then ...
we watched
a world weeping
blood …
a villain's twisted hope
humanity's horror
steel like butter
melting …
strange birds in stranger
air - flailing …
sirens in chorused agony for
those whose voices
were silenced …
perfect azure vault, stained
with poison ...
breath of ashen
brutality -
the incense for an
evil anointing …
a somber search for
survivors -
for bodies, answers, hope
for God ...
death screamed at
the sky and
opened the keep -
truth tumbling into the
darkness …
two decades down, yet
it still trembles
whispers ...
waits.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photograph of twisted metal taken at backside of Ground Zero by Anne Buber )
the towers burned -
billows roiling and twisting
into azure
an oily, angry monster to
thrash the morn
consuming two flowers of steel
raping a world of its
innocence ...
the petals fell -
colors fluttering
in the balmy breath of
late summer …
precious petals, rich with
limbs and lives and
loves, that plunged the sunny
splendor, screaming
turning earth to
crimson ...
the heavens wept -
poisoned tears
of mad malice, careless caliphates
crying ashen sin from
a foreign sky -
shrouding a free world,
brought to its knees … where it
found its greatest
strength.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
Month eight
was great
month nine
will shine
hot days
sun rays
turn cool
the rule
as fall
will call
to change
arrange
new scenes
by means
new glow
bestow
with red
instead
plus gold
to hold
our view
as new
landscapes
escape
dark greens
serene
will fade
leaves laid
to keep
asleep
month nine
will shine
The flawless Nebraskan sky hummed her blue tunes as I drove to work along that silent gravel road. Elegant white clouds wept as they gazed upon the chaos and dead innocence unfolding across the country.
I stared ahead as adrenaline carried me toward town and the need to begin again. The sounds of screams that had jolted me from my television still jolted my heart. Fireballs of horror exploded within my frightened soul.
Hours passed as I tortured my mind with gruesome details no one should ever have to know. Falling bodies and broiled flesh were too horrifying to imagine. The thought of a looming war was beyond my comprehension.
One quarter of a century has passed since that unimaginable Day.
If you don't remember that Day, then I envy you.
If you do remember that Day, then I hope Peace has adopted you.
Devil’s metal eyes can sense a vandal,
you’ll need substance to make me melt.
There’s a limit to what I can handle,
my emotions aren’t made of element 79.
Seen as solid and built to shoulder it all,
even a magnetic draw fades with tarnish.
Viewing me as trivial was your downfall,
strength not respected leads to a welt.
Hot heads lose in the heat of a brawl.
In appreciation of Jimi Hendrix and Mary Shelley
I am sick of minor authorities,
and my boring life, and those stupid fools -
of my job, order, and priorities.
Strike this mundane existence and these rules.
Rise, Jimi, with your electric guitar.
Ghost of your wild, psychedelic flower -
flash stirring midnight lightning from afar.
Jolt me with true, tempestuous power.
Nature, release me from the doldrums' grip,
Blast away, these cloudless, temperate days.
Come on baby, bring it. Now, let 'er rip.
Light up this flesh, these bones through purple haze,
Like Frankenstein and his beautiful wife,
the lightning and thunder bring this beast life.
What is on the other side? “He asks
Well I say, “There might be a loch, or a waterfall, or nothing at all.”
We won’t know until we get to the other side.
“I don’t want to go to the other side!” He says
“I want to go home”
“No we’re halfway there. We’re going to the other side”
“I’m thirsty” he screams
“I’m hungry” He wails
“I’m tired” He cries
“There’s a cafe at the other side”
“Cool” he states as he runs off to the other side.
In twilight's whisper, your gaze unfolds,
A tapestry woven with threads of gold,
Where shadows dance, and secrets entwine,
In the quiet pulse of your heart with mine.
Your laughter, a melody that sweeps through the air,
Like brushstrokes of sunlight on canvassed despair,
Each syllable lingers, a soft, tender sigh,
As moonlight paints silver on the edge of goodbye.
In dreams, I chase the tail of your smile,
Through gardens of longing that stretch for a mile,
With petals of passion, each moment we share,
Is a whisper of love, an echo of care.
So hold me close, as the night drapes its veil,
In the embrace of forever, our spirits set sail.
