"Give me a lever long enough, and a fulcrum strong enough, and single-handed I can move the world." - Archimedes Martin Jensen makes commentaries on real issues, or at least interesting essays. Banality filter is on.


Dedicated on this Samsaday 2002 to my milltilting buddy, RB, for whom I unbeknownstingly wrote it, lo those many moons ago.

“You must cannibalize yourself!”

    So the pundits say

Your business
Your upside
Your career
Your life.

Nevermind old lessons learned
Nevermind the rational ways
Sterile metrics are passe
Re-vision is king
    Of future plays

So I put myself away
    And slow-cured
        My smoking heart

I seasoned all my tender parts
Stopped up all my stinky starts

I put myself away

When I emerged,
    I was

All my rivals

They thought they’d trapped me
    In my mind

Only to find
    Me redefined:

I’m a Certified Poetic Engineer

I'm a visionary of the new veridigm
My diversity is my strength

I’ve sharpened up my techno-chops
Synergized my afropops
Helix-bent my bumpercrops

I can wheel and deel
    With the real

But don't get
    Me wrong

I’m not looking for a safe position
I’m not hiding from the competition
I’m not stuck in mindless repetition
I’m not stuck in mindless repetition

I’m an incubator of composition!

I’m a Certified


Going Forth

A man of words, he did not put them in the way
Of, “This is how…” or, “I’ll explain…”
Instead “Look at the deer!” he’d cry,
No lesson so plain as awe
Caught wild in a civilized eye.

In cabin home – the chunk stove hotplate rising red.
Lake ice, feet thick, beckoning to skate
or grind a hole to fish the dome below.
He offered boats for every skill and wake:
An agéd outboard, or seamsplit sail to blow.

He’s since confessed these wilderness escapes just that:
A route away from pains of day-to-day.
But this does nothing to slight my good:
Steam rising from dawn’s freezing bay;
Moss carpet floor of Adirondack wood.

All fond memories seem of going forth,
This man who stayed at home for all.
What he did to save himself, he pulled along
The willing son, despite the storm or squall.
No running wind, but tack and jibe, and finally brought up strong.

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