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Playlist: National Poetry Month: American Sonnets and One Ode

Compiled By: Susan J. Cook

Breathing: American Sonnets (Bookshop.org) Credit: Susan Cook
Image by: Susan Cook 
Breathing: American Sonnets (Bookshop.org)

In celebration of written and spoken poetry, some from Breathing: American Sonnets. Some first appearing here. Einstein's Sonnet written in 2008. All by Susan Cook.

Small: An American Sonnet

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :57

In the large, large universe, the mind's eye still sees what it will.

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Small

It doesn't matter how diminished we

feel, situated deep deep within the

large, large universe, we now know, we see

more and more of, its every corner, the

source of a revelation, a surprise

appearance of something we did not know

was there but has been all along. The size

of anything is not important, no,

changes mostly depend on nothing more

than the sun's cast shadow, the patterns we are sure

to form, in our mind's eye,  largeness ignored,

the smallest persistent, convinced we'll endure.

Small, large do not save us as the mind's eye

slowly watches, no urgent need to hide.

How Einstein Understood E=mc Squared

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :55

Poetry Month and Einstein creating E=mc squared

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Sonnet for Why Einstein Understood E=mc2

 

I believe it was Einstein’s broken heart

that led him to understand E equals

mc squared. He knew when E fell apart

in his life. He knew how love goes. Sequels

that should have followed each other wouldn’t.

Just one listlessly paralyzed moment proved

it. Nothing gave him motion. He couldn’t

lift a finger, let alone an arm moved

by a body, within a body, held

by light they shared: she’d hold hers for him, he’d

hold his for her, then they’d fall. Oh, they fell

and fell. It broke his heart, the last of E.

Bereft and broke, idle in his time,

he knew his heart longed for some equal sign.

Einstein's Sonnet: Love Is Relativity

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:23

On September 28, 1905 Einstein's paper on the special theory of relativity was published in Annalen der Physik. A Poetic version, "Einstein's Sonnet" offered in anticipation of Valentine's Day.

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Einstein’s Sonnet



On September 28, 1905

Einstein published his paper on the special theory of relativity

In Annalen der Physik

-Susan Cook-

Do not tell me that in time all things pass.
My heart has no place for losing. Lost time
means nothing in a universe so vast
it can't be seen or held. A time too fine
to hold cannot be caught. Hours sitting by
 my love, Einstein mused, makes but a minute.
On a hot stove, love, minutes become my
hours. Love is relativity. Limit
love's light my mind's eye soon grows larger, fast
on you. It needs no glance, no shine. It's true.
Our days of catching, being caught have passed.
What moves toward me or falls will not be you.
Do not tell me that in time all things pass.
Love that's fallen can't be taken back.

The Distance of Time: An American Sonnet about Relativity

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :51

Poetry makes everything accessible, even the Special Theory of Relativity.

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The Distance of Time

 

Relativity is everywhere in

daily life. Understanding doesn't mean

that first, there have to be twins, who begin

to move apart, one at home, one last seen

climbing on a space ship, each with a clock.

The years go by and when they meet (because

the speed of light  is really slow, can stop

the years from showing up) there’s a loss

of time, between them. One twin, traveling out

somewhere in space, can not remember when

they were last together, the day in doubt,

which year it was. While waiting for a friend,

Einstein, always late, knew, time's lost by hours.

Space brings us closer; time is never ours.

A Sonnet for Einstein's Discovery: To the First Images Seen of A Black Hole

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:03

After the first images of a black hole are seen, re-visiting Einstein imagining his most important discovery.

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A Sonnet for Einstein's Discovery
To the First Images Seen of A Black Hole

This is the problem with love. He wrote it
in a book. There are places far from earth.
Once you're where you've not been, you'll know it .
Leaving's struggle, to escape, just not worth
the time, the gravitational force on.
the feet stronger,  even though the mind may
say, "Time", time has become love's distraction. 
what once seemed stardust, that too swept away.
The only choice is stay: "passing that point
of no return, without noticing it",
collapsing, in tiny increments, joined
no longer. What will never again fit 
is this: the logic of the light that drew
you, stars still sparkling far away and few.