In the tiny panel room, there’s a distant sound of thunder:
we huddle together, instinctively even though we are not acquaintances
two people caught in a small space while Armageddon happens around us
We exchange first names; I know this is the end
I have already seen several colleagues leap to their death
the woman has torn her pantihose; there are remnants of sash in her hair
her forehead has slashes of soot across it
I never expected this, I told her
an inner voice told me we had to get to a stairwell
We are 82 floors up! I argued. The voice was insistent.
I lift her with me, and force her to head down those stairs
It is dark and dreary. Evil is lurking around every corner.
My heartbeat has never sounded this loud.
That was 9-11-2001.
We are still good friends 24 years later.
It was so sad; she was only sixty-nine my friend said.
I was glad we were on the phone, so she could not see my expressions.
nothing sad about a sixty-nine-year-old with dementia dying in her sleep.
dying slowly in a mean, horrible cancer death when you are two is worse.
A young person committing suicide is worse.
A sixteen-year-old who texts and crashes their car is worse.
A woman with dementia dying peacefully in her sleep is grace.
I keep these thoughts to myself.
My father had dementia; it is not a Ferris wheel ride.
My mother was begging for death.
Cancer went from her lungs to her bones and her brain.
That is a horrific death.
Dying peacefully in your sleep at sixty-nine
this is what most of us can only hope for.
Instead, we are taken young and in brutal manners.
It has been nine months since you died
the same amount of time it takes for a baby to grow
inside a mama's body
you were indeed a part of me,
and your death was literally losing a part of myself
I do know that you know peace now
that you hadn't known on earth since your
mental health diagnosis but I miss your
beautiful face, your voice, and your most
amazing stuffing squeezing hugs
We will meet again, my son,
you are loved and missed!
'You'll grow', I long to say
'And no one cares how much you weigh'
But I cant tell you how I feel -
I know, I grew to be a buzz kill.
You're already carrying too much;
Mine would hurt to the touch,
Stay sweet and she wont get worse,
Believe me - it's not a curse.
You'll learn soon that life's not fair,
No matter how much you care
And it could all be taken in an instant -
Even if you feel indifferent.
I'll warn you for the future,
I'm sorry - I wasn't kind to you as a teenager
But I'm trying more now
Even if me and dad still row.
See, there, I made you smile -
I know you haven't seen that in a while.
I make sure now, that smile obeys
I wish for you that this wasnt a phase.
But the sadness sticks around,
Lingering in the background -
Don't be upset, please, its not your fault.
Even when it burns like salt.
89 this month, the Bulls’ owner has no clue
who to trade or what to do
The product out there now on the floor
worth less than a syphilitic whore
Gave away the team’s brightest stars
rest of the league’s passing out cigars
Made Old, Slow Joe Biden look sharp
He should have left with MJ* – at the top
Jerry Reinsdorf, if you don't call it quits
At you, Bulls’ fans are itching to spit
*Michael Jordan, who left the Bulls back in 1998
Perceiving the passing parade of people
walking by outside my window
a never-ending stream an endless tide
they come and go on a never-ending ride
nine-to-fivers barely alivers
running round and round on a wheel
lost in a maze can they really be real
the passing parade will always be there
while the world spins and goes its own way
the passing parade has nothing to say
while the world turns another day
perusing the passing parade of people
wandering by outside my front door
a never-ending crowd an endless horde
they're still keeping a never-ending score
weekend warriors none more sorrier
racing round and around in a wheel
lost in a daze do they ever even feel
there are those with noses high in the air
who can't smell the roses totally unaware
and others with eyes held down on the ground
never taking the time to look around
Two hundred and forty-nine years of freedom, away from our oppressors
Let’s celebrate big time with fireworks, friendship and food
Let your orange, white and greens fly high and proud
Pledge to protect peace, unity and diversity
India is here, India is cheer, we are one, strong and fit.
Twp hundred and forty-nine years of freedom, away from our oppressors
August the fifteenth is our day to fly our flags and shine.
To show that we value democracy and appreciate our freedom.
Patriotism will be in full swing, our food and friendships will flow.
We will show our pride in ourselves and each other.
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