Diverted Poems

Alien Invasion

Fear of the Outsider, the interloper, the alien
Is as old as humanity itself.
Xenophobia doesn’t just apply to someone foreign 
And “not like us”,
It applies to anyone who may threaten 
Our way of life, the status quo, the norm
And way “it’s always been.”
From local bar to climbing crag, surfing beach, 
Ghetto corner, and Union shop floor,
The locals, sometimes multigenerational deep,
Tend to claim their turf
With the worst of human qualities;
Fear and loathing
Sublimated into snide ostracism, 
Backstabbing gossip and withering looks
If not fully expressed with seething hate 
Slander, bullying and assault.
Meanwhile life goes on for the Xeno
Head down, eyes averted, pathways diverted,
While in their heart
They recognize the love their haters have
For their cherished way of life and ground
Is not exclusive
And no different from their own.

(9/6/25)

Phoenix Arizona

I have some fruit trees in my backyard. 
Cooler dawns we ripely say hello, sweet
and sour occasions~ the lemons you know.

With a little cooperation, fertilizer, a bit
more water when dry, I find mostly sand can
be quite agreeable, even in a desert.
Diverted irrigation, flooding the property 
every 2 weeks is a big help. Salt River
our wet angel. Occasionally the blanching Sun does feign 
sympathy: a bit Less luster, grace enough that allows
clouding for a blessed evening drench. Now and
then on rising, a gentler gleam, for lingering morning dew 
that does not go unnoticed and appreciated.  At times occurs
a suspicious, easier on the eyes, toning down of 
fiery afternoon skies~ maybe courtesy of UFO’s? I don’t know. 
This time of year, in Phoenix, very predictable
temperatures: Half past hot or a quarter to Hell.

What's a Poet To Do?

I sit and ponder, allow my mind to wander
And wonder about what I ponder
Then put pen to paper, begin to scratch and scribble
Hoping endless hoping that someone will read my dribble
And then reading perhaps exclaim
“This poem deserves acclaim”
crickets
Ahh, what’s a poet to do
But ponder through and through
Then wander further afar
Find a wonder so bizarre
And purchase a better pen?
Or find a muse now and then?
crickets
Philosophical I suppose
The writing of great prose
But my reason has deserted
And my talent’s been diverted
So I scribble more rhymes
And then try to bide my time
crickets

Today I will smash the old computer and count the air between us

Today I will smash the old computer and count the air between us,
I will burn the books for warmth, letting the ashes paint my glasses with memories,
and I will uproot the withered plant, sowing its seeds in the plastic flower,
a monument of memory without growth, an altar of silent stagnation.
I will walk the crowded road, speaking only to silence,
without exchanging a word with passing faces,
for the rules are heavy, and my silence, an unmovable mountain,
under the midday sun, I will seek my lost shadow,
trying to measure my height in absence, a phantom of light.
I will armor the poor, placing them in a ring,
rejoicing in the bloodied glory, a bath of triumph without splendor,
and I will be acutely lucid, proud of my diverted mind,
a mind that dances on the edge of reality, laughing at conventions.
In this lost horizon of thought, I find my balance,
in a world where absence becomes presence, and silence, a song without sound,
for in every absurd gesture, a new understanding is born,
and in every silent step, a world opens, full of magic and melancholy.

MORE WILDLIFE MADE HOMELESS

We see but grey where once was green
As bulldozers now scrape,
Turning a joyful rural scene
Into joyless landscape. 

The area was green-belt land
With forest and pasture 
But as our numbers still expand
We will invade nature.  

And so that farmland must give way
To high profit housing. 
Farming that land has had its day.
Let the plunder begin. 

First rip up each ancient hedgerow,
Take living loam away. 
Make space for luxury homes to go.  
The wildlife then must stray. 

Nests and burrows can play no part 
As man now owns this space. 
The construction work now can start 
And big profits then chase.  

Soon building projects in full swing. 
The stream that filled the pond 
Diverted to concrete piping 
In culvert underground.   

Aquatic habitats destroyed. 
Frogs, toads and newts homeless. 
Many wildlife species now void. 
But man could not care less.

MANIFESTO

MANIFESTO

Three words inscribed on a bullet
Finger on a trigger ready to pull it
This system that does not concede
Free healthcare at the point of need
Or each citizen having their own say
Then they express in their own way

It’s politically influential Big Pharma
That have a different kind of karma
Money not blood, is the circulation
Feeding each medical organisation
Donations keeps it just the way it is
Even when retribution begins to fizz

With certainties like death and taxes
Just where now indeed is that evil axis
Industries may be considered corrupt
As insurance fees are simply upped
What does it really take to lift the lid
Pushing the poor down the pyramid

Social medicine is seen as communist
The truth is diverted and then missed
It’s not capitalism in everyone’s sights
Or choosing to distort human rights
But money makes the world go round
Despite extortion often being found

Yet murder cannot justify a murder
Even in a kind of government purdah
A message has been sent, to be sure
Remember ‘Sicko’ by Michael Moore
And now the sense of injustice grows
From the words, Deny Defend Depose

space touring

We know it was a great fanfare 
when Elon Musk sent a Tesla car towards the stars
with a fully loaded battery
When the hoopla died down and eyes were diverted
to the everyday problems on earth
The car started by itself and began visiting planet Saturn
and little Pluto and other planets of interest
When the time is right and astronauts, say Mars and walking
down the ladder, seeing tire marks will exclaim
Truly, ancient man was here.

