Monday, October 27, 2025

Act 1 Scene 3
We Stole Horses Together 
for Dr. Loganathan Sankaran, Ph.D

A Work in Progress
83


With enemies encamped all around us
We held out in our outpost in the Bellevue hills
Sankaran proved excellent at benchmarking
We won enough business our office paid its bills

We sold an all-cache memory computer
Among other competing parallel computer designs
We could claim ease of programming which is why

Because they were developing a key research code                                                                                                                                                   
Thom Dunning’s team at PNNL’s EMSL chose the KSR-1
Donal’s most competitive sale beating IBM’s SP-2
With a best and final that Peter Appleton Jones approved

Ed Lazowska and Hank Levy at UW bought one
Bill Busbee at NCAR wanted one but changed his mind
There were others who bought one, sometimes two 

DARPA stymied other potential deals
Steve Squires dictated policy and would only fund 
Intel or Thinking Machines so it was easy for Intel 
To overturn our biggest win getting Lockheed to unfund

Our hard-won deal after Sankaran won the benchmark
And our system was installed on Lockheed’s floor
On the same day in Seattle when Hank bought an upgrade
For a price Donal called HQ to complain was far too low

But Kendall Square Research wanted revenue
It had raised money from investors by cooking the books
And while Donal and Sankaran were kept in the dark
KSR sent a truck to Lockheed's parking lot 

While an exec signed a side letter beside the contract
Giving Lockheed the right of return at any time
Meaning the revenue wasn’t legally bookable
And somebody sent a fax of it to Donal who sent it to HQ

Not much later Bill Koch took over the company
And the Bellevue office was shut down
But not before Bill Koch flew into Pasco with his cushion
Because he had a bad back and gave Thom’s team

An out if they didn’t want to proceed
But they did proceed and now we have NWCHEM
Sankaran’s benchmarking made that win happen
Bill Koch’s courtesy has not been forgotten


Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                        2025


Saturday, October 25, 2025

Wasps

A Work in Progress 
82

Wasps that kept our garden aphid free are gone leaving a large brown ovoid nest hanging from a rhododendron with clean white comb without wispy wax moth web that we cut down mostly intact and hung from a peg in our potting shed showing its paper-ply cross section where a side of the nest had been torn off while taking it down from the tree with a pole pruner.

Creation began with wasps and bees to pollinate apple trees in the Garden of Eden.
Without wasps and bees, no original sin.

When the good news comes where will it come from?

All we hear is of a billionaire paying the military

An aircraft carrier headed to Venezuela

Murder meted out at sea

Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                   2025

Sunday, October 19, 2025

Act 1 Scene 2: For Absent Friends

A Work in Progress
81

The stage set is with a kitchen table laid as if a meal has been finished.  There are eight chairs around the table.
        
                  
                                                                           wine glasses
                                                                   remain    
                                                                                     amongst
                                                                         other objects    
                                                                            bereft
                                                                               of
                                                                            hands

                                                                       leave takings
                                                                     fond farewells
           
                                                        more urgent now to return
                                                            to that table
                                                                                those chairs
                                                                         those
                                                                              bottles
                                                                                of
                                                                             myth

                                                                       each return
                                                                   is another life
                                                               our myth is enriched
                                                         that table    those chairs
                                                        these glasses
                                                                     the touching of hands
                                                                           lips
                                                                         yet
                                                                      that place
                                                                does not detain us

                                                                        our eyes
                                                               carry it weightlessly
                                                                      recreate it
                                                                   in another time
                                                                     another place*


                                           they passed on before us traveling into the dark
                                               leaving a trail for us to follow
                                                             beacons
                                      
                                                    works of art that interconnect
                                                                 a bone full of marrow
                                                                             for minds to gnaw on

                                                             so humanity can pass on


                                                   Dick Russell (C) Richard M Russell
                                                      *first published in Lines Review
                                                                     Scotland, 1977

Sunday, October 12, 2025

Such Magic in Numbers

A Work in Progress
80

Once upon a time people counted on fingers
when they did mathematics, they used base ten
or sometimes base sixty like for telling time
or some used base twelve, one fifth of sixty
such magic in the numbers different cultures chose

musical instruments were the first computers
from them came chords, also cacophony
now they can read and write compose and perform
they can fit in your pocket or embed in your ear
transmitting signals from space you can hear

in the digital world bits are switched on or off
in quantum computing they can be in between
something akin to human perception 
flashes of cognition when our brains intuit
an idea inexpressible without quick wit

digital computers don’t count on their fingers
they have their AI fingers crossed these days
glibly conveying with a robot’s confidence
facts and more facts even alternative facts
whatever was programmed into their software stacks 

once upon a time when the world was simpler
people might meet at a bar or go paseo 
talking country to country by phone was cool
now computers compel all our attention
lest we protest democracy’s suspension


Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                        2025

Friday, October 10, 2025

What Those Words May Have Said

                                        revised

A Work in Progress
79


What the words may have said 
before they fell like flakes from sculpted stone
words repeatedly hammered and chiseled away…
 
no detritus at Donal’s feet no substance
no scrap paper in a basket or on the floor
nothing to slip and slide on perhaps to fall
felled by a knock-on effect from ambiguity
a moment when the gripped chisel slipped
un-erased evidence remains:

a bust of a President’s head
front lobe exposed
dementia more apparent 
ego expanding beyond all limits 
avarice unchecked
ugh…do not look, do not see, it’s far too ugly


Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                        2025


Thursday, October 9, 2025

Reaching for Odessa 

The Complete Poem
A Work in Progress
78


1

Shades of Ezra Pound admirer of Catullus
on a voyage outbound    a strong wind bending the mast
main sail reefed    jib rolled to a sliver
driving our craft forward
through over swelling seas boiling with danger
reaching for Odessa
our mission to slay the minotaur
that murderous thug molesting the city

no longer in a labyrinth at large with an army 
intent on conquering all of Ukraine

dead poets channel at Donal’s elbow
holding course with the tiller strapped to his chest
all of them Argonauts 
and Li Po urges him to bring in more wine
put music in his lines as Ezra asked
Briggflats responded 

Prévert has a headache 
when Donal taps the metal mast
cadences cadenza through his head
coins clattering on countertops
urban imagery unlike Merwin always faraway
inhabiting places where the muses still live
among tall trees clean water woodlands still green

a strong wind propels a long reach over open sea
out of sight invisible stealthily approaching
reaching for Odessa determinedly


2

Donal steered upwind fighting the sea surge
a curtain of rain shrouding the forecastle
when calmer waters were found in an island’s lee
where suddenly the wind swung aft 
drove his craft ashore through a narrow channel
onto a sandy beach between imposing cliffs 
entering a cove with quiet anchorage
where the punch of the wind had placed them

no island like this was on the charts
were they alive? had they crossed into legend?
sheltered from the storm 
what was this haven where a warm breeze ruffled
clear blue water glowing with light
dark sky overhead

firmly beached 
keel implanted in sand
Donal went ashore
plentiful driftwood available for a fire
made in a stone hearth already in place 
and an altar strewn with bones
for sacrifice

gathered around that hearth they lit a fire
with sparks from flints on dry wood shavings
igniting salt-stained kindling to make a blaze
piled high with wooden seashore detritus
flames leaping high in the gathering dark
watching and waiting for what would come next

there was a path they could see from the beach
leading up through bushes into evergreen trees
a well-trodden path they did not dare 
for they could see footprints there in the sand
a female foot they feared as much as a giant
if not Polyphemus who but Calypso or Circe
how else to explain what was happening
if this island existed 
they were far off course
on their way to Odessa 
they’d encountered brute force

Donal stood guard having taken the watch
cheerful if apprehensive 
they were safe because magic had brought them here
they would need magic and more to slay the minotaur

3

Donal stood guard his back to the boat
watching the approaches to the sandy beach
only to find on hearing noise in the rigging
sails unfurling as the craft made way
leaving the cove blown by a whipped-up wind
he’d been abandoned standing in moonlight
alone on the beach in sudden silence
wake waves slapping the sandy shore

Donal gazed at the moon in the azure water 
thinking an omen his shadow slanted
meeting a full moon’s reflection in the cove
backlit by the moon he saw his dead brother
come into the light his mother his father
his grandfather too whom Donal never knew
dressed in the uniform he wore in that war
against another generation’s minotaur

he saw they were smiling as if in a photo
he hoped they looked proud of him
he thought they did for they faded away
a cloud was passing the moon was shaded
he turned to find those footprints explained
barefoot clad in a peplos her hair falling free
Aphrodite? coming down the path to confront him
to ask him what once was unanswered

why did you come?  what brings you here?
dumbfounded he knew he’d bare his soul 
to this white clad goddess
an owlet on her wrist 
a raven on her shoulder
a spirit mother of the muses?  
Mnemosyne?

she spoke a language he thought was Greek
but her meaning was clear and her questioning deep
as the moon set over the enchanted hill


4


Her questions were rhetorical
she answered them herself
he heard her speaking Greek
which he suddenly understood

Strophe antistrophe
she questioned then answered
explaining with an epode
hooting in his mind