In the Department of Poetic Justice: Sonnet for the Primordial Gravity Waves

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:14

The 2017 Nobel Prize for Physics was awarded to those who offered proof of the existence of Primordial Gravity Waves. Einstein theorized they were there. Thus a Sonnet for the Primordial Gravity Waves, another way Einstein might have known.

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Sonnet for the Primordial Gravity Waves
-Susan Cook-

Just after the universe began, love
started too. There were no people yet. It
was so, so hot, far too hot, above
all else, for touching. No one was kissed
in that airless, stifling burn, New York flat,
the hottest night at the time. Desire though
had begun, primordial, yes, that
bearing, preoccupied, down. We now know
that was love.  Things became much cooler and
the universe transparent, light perceived,
attraction thus visible, hand-in-hand,
no one there to give, to taste or receive.
Falling had been heard, though, long riffs of jazz,
the beat started, before the heart it has.

Sonnet for Stephen Hawking "The Black Hole" "A Loss"

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 02:03

Stephen Hawking has died who brought us all to imagine what black holes are and to recognize ourselves in them and him.

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Sonnet for Stephen Hawking

The Black Hole

After Stephen Hawking and A Brief History of Time

-Susan Cook-
This is the problem with love. He wrote it
in a book. There are places far from earth
where once you're there, you will know it .
Leaving's struggle, to escape, just not worth
the time, the gravitational force on.
the feet stronger,  even though the mind may
say, "Time", time has become love's distraction.
what once seemed stardust, that too swept away.
The only choice is stay: "passing that point
of no return, without noticing it",
collapsing, in tiny increments, joined
no longer. What will never again fit
is this: the logic of the light that drew
you, stars still sparkling far away and few.


A Loss
Death is about thoughts, really, practically
speaking, I mean, it has  only happened
when I know you have died, I mean, I see
you not being where you were at the end,
you straddling that big stream  that's  rising up,
threatening  to separate you from yourself,
you from your own, your reach not wide enough.
We're made of all  those days we find that shelf
of river's edge, climb up,  and get there, strive
for that (time, now and then, dipping into
that thirsty bowl of water called a  life).
Your straddle grows still wider, merely you,
who one day is here, then one day it's you
who's moved away from you, away from you.

Sonnet for the Higgs Boson: A Poem Demystifing

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :49

In National Poetry Month, a poem to explain how the Higgs boson really works.

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Sonnet for the Higgs boson

-Susan Cook-

 

You, Higgs boson, you come out of nowhere,

once you're blasted, hard enough, then, they say

indifference turns into desire, prepares

these subtle transformations, mystery's way,

bringing  things together. Beauty, boson.  

A boy beside me pulls me to my feet.

His truck is dark, darkness all in motion,  

moving  in the heat. Higgs, that was not heat

alone. Heat, remember, cools so quickly,

his, a perfect truck, catching you.  You've known

that darkness deep inside a truck, thickly  

threading all as one. I think Adam owned

a truck, magnetic wheels. The moving sent   

him off.  A truck, a truck, world without end.

 

 

 

 

 

The Discovery of Light: An American Sonnet

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :55

Thomas Edison and what his light did- understood through an American Sonnet.

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The Discovery of Light: An American Sonnet

-Susan Cook-

Thomas Edison discovered cotton,

carbonized, sent out strands of silky light.

The non-believers drove for miles, not in

fascination, but in doubt that night sight

didn't  require burning  fire first,

a kindling so much harder to ignite,

the loss of life, from time to time, the curse

of other lamps, the tragedy of fire

placed too close, times when frightened horses kicked

the stable candle, burning hay that brought

entire  towns  to ash, the flames that licked

up everything, the cost of fire caught.

Some still don't  trust a horse's fear, sudden

swaying, still not sure what this  light has done.

