Tyranny can start in innocous ways.' In nudges and flattery
Setting a stage.' It can be mocking.? And hectoring' quote
Morality with invective stings' its antidote i am considering? Which may well need to be a charge against
Its political wing.? With no further deliberation i advise..
Overwhelming assinine-ations.' A large dose of their own
Medicine.' Would clear up much; of the mess we are now in.'
A mob of crows conflate a raucous debates
with sweet songs.
They gather
on the broken branches of Autumn,
they fill the leafless spaces
that now are only naked windows
for a colorless sky.
An ad hoc hectoring
of dark and light notes shakes a cold wind -
a song sheet for the fallen and failing.
If you watch and listen
to that black-winged rabble
all will turn into the glossy iridescence
of ethereal harp music
played solo upon the few twigs left
within these stark woods.
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.
I turn on the television
the newsreader in hectoring tones
recites
his sorry litany;
Emergency
Catastrophe
Disaster
Death
so I turn the television off;
notice how loud
the birdsong is this evening
and search for
other words;
Generosity
Gratitude
Tenderness
Love
Spring bathes in gold tonight
-and by such light
hope slowly grows
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.
Family visit.
Biological love is what we first experience
Walking as in trance but everyday life takes the gloss off
Children are a nuisance, but they are us and we love them
But are helpful when we are old
...And then we discover love I mean true love a day
Without her voice even when it is hectoring and it
Invites loneliness. But the reason for this that lonely people
Think more about death and fear dying alone.... forgetting we
All die alone, no one follow us into Hades.
She has always been on my side and I have tried to be on
her side I have failed a few times, but now that we are old it
Is melted snow, the type that lingers on a tree’s
North facing site in a sunken hollow.
If I have said anything I don’t want to know suspicion is
a wrong emotion. So our love is based common suspicion,
Upon not talking about the past and be glad when grand
Children visits – if they are yours or not-
And when they have gone there is silence while we wait
For the man with the scythe to come knocking.