I …
saw a
person today …
mocking the murder of a good man -
making fun of a horrific death
that had played out before the eyes of children
on a sparkling bright, joyous day -
their pure memories, now defiled with blood …
I waited … and waited more
for I half expected the heavens to rend
and a bolt of lightning to strike
this person down …
that’s how egregious this was -
how utterly … disgusting
but all I saw was people celebrating and
cheering this blatant beast of a human
all I heard was the acrid, revolting
sound of derisive laughter …
and I realized then humanity had crossed
a new and remarkable line
where malice and animosity and intolerance -
where the precepts of HATRED -
have become something to celebrate
something … to be proud of …
my knees buckled, my spirit crumbled
and my broken heart wept
for what this new reality might mean to
the futures of my grandchildren
and the precious destiny
of their …
world.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
The earth has many components
So is a human being
Unwrapping of a sequence
The moon has many faces
So is a lie
Unwrapping of a truth
It is a pattern,
Is it the memorandum?
Being played out
An amazement of characters
Is it the plan?
Being formulated
Eagerness of personalities
It is a norm,
The sea has many entries
So is the mind
Unwrapping of a soul
The ocean has many layers
So is the mountain
Unwrapping of a planet
It is a pattern.
OF BOOMARANGING INJUSTICE
No, we can’t say it didn’t happen; it did!
Senate produced and White House directed.
Improvised and played out before our eyes:
And they said the revolution wouldn’t be televised.
However, just check out daily Breaking News
Of Trumpian overtures being played out in classical
Themes of constitutional comedies of errors:-
(And the beat goes on.)
Where noosing ropes once stretched
And pulled innocent necks, we must now take hands
And pull down inking votes, noosing injustice!
Now, in the present of the future’s past, we must show
That truth spat and dumped upon, shall rise again.
Come, let us throw the boomerang of reciprocity,
Shattering the bigoted “in” out of bloody injustice,
Rebirthing the mountaintop of gained justice/-
Remember, it’s better to be aware than sorry:
Our confused and abused youth are watching us:-
Let not history again reduce ourstory to footnotes:
Let us continue to rise, with our eyes still on the prize.
(Let’s not be as Sisyphus; but as Jacob.)
Every small town along Interstate 80
told a story as my car tires sang.
They reminded me I’d been
with them before, still nestled
in fields of corn as they witnessed
each season as it passed. I surfed the radio
and with a second ear, learned to listen
for secrets the land revealed.
Downstate, locals said were true
to life, away from glistening towers
of Chicago as it rose on shoulders
of a lake that thought it was an ocean.
A friend once told me about
a woman who never drove the Loop.
A mother in a diner with two toddlers
told them to use their indoor voices
such excitement found, their lives
lying ahead. Her father nodded
to the memories they stirred.
Geneseo, Mineral and Princeton—
the story played out everywhere.
This I knew. I checked the oil
tires and gas before I started.
my car
a vessel for life
as it passes
Am I that never-ending poem
Shivering in alliteration’s chill
Age stumbling over “new” ideas
Youth shouting in the shadows
Words trapped in a myriad of madness
Tap dancing on bare feet
Meandering through the metaphoric memory
Of sardonic soliloquies
Now and then poetically posturing
Seeking to regain center stage
Reciting lines never to be heard
A performance for one, by one
An act played out on the curtain-less stage
A poem scratched on the edges of life
Forest fires in Canada
leave a haze in Iowa
and I can’t help but think
of how they have consumed
the land.
As I go for a Sunday drive
a wall cloud of smoke
in the sky before me
hides the sun
but the river
is at my side
rippling reflections
of sky.
A voice inside says
we must embrace
before it's lost
as I count the miles.
I round a curve
and for a moment I see
the face of someone
I loved as she smiled,
a memory unveiled.
Yet I know
fires are burning
out west
a story played out
every year.
I look into my self
and feel assured
as the sun emerges
and opens the skies.
for every charred trunk
that falls a seed
left in its wake
We are more than flesh, and blood, we have a soul you see,
our thoughts, feelings and emotions, is who we truly be.
With an earthy body, we play out our part,
straight from the emotions, the moving of our heart.
Sweet and bitter waters, flows through our veins,
as we live this life, for it’s earthly gains.
Thoughts, feelings, and emotions, how powerful they truly be,
when they are played out, by you and me.
Our thoughts moves our feelings, this is what we feel,
when mixed with emotions, now you know it’s real.
Perception is the key, to the knowledge in the heart,
positive being played out, in a negative start.
When you change your thoughts, your feelings also change,
in the heart, your emotions re-arrange.
Words bring forth life or death, to the soul you see,
forged together, thoughts, feelings and emotions, then played out by you and me.
“Key”
Thirty pieces of silver.
That ancient story of betrayal
sits shining next to thee,
It flips poetic meaning supernaturally.
We wonder how We came
to this Synchronicity.
The upturned face,
a legacy.
Seeking answers
listening to silence, unanswered.
The questions evade.
The mind lifts,
the sharp point drops its messages
into the grooves of other dimensions played out
like a child’s game where we wave in lyrics,
where the music silver lines the terra firma roads
along the landscape of Life’s turntable.
