on all counts and
may have caused temporary difficulties on two points functioning
to the right of the vector–a function used to create that same year’s clarification of cycloidal curves my father let lie among his bottom desk-drawer papers
all those years, since C may be given but P cuts in on some occasions, no matter
how finely tuned the dial. Imagine Descartes, his normal lunacies
easy to position on the regression line, reluctant to have sons
any shorter than he was. My father and mother were saying, “Wireless?”
But my options for success raised several questions concerned with
the curve, which, as the name implies, would be cut
at two consecutive points, loosing [sic] contact with his mother,
who, after all, had burned every last photo of his father.
They find things they don’t like become a sort of totem for them,
helpful in finding the height of the other twin,
the one they’d never bothered to stand against the doorjamb to measure.
No matter how fast they walked, the lanky diagnostician was always
one step ahead of them. Your task, they always said, is to
find out who you are–and where. And maybe . . . maybe, why.
Live Feed, 2/7/05
In NYC it's 1:05 pm and 50 ° F
It's still burning in Centralia,
but people still use coal—a dirty,
dusty fuel. And yet I still manage
to write everyday. Funny how that works.
So few Americans remember that those
who attacked us on 9/11 were Saudis.
Pitching in now may help shorten our pledge
drive. Hillary Swank is now playing
in theaters, nationwide. She's our million-
dollar baby, baby. Hi! It's good to be
here, where there are tribes of various
stripes and the central valley extends from
the Red Sea to the Persian Gulf. Big
congratulations to Danny in Bergen. Log
on for details on Black AIDS Day.
Great to be here. Let's start with your
guiding principles. Chicken nuggets?
Surely you must be jesting, Doctor.
We've got mini-vans and SUVs both
in stock. Tune in now for our expanded
edition for Science, Health, and Healing.
Subscribe now and get Dr. Ali's packet
for a $100 contribution. We're not
hostage to pharmaceutical or any
corporate entities. Thank you
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