An owlet and a raven
a snake coiled around her waist
she put him to the test
told him he’d have no rest

Dark matter matters
separates life from death
dark matter moves us
in ways she would not tell

When your brain expands you touch it
its dark matter makes you tough it
trips you when you fall 
ignores you when you call
What’s that about a minotaur?
tyrants rise and fall
shunned by all

You won’t find him in Odessa
go no further on your quest
you have an education
that’s why you feel oppressed
leave this island with my blessing
do not return the raven croaked
do not, do not 

There were footprints in the sand
where she had stood
walked from him into the dark
come daylight he’d build a raft from wood
now that he understood

Inspired to make a raft from driftwood planks
tied with rope he found on the beach
he paddled away from the island into the open sea
trusting that just as in mythology
he’d find safe harbor
instead, he found the craft he’d steered 
at anchor awaiting a crew…

5

He’d clambered on deck of the small sailboat
tethered the raft he’d made
shook off fair warning from the gods
found a following wind like a trade
making the shrouds shriek
urging him on to Odessa

which God it was had held him in her thrall
had treated his motive with derision
how many greater warriors had she seen
than he, liars braggarts bigots all
a following wind dispelled indecision
he steered for what might be not what might have been

what might be might not be epic
no shore in sight uncharted waters
going where the wind directed
all unrehearsed destination unspecific
always onward and if the wind falters
he’ll lie becalmed his thoughts uninterrupted

he ran before the gale not thinking just sailing
watching for dangers scanning the sea
knowing it safer to ride out the storm
than risk breaking the tiller by turning
upwind he was a Viking by ancestry
he’d let this wind let his future form

this wind he knew was a gift from the gods
to slay a minotaur first he must find it
a modern version operating everywhere
no longer human not even half, a demigod
supply chain of explosives, engines, rockets
profitable attrition all going nowhere

6

You must love words how they sound what they say
How they make life meaningful everyday
How relationships start when words entangle
Enclose two people in an unseen bangle
That loops from eye to mind and mind to eye
Biochemistry making one laugh or cry

Words can do whatever words say cannot be done
Digitized their meaning becomes an impression
Meaning maybe more or less what was meant when said
Interpreted by algorithms that when all done
Ascribe a weight to words before compression
Fed to streaming feeds that are widely read

As all Rome knows words get away with murder
Nobody believes the truth anymore
A design of despots or just how it is?
Democracy dismantled girder by girder
Caesar reinterpreting all rules of law 
No Cato to stand between us and the abyss

Words cannot express as the saying goes         
How incomprehensible collective fear is
Caesar’s ambition is endless his ego’s exploding
He’s continually testing what damage he’ll do
Will there be someone he’ll say “Et tu” to?
Will words in the Bill of Rights still be adhered to?

7

At dawn awash in real light not electric
after a night becalmed Donal noticed dew drops
sparkling in sunlight in the sailboat’s attic
a metaphor high up in the shroud tops.
A well-positioned web with little hope of flies
a spider’s food supply at risk far from land
but a spider can wait weeks before it dies
while a soldier in a trench must make a last stand.
A spider existing aloft bereft its supply chain
showed Donal the way to slay the minotaur
destroy his supply lines so he’d have to proclaim
some kind of victory to explain the slaughter.
And then his spell broken and with his end near
An uprising makes the minotaur disappear.

So Donal set sail with spider webs glistening
giving him a compass to steer west-northwestward
shouting defiance with no one listening
for he was alone going purposefully forward
Irishly planning programming a master graph
showing nodes and connections of a war machine
allowing discoveries without any math
because visualization lets human eyes key in
to high value targets on a cinema screen
handheld in the field by a wounded warrior
able to guide stealthy weapons in between
defenders attacking without fear or favor.
Reaching for Odessa by a circuitous route
sunshine on his shoulder his mind astute.


Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                       2025





Tuesday, October 7, 2025

On Stage with Briseis
Act 1, Scene 1

A Work in Progress
77


Orion in the night-sky
striding the dark before dawn 
intent on arriving

sudden dark on stage
but for a spotlight


Here I am
stuffed in an old brown pocket at the end of a passage
the day all hunched and crabbed and out of shape
its smooth harmonies of light and order
disrupted

I find myself in a knot
of hours too tangled to unravel
I shall have to wait for another night
to let a smooth span of time unwind
until it reaches the tumor and sticks again
                          can't someone cut it away?
set things free - I want to play
a straight game

            I am told - here is Christ
       is Christ    
ever    the Logos-Image
all times seek    all fragmentary complex vision
at peace here   in one action
mind-heart  rest
                       