 

Doing Good for Evil

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:07

My father often said his mother always told him, "Do good for evil." It's drawn from the Bible "This is your calling, your business in life- to do good and to do good for evil." I Peter 3:9

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Do Good for Evil

-Susan Cook-

 

First, you take your place in the lineage

of humanity, right there. You are one

of many. Again, we see sin's triage

unfold. All and everything is undone.

You (and many others, after all) watched, stilled

by the sight and sound of desperation.

Where does the seam of evil come loose, filled

too tight, inconspicuous, impatient.

There is nothing left for us to do but

give what no one has asked of us, to tame

harm before its time, the knife lifted, cut

smaller and smaller, no evil star flamed.

Do good for evil. Do good for evil.

When we are left motionless, leave good will.

Sonnet for the First Fish, Best Fish

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :51

Sonnets are a way to find optimism in difficult times, like the Government Shutdown. This is a sonnet that acknowledges that the first fish is the best fish and can provide for many.

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Sonnet for The First Fish, Best Fish

-Susan Cook-
The first fish is remembered as the best
fish. It is the one that when it was caught
(remember, there were only two, the rest
elusive that day) it ended all thought
and fear they'd  have to go without, suffering
where it didn't need to be, unfounded.
If there was one, there would be enough, bring
in more the next time. We were astounded
that what looked like deprivation for so
long might not be that at all. The first fish
meant that those who had been turned away, no
compassion for their need, could be fed with just this.
The first fish will be the best, where the start
begins, for our minds, the eyes, for the heart. 

Sonnet for Justice. The Exoneration of the Scottsboro Boys

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:34

A sonnet about justice when it is buried and forgotten.

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Sonnet for Justice
Upon the death of Sheila Washington who accomplished the exoneration in Alabama of "the Scottsboro Boys".

Most of the world is doing stuff like that

most of the time. They are taking justice

out in the backyard in a body bag.

Most of them think, we’ll never know. Just this

should prove to us, clearly, reality

has its way, anyway. Our consciousness

knows the world can be a bad place without

actually seeing the men lift listless

bodies, you know, very carelessly, up.

The world cannot imagine justice placed

in some back yard like that, neglected, much

less the earth thrown over the shallow grave.

Consciousness can not protect her, listless,

in her shallow grave, breathless now justice.

 

-Susan Cook-

In "Breathing: American Sonnets"

On Edna St Vincent Millay's Birthday, A Sonnet Sequence: "The Rage of the World" for Edna St Vincent Millay

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 02:24

On her birthday, a Sonnet Sequence "The Rage of the World" .

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A Sonnet Sequence on Millay's 129th Birthday: The Rage of the World
-Susan Cook
And what evil thing can ever again even brush me with its wings.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay

I. The Rage of the World
The rage of the world rides in on a wide 
winged bird with wings so heavy the body 
staggers under the weight, tries to decide 
is the flight worth it, is this oddly 
constructed freedom, a tribulation
after all. We‘re all fooled into thinking 
largeness is an asset, syncopation 
with the body coming later, thinking 
it’s unnecessary, these wings after
all good. Every day we watch the birds. Ease 
of escape comes to them. They have mastered 
resistance, will not acquiesce or please.
This large ungainly bird holds us as if
this  moment too much, a  paralysis.
II. The Un-sequencing of You
This is where the dust of your blue eye fell, 
or was it a green, the water’s color,
in tides, where, sooner or later, pell-mell 
you were pulled, just like you were the lover,
 down and down, you indistinguishable 
from (how awkward) tiny forms of life
that connect us. It’s impermissible
to ignore them, their husbandry, a wife 
here, a child there, now you. Cremate
the dead (I always have imagined) and soon 
they become part of the explosion created
at time’s dawn, un-sequenced now, just like you. 
There, an unending ocean takes it hold, 
abides with versions of you never told.

Remembering We Have Already Said Farewell: "Epilogue: To a Fire Gone" from "Breathing: American Sonnets" (Bookshop.org)

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:42

An American Sonnet about the difficulty of endings and farewell.

