holy river's edge
cameramen flash,politicians
staged humility.
Mallory the cat needs a bit of a rest, he’s older than me.
Nothing to see, I tell the neighbors. He’s just up in a tree.
Gawkers come by and lambast me for letting him rest.
Up in his regular place, his tree where he is blest.
He has been sitting up there since he was a kitten.
He’s fine, I reassure them, he looks rather smitten.
Some want to rescue him, which is weird to me.
After all, Mallory is my cat, he is hurting no one up in a tree.
Cameramen from the paper came by and took a quick flash.
They put Mallory on the front page, and it made kind of a splash.
He’s out there today, sitting stoically, turning away from the street.
Loving it that so many coaxers are offering him a come-on-down-treat.
This land of black boxes and sharp eyes
where everything is in underground cellar
lives in ardent luxury of persons that are
saints by day and pirates by night
When the sun comes out from her bedroom
saints rise with it clumsy to forge active life
one can see acts of charity escape their fingers
but the heart lies in protest of the wastage
Good tidings squat on their lips in public
notebooks are published to popularize them
songs are chanted with intent to beautification
to elevate the persons for great holy sacrifice
But let the sun go to sleep in its rosy bedroom
saints by day spring into pirates most lethal
as they hold waists of fat women of joy
and dance pop music in their names’ glory
Black boxes, black wine bottles are broken
contents shared and celebrations made
cameramen climb down from planes in haste
to cover sacred event in honor of saints by day
But no one has the courage to speak out
about these saints by day and pirates by night
though the high seas they sail and loot
have scars inscribed on victims’ foreheads
War, a fairy and dreaded guest
Visits hosts with clenched iron fist
Red eyes to observe extended family
And deaf ears to hear songs of tears
On his back he carries hoe and spade
To prepare new homes for his hosts
Dogs with him to scatter feast-bones
Cameramen to decode and deny events
When war relaxes on visitor’s seat
Women, children begin to count stars
Plants start to enjoy their floral rights
Brutality of the hoe, cutlass vanishes
War, the vicious and carefree visitor
Stings with venom of no known cure
Today we are…
by Odin Roark
The weapons of indifference
Unconsciously remote controlling
Weapons of terror
We are the children
With raised arms above our heads
We are the miscreants whose weapons
Remain pointed at the children of
Raised arms above their heads
As boots on the ground
And drones on high take aim
We are the TV watchers with lowered gaze
Unable to fathom the depraved whose
Weapons hold steady on the children
Whose arms are weakening from holding
High their innocent arms that
Tremble with frozen moments of terror’s end
The silence that will soon be shattered
By the villain whose finger also tires
Of holding destiny by a trigger pull
And all the while…
We watch the tube
As cameramen capture the waiting sadness
To provide more watching as
We decide
Popcorn buttered
Or
A stiff pull
On the flask of artificial patience
Oh the challenge…
CNN or twitter feed
Fox exploitation or
BBC’s stiff upper lip
After all
We are safe
Right?
For now
We can party later tonight
And tomorrow
We’ll so easily become…
IRELAND’S RAIN
You don’t have to see it raining in Ireland to know that it is so
The Bay at Kenmare is always mist-covered and smelling of moisture -
As the clouds come sweeping in from the Atlantic you see the mist go
For a moment while the rain drops gather speed down into the water
The Irish use a strange word for rainy weather : it is is “soft”.
But an Irish day when the weather is ”hard” is hardly ever going to appear,
So for my money the word should be “wet” or “drab” - and used oft :
Then everyone would be clear as to why the sky is not clear.
Those photos you see in postcards where Ireland’s lush green fields fold
Into the arms of mellow sunbeams and are warmed gently by the smiles
Of an Irish sun must have been taken by cameramen who waited untold
Months so they could catch the rare beam through the misty miles.
When you visit the Emerald Isle take a variety of clothing to wear.
For summer, a light rain coat, small umbrella, and perhaps a plastic hood.
For winter, a heavy raincoat - or two, and rubber boots - a pair.
In autumn and spring these same items will ensure your holiday is good.
The camera crews were out in force
Lined up, a dozen deep;
Hoping when their prey emerged,
They’d get a glimpse or peep.
They made me think of vultures
As they circle in the sky,
Just waiting for their target
To give up the ghost and die.
Both cameramen and vultures
Do their thing so they can eat.
Their victims can’t do anything
But suffer their defeat.
I’m not exactly sorry for
The man accused of rape.
It’s time for him to face the fact
He’s trapped and can’t escape.
Yet seeing all those cameras
Poised and aimed just like a threat,
I wonder if we need to see
The pictures that they’ll get.
Ilene Bauer (http://primetimerhyme.blogspot.com)
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