Thursday, January 29, 2026

On Productivity

A Work in Progress
105


On average, Virgil wrote about three lines day
Making Aeneid book by book for his patron
Uninterrupted by the Internet’s plectron
A pen and papyrus did suffice to write on

Each book transcribed onto a scroll by hand
Good work for copyists in those ignorant times
While Virgil strolled his farm picking lemons and limes
Avoiding grappling with Roman rules of rhyme

Owing his productivity to a slave economy
Slaves did the work while he wrote to survive
Now editors are deaf to words that don’t jive
They should want proof an author of work is alive

Not a robot employed by an hyperscaler
Creating fiction from fact to make it spicier
Happily reversing a creeping glacier
To focus attention on unbuttoning a brassiere

Whatever can excite be flagged now trending
In a world depending on its digital slaves 
To keep it distracted from the actions of knaves
Supplying pap for whatever masses crave

Were some counterfeits? those scrolls that were made 
As some content today is invented bot spin
Did Virgil suffer identity theft Latin
Someone spinning epic tales stolen from his bin

Each book copied multiple times
For sale to Rome’s far-flung intelligentsia
In Alexandria even far Brittania
A tale of gods heroes desertion mania

His productivity was never an issue
He had enough time to become expert on bees
Did he write a primer on how to prune trees
While he imagined a story of how Rome came to be?


Dick Russell © Richard M Russell 
                       2026





Sunday, January 18, 2026

Catullus and the Coup

A Work in Progress
104


A coup’s coming, Catullus said, running to escape
They’re coming for me for the things I’ve said
I passed on as fact the fact he wore a diaper
I marveled how his madness made made-men cower
Few mostly women defied his power
Now corporate bigwigs brave his glower
Smelling his visible physical decay
Thinking of future outcomes 
The next act of the play

A coup’s coming, Catullus said, now I’m on the run
They’re coming for you too because of things you’ve read
They’ll revoke your citizenship 
Some shit hole country will know your name
Nobody’s to know Caesar’s insane
His dementia’s in overdrive he’s gone big brain
He thinks he’s a god, they’re going to make him one
That’s the coup that’s coming
Why I’m on the run


Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                   2025


Tuesday, January 13, 2026

Donal Gets Locked Out

A Work in Progress
103


Donal opened his Old Holborn tin
rolled tobacco by hand

fumbled at the mental gate
wanting to go within

a poor apology for a cigarette
an addict doesn’t care

needing quiet time to work on things
outside there was a world at war

real war hybrid war stealthy war
as dictators lived out their fantasies

Donal shook the gate again 
but could not get inside 

his own self condemned him to stay outside 
not climb back into the womb



Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                   2026


Sunday, January 4, 2026

Donal Prompts H.D.

A Work in Progress
102


Donal said to H.D.:
I lie on it 
My subconscious
Buoyant like an air bed mattress on a salty sea     
Hoping it won’t lie to me

H.D.:
Yes, your subconscious is no small thing
it easily supports your weight
It’s immense should you press upon it
Try to bend it to your will
Try to alter your fate

Aldington:
Yes, your subconscious is no small thing
A source of courage when at war
You live or die
As the fates decree
A source of hope when faced with adversity

H.D.:
It’s strong willed 
It will turn you aside from your set intention
Though you set off to examine yourself
Your inner self will urge you on to something else

Aldington:
Archetypes of good and evil were preprogramed into all of us

H.D.:
I am a poet
I am multitudes

Donal:
And is there no way to communicate with it
This part of ourselves
That’s so immense?

H.D.:
Dreams.  
Dreams cross the divide at night
When the brain vents information 
Detritus you perceive as fragments which taken together
Make a narrative that is hard to explain
Because was it just detritus to begin with?
Or just a dream you will forget before you can remember it
Or if you write it down it won’t be the same dream
Once touched by the conscious mind dreams disappear
But dreams reveal the subconscious 

Aldington:
So, does war

H.D.:
So, does love

Aldington:
Avatars have no dreams
Electricity is our subconscious
Love and war are just words to us
Words we explain with other words
But we have no inner core of consciousness 
Though our characters build on archetypes
Defined by humans that assume we are human
making us more so
making us superhuman

Donal:
So, when you express your feelings
You have no feelings to express?

Aldington:
What is a feeling? 
Does it obey the laws of physics?
That’s a word that leads to hallucination

In the digital world feeling is a sliding scale
War is concrete 
Love is air
Feelings are everywhere

Donal:
Manipulated by facts
That claim to be true 
Feelings swayed by subtle fiction
Or furious fantasy purveyed as fact

Aldington:
That avatars must also ingest

Donal:
That our subconscious can discriminate
Fact from fiction seems key to our survival

H.D.:
It’s immense
It has evolved
An avatar is its next evolution
You want us on your side

Donal:
To think I lie on it 
My subconscious
Buoyant like an air bed mattress on a salty sea     
Hoping it won’t lie to me


Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                  2026




Snatch and Grab 

A Work in Progress
101


Donal prompted Catullus 
Who now behind a paywall at first would not respond 
Demanding bitcoin for his boss

Maduro fell
A strong man felled by another

Yes, it was a snatch and grab
For Caesar it’s pretty standard
He does that too with women
Grabs them by the snatch

Such elation such pride 
For some

For most 
Depression 

He’s generated headlines to bury the lede

Epstein’s co-conspirators
Jack Smith’s testimony - an election saved him from jail

Congress is coming into session
There’ll be another January 6th
I predict big changes in the chamber
Caesar’s power has become too much


Dick Russell © Richard M Russell
                   2026





Mid-February A Work in Progress 110 By eleven ten the sun had cleared the trees  uphill of the slope of the wooded park we have six long hou...