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From "Breathing: American Sonnets" Susan Cook (on Bookshop.org)

 

Epilogue

 

To a Fire Gone

 

After "Reluctance: by Robert Frost

Ah, when to the heart of man

Was it ever less than treason

To go with the drift of things,

To yield with a grace to reason

And bow and accept the end

Of a love or a season?

 

 

When was it less than treason? But what do

you mean, Mr. Frost? That’s for countries to

feel short-changed by. Loss happens to those who

see the passing on of days, years, one blue

time in life, one breaking, undoing a

treacherous rope they have been tied onto,

its deep burn. In the coldest time of day

or night, fires started that you thought grew

larger instead were, licked back into their

own intensity, remained confined on

one small patch of earth. You did not see where

the fire, some time later, died. You were gone.

Big difference, see, between countries resigned

to losing, small unfed fires, gone in time.

America's Sonnet

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :57

We cherish this country where compassion has come back to government.

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America's Sonnet
-Susan Cook-
It is so hard to write you this sonnet
because I long for you in another
way. I want to feel justified, make it 
like "Shall I compare thee to a summer
day?" But there was that summer day, one man
with all those guns that you allowed him to
buy to kill. He was an American-
style imposter. I want you to be true.
I will not  just say they're your pretty wrongs,
in your pursuit of happiness, me, you,
Then you go behind my back. Someone conned
me, telling me you have more than you do.
This sonnet's yours America, but you
will not take all my loves, turn black, brown, blue.

In Memoriam: Ruth Bader Ginsburg "A Sonnet for the Waterfall"

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:15

Ruth Bader Ginsburg has died at age 87.
" When the spark had finally stopped,
ending finally, the luscious waterfall,
(the opulent deceit, the pleasure seems
so innocent, relentless, after all)
stopped."

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In Memoriam: Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Sonnet for The  Waterfall
All the while there you were, your un-tampered
brain, fully  active, every day, not 
once missed. Then one day, your brain cells scampered
of like mice. When the spark had finally stopped,
ending finally, the luscious waterfall,
(the opulent deceit, the pleasure seems 
so innocent, relentless, after all)
stopped. Every single thing we do redeems
us (no matter what is done) from dying
until then, but you, how could anyone
imagine you, listless, no deciding, 
no lighting of a fire left to be done.
And even inevitability
gone, no waterfall, no fragility.

An American Sonnet for the Woman Who Is A Journalist

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:02

As Gwen Ifill is honored, as the Holocaust murders of the ancestors of Terry Gross are revealed, in the aftermath of the harassing effort to intimidate NPR's Mary Louise Kelly by the Secretary of State, an American Sonnet for the Woman Who Is A Journalist.

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American Sonnet for the Woman Who Is a Journalist

 

For G.I., T.G., and M.L.K.

 

The moral righteousness of the human

spirit gradually appears as suffering,

a dark spot on the lungs, another strand

of fatigue. Her sustenance, enough, brings

the heaviness to us differently. Just there,

in her questioning, we see physical

intricacies of transformation. This

is how evil spreading its miserable

inhumanity begins to change. This

is how goodness brings itself to the small

crevice inside, sleeping, reawakened,

rising from the body's cellular call,

compassion, for those who've been forsaken.

The softened voice speaks as if her bones find

words, chiselled there by those buried alive.

 

-Susan Cook-

Sonnet For The Baseball Teams Playing "Sweet Caroline"

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :54

This is a sonnet for the baseball teams who after the tragedy at the Boston Marathon each played the song the Boston Red Sox play during a game when they score a home run.

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Sonnet for the Baseball Teams 
Playing "Sweet Caroline"
                 -Susan Cook-
Buddhists like to call it spontaneous
arising. Buddhists don't "like". They abide.
They await the day when the gain for us
is staying with what is here now,  a kind 
of seeing things as they are. So when two 
men made a bomb, and placed it at the race,
killing, stealing legs and arms, Buddhists knew 
showing compassion, would out distance base
and evil fear, the cruelty of the mean. 
Baseball teams in this country, knowing time
arises and dissipates, what is seen
is what there is, then played "Sweet Caroline".
Boston Red Sox fans knew then we are one,
hearts' score humanity, compassion's  run.