You Never Know

People ask, people pry,  
People come, people try.
Yet the sadness hidden inside remains unspoken,  
behind the masks, their silence faithfully unbroken. 

Conversations masked with laughter,  
Concerns diverted, dispersed soon after.  
Is it a mask? Is it real?  
No one (not even themselves) knows what they conceal.  

Yesterday the sun shone bright,  
Today the clouds drown out the light.  
Tomorrow, they’ll wear a smiley face,  
A painted smile, for others’ sake.  

News flash, people jump,  
Embracing shadows, feeling numb.  

When will the rainbow break the gloom?  

(It’s always the ones you don’t expect,  
Who stand on the edge of that cold ledge)

Woe To Hypocrites

They taught about the almighty. Did they love him ever?
Did they enter heaven, or allow others to enter?
Like surfaces of silent lakes, they looked calm and serene.
Underneath flew currents of whirlpools, tearing the marine

The poor were deserted like twigs of trees, they deserted.
Their hard earned wealth, into their own interests, they diverted
The oaths on the gifts of the altar of God was precious.
Should the mercy of God on the altar be infectious?

Millions of laws they made. Did they practice the law of love?
Did they think that they had fallen, like stars, straight from above?
Cleaning their vessels from outside was their eternal task.
Like white-washed catacombs, their reality was mere masks.

Woe to you, you told them. You teach laws, yet, lawless yourselves.
Each skeleton of those you had killed, remove from your shelves.

Nowhere Town

There's a stonewall near the village
     built to keep the people in
Or maybe to keep people out
     from where ever they have been

Nobody is a stranger here
     each has been here all their lives
Not one has gone into the world
     for it's here that one survives

The bells of freedom hang silent
     they no longer echo wide
The one that had controlled the ropes
     had just simply up and died

The writers of their history
     have left nothing out by chance
Proof readers do no overtime
     nothing needs a second glance

The last road has been diverted
     so that no one passes through
There's nothing left worth seeing now
     and nothing tourists can do

They've agreed at the town meeting
     old signs have been taken down
They're painting up a new one now
     it simply says "Nowhere Town"

Quintessentially Okay

Unheard voices cannot be spoken louder,
Unknown persons cannot be known quicker,
Unseen masks cannot be revealed sooner,
Unspoken words cannot produce a marker.

I died with a human once,
I made a voyage through the dead ship twice,
I forced someone quite a long ago,
I asked for his favour, leaving behind my ego.

You were quintessentially okay,
You were perfectly good,
You asked something beautiful,
You played something wonderful.

My throat never speaks quieter,
Your appearance is really better,
My head never thinks of someone else twice,
Your mind is never diverted from vice.

We will pay tribute to the sacred and profane at the same time,
Your gestures are unreliable to my paradigm,
You and I will begin the flight to the blessed hell,
Nobody, except me, can hold your hand throughout this expedition quite well.

I Loved My Life

I paint in series; same motif – haystacks, trees, cathedrals, water lilies.
normandy inspired many pencil sketches of sailing ships.
aunt Marie-Jeanne encouraged me; she was a generous painter.
boudin encouraged me to paint in open air, which was unheard of.

I worked with Renoir for a few months; we had similar tastes and canvases.
called them bad sketches, the beginning of the Impressionist period.
neverland called to me where I painted canals, boats, tulips and windmills.
I practiced drawing and painting an identical motif over and over.

best decision I ever made was to buy the marshlands across the road.
diverted the stream, creating a gorgeous new water lily garden.
weeping willows, iris and bamboo shot up, entertaining my paint brush.
meditated and painted there until I died at the happy age of eighty-six.

End of a Universe

An astronomer in Central Park
gazed at the starry sky.
How will it end, he asked the dark?
How will the universe die?
And as cosmology revolved, in his diverted mind:
The answer for him was solved:
A quick blow from behind.

Progress in Motion

All the shelves been emptied,
     there are no books left about;
Both hist'ries and the words
     become nothing but a shout.
Those in the old paintings
     that hang, but barely displayed,
Hold the names forgotten
    as places and faces fade.

The gardens are vacant
     for last year's crops are long gone.
This land's now for condos
     from this first day and beyond.
There will be no playgrounds,
     they are pulling down the schools;
Concrete jungle's coming
     as well as are private pools.

Mountains will disappear
     behind the large one way glass;
Rivers are diverted,
     there will be no mountain pass.
Trees come down for lumber,
     grass is turned over for roads;
Then come one acre blocks
     to the rich they will be sold.

If ones kept the paintings
     they are rich beyond compare;
They hold a heritage,
     yet so few here are aware.
Pride goes before the fall
     in all of this commotion;
What's left is flattened by
     the progress that's in motion.

Gambling In the Forest

Gambling in the forest took on a whole new flavor today.
The princess Adrianna joined us, bringing dice to the fray.
We shook them and threw them, hoping for the big win.
Antlered deer had trouble, his hoofs are so thick, not thin.

Barn owl came to join us, he likes red apples too.
We congratulated him on his flight and the way he flew.
Antlered deer asked us to give him another roll, please.
We said okay, but the dice flipped over against the breeze.

He is cheating! The spoiled pointy-hatted princess yelled.
An arrow came by, but it was quickly diverted and felled.
Gambling in the forest is great! Said the rabbit up high.
All I want is one apple the deer said with a cough and sigh.

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