                        the silence presses steel-plates over my ears
the clock's swing is too regular
stunted light shafts slant brown
through the glazed pane     threatening snow
            I am alone
wavering
            what to do?
                        where to go?
here
            with my misgivings and desires
challenging shadows
which circulate
diminishing
blood

Speak to me
silence may be your vowels
I need consonants for clarity in this sphere
where I lie with my head against your ribs
too near to see you
do something
breathe
break this picture for me

Show me your face
your hair    your blood falling
it is mirrored in my eyes
yours are closed    their lids quiver
your whole face seems to breathe
flesh lips to whisper    words which are
fertile silences fed by the sun's golden tides

Where is your voice?
I hear it constantly sound through my mind
one tone   and I experience   a lifetime of relief
as though that were all I need

You have given me darkness
parceled it out    generous
not afraid I should squander it
            watch
I will spark it into electric gestures
invest the night with streaking necklaces
your stars are concealed      a white harvest
You shan't get the better of me. *

                            *

Briseis removes her Poor Clare costume
She becomes H.D.

I envy you your chance of death,
how I envy you this.

Enter Aldington, on leave from the Army entrenched in France.

fire in the throat
rush of rasping breath
flames flicker in these eyes
this tortured head

hands are blackened
these hands once held the sun
 
this: pulsing, reddening, momentary coal
shriveled by black sun

and these
these signs of red in the Night

now waking at night from a half sleep
                                    of prostitution
hearing the whore's voice
at the comfortable time of ease
above the street
above the suppressed Earth
upon his knees
weeping for her love
her embrace
alone

alone with the bones of old loves
and the warmth of this lament

             *

within this flame
within the yellow within the red
within these sparks at the edge of flame
burns an arrangement
an agreement of atoms

one direction differs little from another
lines of longitude curve over the planet, transpolar
re-arrive at starting points

though singers sing less
songs are not less than they were
and singers not less than the singers
although all prophets become false
in that polar area
where the compass points less truly
to the north assumption

*

Boy
you better go along with all the others
into it with all the mothers blendle sons
who blunt the war and bring us
bring us, caul the mothers
mothers send you sons
mothers blendle sons
brought us into the war
        
into all of that
you go
they said
shoving their sons out
into all of that
& their fathers shoved before them
and they all shoved
and a shit
and that was the siege end
tho their sons lay numberless
strands like sheep's wool
caught on barbed wire.

                        *
H.D.

I envy you your chance of death
how I envy you this
I am more covetous of him
even than of your glance,
I wish more from his presence
though he torture me in a grasp
terrible, intense.

Though he clasp me in an embrace
that is against my will,
and rack me with his measure,
effortless yet full of strength,
and slay me
in that most horrible contest,
still, how I envy you your chance.

Though he pierce me with his lust,
Iron, fever and dust
though beauty is slain
when I perish,
I envy you death. **

      Curtain


      Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                              2025

      * copyright © Pamela Chalkley
                                    from a letter to Dick Russell
     ** copyright © H.D. (from Envy)


Sunday, October 5, 2025

Meanwhile, back on set…

A Work in Progress
76


Everyone had left
Donal remained on stage amid a cast of ghosts
given substance by words

in the script
one of Glenn Hughes’ students
had cast Ezra Pound to play himself as well
 as Callimachus presiding over Ptolemy’s library
where he would be an opinionated
cantankerous court poet 
confronted 
by…

she’d cast Briseis from The Iliad to play all the female parts
Lesbia, Ariadne, H.D.
only once the actress avatar for Briseis got trained
by absorbing digital movies literature and social media 
scraped from the world wide web
she wanted to sue all those who had raped her
inspired by E. Jean Carroll

And Ezra’s avatar became Ezra only more so
a compendium of all known literature
the story of his tribe
along with a cast of extras all inoculated by AI
milling about waiting for a call

A dilemma Donal would have liked to discuss
with Glenn Hughes but he was also a ghost
having first proposed actors play multiple parts
they’d all be archetypes keep the budget down 

Ezra and Bacchus and Callimachus
Lesbia Ariadne and H.D.
Aldington Theseus and Catullus
only for his student to cast Briseis to play H.D.
Briseis chosen from Homer’s epic 
whom she thought would give voice to women
even now three thousand years later
suppressed by males 

AI had wrenched her digital characters 
from the Internet’s archive and animated them
changing Briseis from Homer’s conception
a prize slave girl for the Achaeans to vie for
to a woman with a past she’s now going to slay for

Suddenly Briseis jumped from the laptop
stood there before him…


Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                        2025





Act 2, Scene 5 A Work in Progress 93 Briseis comes back on set, swinging easily over the windowsill into the room, closing the sash window b...