Sonnet for What Will Be Well

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:01

Poems are solace in times of not knowing.

Today, a Sonnet for What Will Be Well.
"There are events that narrowly avoid
crossing our paths, every day but let you
be...You can thank your lucky stars.

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Sonnet for What Will Be Well

-Susan Cook-

 

There are events that narrowly avoid

crossing our paths, every day but let you

be. You can thank your lucky stars, small voids

somewhere in space, crevices that kept you,

danger’s possibilities still there. My

mother used to say that, my father, too,

their authority broader, because I

began to believe that somehow they knew

when I should or shouldn’t trust fate, rely

on faith to know what will be well in life.

‘Shipwrecked. Lost everything. All is well,’ my

Grandfather , last dime spent, wrote to his wife.

‘Thank your lucky stars,’ he might have murmured,

to dark waters, the rescuers’ voice heard.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:07

Some years back The House of Representatives' healthcare bill denied maternity care and denied health insurance to 18 to 25 year olds. Back then, Maine's Representative Poliquin fled to the restroom when reporters asked about his vote to pass the bill. Only a sonnet conveys the stark neglect of others in his proposed bill.

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Sonnet for Whom the Bell Tolls
-Susan Cook-
The bell does not toll unselectively
anymore. It tolls for whom white men  want
it to. Those for whom we’ve wept - give me
your tired, your poor, your huddled mass, who want
to be free, remember- are left on bare
Mattresses. Newborns are a wealthy man’s tax
burden, babies denied health care, once they’re
born. Mr. Pro-Life’s knife, stabs at their backs
and ex- Representative Poliquin
hides in the men’s room. The truth has a fist,
that now endures and cannot be hidden.
In his healthcare vote, newborns don’t exist.
The bell tolls now for white men, who squander
this country of hope, the lost who’ve wandered. 

Sonnet for Antoinette

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:03

This is a sonnet written for Antoinette, the school receptionist at the school in Georgia where a man stood outside, then fired a high powered weapon, carrying with him hundreds of rounds of ammunition. Antoinette spoke to him and he, in time, put down his weapon and surrendered to police.

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                                                     Sonnet for Antoinette
-                                                              -Susan Cook-

Antoinette, bring us to the small country
where you live and where that god you give to
stands, human tragedy right outside the
school who only needs to lift his foot through
one more door to show us what he carried
out when he went through the rooms where guns, his,
are manufactured, when he woke, harried
(we don't know why). It all comes down to this.
You speak to him and somewhere find the food
a crazy man needs most: what might have been.
"We might be family." Your hand soothes his mood.
"No man is an island." This is kin.
Antoinette, bring us to this country, near
you, where we  belong, truth louder than fear.

A Poem to the President of the NRA

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:09

This poem to one President of the NRA has no statistics, no logic, no legal reasoning or principl. Only profound grief and sadness..

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A Poem to One President of the NRA
-Susan Cook-
Let's begin, Mr. Lapierre. You too
visualize: death's examiner, see
where there's the trail strewn with bloody hearts, blue
bodies, drained of life, their luscious mouths, we
can't begin to open because each one
comes back to this. We feed our young with spoons
of silver, gold. Someone acquires a gun
or leaves the door wide open to the rooms
and rooms where the guns are manufactured,
with a day like this in mind: someone, scared
(it could be you) whose fear has finally lured
him into thinking: This is truth or dare.
Whose child knows now, guns mean death, do not care,
don't distinguish truth from fear, fear from dare.

Sonnet for Donald Hall (after reading his essay on growing old)

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:07

Donald Hall died on June 23rd. A sonnet written after reading his essay on growing old.