Inside you something turns, burning
a flame inside a Memory
presents a key.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
“In the sharp gust of love
My memory stirred
When time wreathed a rose
A garland of shame
Its thorn my only delight
War torn, afraid to speak
We dare to breathe
Majestic
Imperial
A bridge of sighs
Solitude sails
In a wave of forgiveness
On angels' wings…”
(Siouxsie & The Banshees)
Matthew 26 NIV
I have become removed
from the pulse of ordinary things.
The daily walk is no longer
calibrated by what I take in
but by the number of steps
measured by a pedometer
handcuffed to my arm.
Much of the world
goes unnoticed - pushed aside
to the periphery, too small
or distant to register interest
on the blunt sweep
of my senses.
Mostly, the world just passes
in a blur diminished by the glare
from thoughts played out
on the mind's internal screen.
Nothing seems anchored
but drifts inexorably towards
a distant point miraged
on the horizon of some
indeterminable fear.
And yet,
there are moments when
the world breaks through.
Yesterday, the soft, morning
light of the April sun glowed
on the outstretched wings
of a cormorant. It seemed
to hold itself in a posture
of prayer. I am redeemed
by seeing the wonder
in such ordinary things
and connect
to something deeper
where all of creation
has its origins,
made whole again.
The wind in the willows
Sometimes soughs, sometimes billows
Hand in hand with dancing leaves
With sunlight and shadow it weaves
Woven in the summer heat
In fancy born, a mysterious treat
A kaleidoscope of dark and light
Played out in wonder and delight
Upon a screen of sun kissed skin
A moment lived without an end
A feeling born, a memory kept
That danced upon us as we slept
the candle's haul —
blown from my lips on glass,
shearing fire falls
how the wick goes down,
left a shadow on smiling girl's cheeks from the frame,
picture played out now
stained
days
stay
the candle's haul —
left a shadow on smiling girl's cheeks from the frame,
stay
He flops at rest stops
hid by other sleeping truckers.
He likes the loneliness
as the cab windows gradually mist over
with smokey stars.
Rolling on,
cities of light flare upwards
and beneath them
are the unseen, the dead eyed
that hide under a metro-glare.
Amarillo, Detroit, Tacoma, Richmond,
places packed and stacked
with broken dreams and loose ends.
Just driving; hauling and honking.
No one looking.
Launderettes and liquor stores,
five finger fandangos in the back,
chicken wings and Jack D.
Atlantic City, Apalachicola,
soaking in the slipstream
while America looks somewhere else.
What are you watching America?
Sometimes he thinks
only the coyotes are paying attention.
Roads thread through his fingers.
The Great Lakes shimmer,
Rockies rear-up and ripple,
all those dust painted
played-out rural towns,
the roads are his tunnel
through both beauty and depredation.
Old men on roadside benches
stare unphased by his air horn blare'
as if he himself were an 18-wheeled
rolling exhibit of America itself,
yet no one looks long enough
to care.
In nineteen fourteen there was the reality of a war, it was not wanted ( we were taught ) yet after 'two weeks.?' It would be
Over.! And what is more peace, would be
Forever..This was worth dying for.! Then
In the nineteen fortys in Germany those
holiday camps were built.' There were such great promises for any interested they
Were value to the hilt.' You were to be taken by rail, to where the air was clear plenty of exersize to tone your body there
Would be carnivals also to give you cheer
Twenty twenty and we needed a plan.' As
Heroes in unity, our health systems we were told could barely stand to a virulent
Attacker that would all before it sweep.'
And
In order to get the curve down flat there was a ' crucial vital two weeks?' There was
Bonhom'ie and denying youself..To the point of reporting anyone to assured of their integral health integrity, tested for thousands of years..Ridicule and ostracize
Was the advice.? Is how it played out i fear
I don't know about the reader.? But there almost seems a continous thread.? There
Is more than once the promise of great good times.. And they were only a fortnight
Ahead.)
I will pick you up out of the fire, shake off all the dust,
set you up, where thief’s can’t break in, nor you treasure rust.
I will dress you in fine linen, thats beyond, any compare,
white for you, your natural complexion, being so fair.
Now just to teach you, how it’s done you see,
a brand new life, that’s paid in full, by me.
Watch each thought carefully, for the feelings that they bring,
for those thoughts of death, will bring forth their sting.
Beware of every feeling, for emotions they will be,
from every emotion, an action follows you see.
We all know about actions, the one’s thats been played out,
how they brought forth, their heart aches, misery and doubt.
With every breath, guard your words, be careful what you speak,
be careful what you look for, you find just what you seek.
Choose your close ones wisely, be careful what you do,
and trust, I will always, be here with you.
Ahh the shadows hello old friends
Under dark skies which over me bends
Within its folds it jealously keeps
The watch over me as I sleep
Heeding the peal of dreaming's knell
The sleeper awakes in mystic spell
Ballads from some unknown sage
Played out upon no earthly stage
Revelations wide and deep
Knowledge belonging only to sleep
I tread these trails both near and far
That begin and end with but one door
To pass beyond a fare is bade
Unwillingly the price is paid
Relinquishing the treasures lent
I awake with only wonderment
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