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Sonnet for Donald Hall
(After Reading His Essay on Growing Old)
-Susan Cook-



Oh, Donald Hall, of course, you know that
barns, for generations, have been lost
when one last winter snow storm tears the past
apart, barns like time, there until they're not.
And Donald Hall, I'm coming by to cook
for you, who've lived the inexplicable:
that foods are truly love, the loves that look
you in the eye, the meal that leaves you full.
And Donald Hall, your tree sees where you sit
and all who've watched before sitting by your
side. Bending back in time, were you a finch?
The tree a boy? We'll never now for sure
if trees were boys or men were birds. We knew
only this man. That's you, now.  See? That's you.

Sonnet for President Obama's Tear

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 01:11

First published on the eve of Martin Luther King Day , we turn to our preferred form of political expression, the sonnet, to acknowledge the compassion President Obama has brought to the Presidency. Today, we offer a "Sonnet for President Obama's Tear''.

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Sonnet for President Obama’s Tear

Susan Cook

 

His tear is for every person lost since

illegal guns became more, much, so much

more available. How do you convince

the NRA these dead are  theirs too? Touch

the darkness of those who will not ever

know who their guns took, experience

wretched calculations of forever’s

duration, time with no end, grief re-sensed.

They calculate abstractly the time passed

for those whose children died, who are not here.

We only know one madman’s moment lasts

lifetimes when we can’t bear Obama’s tear.

Obama’s tear tells what must be retold.

Compassion’s time is for whom the bell tolls.

A Sonnet for Negative Ads

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :57

Sometimes, there is an ineffable quality to the offensiveness of negative campaign ads. We turn here to the sonnet to express deep concern about negative political ads. Thus, for this 2014 Election Campaign season, "A Sonnet for Negative Ads".

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Sonnet for Negative Ads
-Susan Cook-
The ads have turned negative trying to
win votes. They imply it’s Godzilla now
running for office, a gorilla who 
loves big fat liberal doctrines.  Don’t ask how
he says it. Apparently he’s signing.
He’s now been discovered, his cover’s been
blown. He’s taking your tax dollars, mining
social security, this with a  win 
on Tuesday if he's succeeded, deceived
you into thinking he’s really human,
stands on two legs, counting votes he’s  received.
Voters beware! Gorillas are looming.
Out, out with the negative! You’re the real louse,
harming all creatures including the mouse.
 

Sonnet for Vladimir Putin

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :57

Vladimir Putin has polarized Ukraine, as much as possible. Why not the world? Perhaps a sonnet will remind us of what is lost by such polarization.

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Sonnet for Vladimar Putin
In Independence Square that day, her face
held in his hand, they kissed. Back then, detente
protected them, his arm around her waist, 
that year, that day. Cold War memories still haunt
them, when love was impossible, above 
all, she without him, he without her, caught 
in diplomacy. But then Gorbachev
imagined a boy, a girl and love. Arms ought
to be for holding, international 
relations, so Gorbachev created
detente. That day, with things more rational,
in the square, love was reciprocated. 
Putin would like to end such caressing,
love his nemesis, countries confessing. 

Remembering the Lost: "The Fall"

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | :54

In Memoriam , "The Fall" .

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                                       The Fall
                         On the anniversary of September 11, 2001
                                           -Susan Cook-
The difference between nine and nine-fifteen
is a shade of light, a shade of darkness
depending on where you stand, how it's seen.
Always is a matter of more or less.
In the Emergency Room, no one knows
what happened just fifteen minutes before.
They only know that now you're here. It goes
the way the body's many clocks have worn
the time that life provides. They will decide
if (as you fell each story took away
a minute more of what's there to abide)
this time, the shadow's length would end the day.
Light's not the only measure of darkness,
time not the only way to know what's less.
Copyright 2008 All rights reserved Susan Cook

Ode to Mr. Roubini's West Grand Lake Bass 2020 Update

From Susan J. Cook | Part of the The River Is Wide series | 03:18

In Maine, Bass fishing on West Grand Lake is a destination respite for many, including Mr. Nouriel Roubini, the legendary economist who was almost single-handed in anticipating the 2008 housing collapse and world-wide recession. This "Ode to Mr. Roubini's West Grand Lake Bass " is revisited in the wake of the recent change in , let's say, the landscape under the "River of Financial Abundance".

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ODE TO MR. ROUBINI'S WEST GRAND LAKE BASS REVISITED

MR. ROUBINI, DO  YOU THINK IT WAS THE WEST GRAND LAKE BASS
THAT HELPED YOUR BRAIN CELLS  FORECAST THE 2008 CRASH?
WHEN YOUR FRIENDS HAD IGNORED THE CREDIT DEFAULT SWAP  DERIVATIVES,
AND IN 2009, BEGAN TAKING SELECTIVE SEROTONIN RE-UPTAKE INHIBITORS,
DID YOU GO HOME, OPEN THE FREEZER, REACHING DOWN   PAST  THE CASH,
 GET OUT THE BUTTER, AND SAY "LET'S HAVE SOME MORE BASS!"

LUCKY FOR YOU, SOME BASS STILL REMAINED
FROM YOUR SUMMER FUN FISHING IN GRAND LAKE STREAM, MAINE.
WHICH ALL BRINGS US BACK  TO THE VERY BIG QUESTION
OF INTRODUCING ALEWIVES , NOT YOUR USUAL ECONOMIC REFLECTION.
PLEASE FOCUS  THOSE BRAIN CELLS ON THE FUTURE AND THE PAST.
 TELL US, WILL INTRODUCING ALEWIVES TO THE ST. CROIX RIVER DRIVE OUT  THE BASS?
IF YOU THINK THAT THEY WILL,CALL A MAINE LEGISLATOR AND TAKE SIDES.
THERE ARE  EXPERTS THAT AGREE WITH YOU, THE GRAND LAKE STREAM GUIDES.
THESE ARE THE GUIDES WHO SHOW YOU WHERE TO FIND  BASS
( OMEGA-3S FOR THE MIND ) SO YOU CAN  MAKE A GOOD ECONOMIC  FORECAST.
WE KNOW MR. ROUBINI, YOU DON’T HAVE X-RAY VISION TO HELP YOU DELIVER
AN ASSESSMENT OF THE TOPOGRAPHY UNDER THE 1850'S ST. CROIX RIVER
BUT IF YOU WERE AN ALEWIVE FACING A 20 FOOT INCLINE
DOESN'T THAT  SOUND A LOT LIKE THE STOCK MARKET IN JANUARY 2009?
MR. ROUBINI, THE ONLY WAY FOR THE ALEWIVE IS UP, UP AND UP
BUT FOR ALEWIVES TWENTY FEET IS REALLY QUITE TOUGH.
YES, THERE ARE STRATEGIES, YOUR SPECIAL NICHE
BUT "BUY LOW, SELL HIGH" DOESN'T HELP OUT A FISH.
DON'T WE ALL WISH, GOVERNOR JANET MILLS HAD YOU ON HER SPEED DIAL?
WELL, SHE PROBABLY DOES AND CHECKS IT EVERY ONCE IN AWHILE.
MR. ROUBINI, MANY THINK THE COUNTRY CAN'T MISS
WITH YOU  ON HER SPEED DIAL AND YOUR WEST GRAND LAKE FISH.
MR. ROUBINI, YES, THERE ARE THE CRAPPIES AND LITTLE  SMALL TROUT
(AND NO, WE'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT HOW THEY WILL  VOTE.)
YOUR TASTE BUDS ARE NURTURED ON MICHELIN 5 STAR CLASS
SO THAT MEANS NOTHING  QUITE SUITS YOU LIKE A WEST Grand Lake Bass.

The 2020 Prologue, Mr. Roubini, time to fire up the grill,
Get out your best marinade, put the Allagash on chill.
Your very best guide in this time of ticker tape upheaval
is not Bloomberg News or today's Wall Street Journal.
To keep your title as Dr. West Grand Lake Bass,
your Omega-3s jumping, still saving our last
nickels and dollars from going out with the tide,
go to www.grandlakestreamguides."

-SUSAN COOK-