September is a season in between,
where nature is silently changing.
Where what is grown becomes a harvest.
Where stocks of corn invite a harvest,
with longer nights and shorter days between.
To reap the fields in a season changing.
September for farmers is a time of changing.
When fields are plowed after the harvest,
as they move from fields to silos in between.
September's changing between seasons brings a harvest.
Russia outproduced the U.S. in artillery, in industry for war
The targets were in Ukraine, deaths that we deplore
The Russians haven't used nukes, Putin didn't allow
The missiles hit in another hemisphere:
for now.
China fortifies its island chains across the southern sea,
Building silos where nuke missiles will be.
It demands Taiwan, it hopes we will kowtow.
A buildup like we've never seen:
for now.
Jihadis rule Afghanistan and Syria too
Imposing in Africa a different world view
Nobody to stop them, will West Africa bow?
I might as well plant begonias:
for now.
Jews have been killed for being Zionist
I have to hope I'm not on some list
I see violence on TV, no sword into a plow
And the raging ocean laps my toes:
For now:
I try to maintain balance on a rope
It's not that I have a false hope
There are bills to pay, paths to wander
Limited time that I don't want to squander
I dread "now" when it finally becomes "then"?
When the storm front faces, when the bear leaves the den.
When we have to fight, but I don't know how
When what we hoped to avoid, becomes imminent now.
Dust
Red clay
Crunching between my teeth
Four long months before the pouring
rain You keep waiting
Wait
Wait for a sign that never
comes I see the gold in the weeds
Crows circle around the fence
Look up
Look at the fields
They're white now
They're white now
Ready to fall
Ready to Break
The Harvest Is Here
The Harvest Is Here
Oh oh oh Oh
Pick It
Oh Oh Oh Oh
Shoot It
Burst
Dry stalks crack under the boots
Sickle blades bite the dry heat
The sun burns my neck
Hard work
Hard
sweat Hard
truth Empty silos won't fill themselves
While you're sitting on the porch
Watching the shadows lengthen
Look up
Look at the fields
They're white now
They're white now
Ready to fall
Ready to break
The harvest is here
The harvest is here
Don't talk about tomorrow
Don't talk about next
year don't say it's too early
It's ready
It's heavy
It's right in front of you
The color of frost
The color of bone
Look up
Look at the fields
They're white now
They're white now
Ready to fall
Ready to fall
The grumpy wind cries through bottle glass and bone,
Grain silos whine like widows at the gate,
Each sunrise shows up but exits the dongas alone.
The main street sighs,its colors ages out of date,
A dronkie in overall insults the deserted mine,
His guffaws crack,deranged,underneath the weight.
The spaza still sells nyaope and wine
And phantoms line where concertinas used to play,
Their sounds of tiekie draai to hosannas of turpentine
Youngsters pursue tyres that stagger,then spin away,
Grime hides their glee,fields no longer yield,
Old topies sit like statues at close of day.
You comprehend-beyond the rot,
The shattered shield,
A determined ditty reverberates tenderly through pain
Nations split the atom
Unleashing impending doom
China stockpiles munitions
London rings europe's bell
Europe prepares for the inevitable carnage
America plants silos in the midwest
Russian bells are tolling
Kremlin halls are glowing
Nuclear war can be won
Under the right conditions
Contrary to what peace geeks think
Knights of freedom must rise
Let loose the lightning
Echo the shattering thunder
Holocausts and hellhounds
Embers will reign
Ash will choke the skies
Dust is but our destiny
Send them all straight to hell
by his mother's side
a famine child cries
while a suburban family sits down
to eat more then they need
in a land so rich with wealth
grain stocked piled
in silos so high
so much more than the little consumed
a blind eye is turned
to the horrors of the third world
Early morning and the gantry cranes
at Webb Dock look like long necked
dinosaurs lining up to drink from the river -
and the sky is aglow as it might have been
when tinged by the first hint of that asteroid
slamming into Yucatan on the other side
of the world 66 million years ago.
This is 2025 and no asteroid threatens
our fragile planet, yet more subtle
things do - things that reside in the dark
precincts of the human soul that pour
out pollution and in silos and undersea,
stoke embers that could at anytime
break free and incinerate us all.
It's early January,
and the fields are wet and muddy.
The rainwater sits and slowly soaks
the fertile soil. Heavy machinery
has been silenced and put to rest.
They shall sleep through Old Man
Winter and awake next Spring.
Beans, corn, cotton, peanuts,
and sesame seeds no longer
flood the bounty fields of plenty,
because every crop has been
harvested. What's not in the silos
has been sold to markets near and far.
EU talks
They sat in a splendid room around a big table
talking about Gaza and the war in Ukraine
I avoid saying, "war in Gaza," as it is nothing
but slaughter of the innocent
Naturally, the Hamas was a terrorist entity
and ought the be disbanded and replaced by
worthy people, presumable with an office
Brussel
Regarding Ukraine, EU must help Ukraine
to win this war sending money to by one
thinks buy weapon and Russia was the
unspeakable aggressor
Not one person appeared to have read
the near past, that this war was not needed
Russia didn't want NATO near its border
therefore Ukraine had to be neutral
We know the hysterical reaction when Russia
tried to build a base in Cuba , nuclear arms
were ready and the locks on silos opened
As before the world sided with the USA
Hamas and Hezbollah, bona fide organizations
defending the right of the Palestinians
and other groups, against Israel's aggression
what we think is of no interest to them.
Am I light or dispersed star
Scatter or straight to all earthly uneven
Whether the stray comet to unfollow
Chaos or chord to sundry upheavals
Mortal cry pebbles the enshrined path
Luminious moon guide where gleam
Wise that turn to sightless wanderer
Eternal furnace alloy even those flak
Whip of whims encage all beacons
Noble deeds dacay ,utterly numb
Trying our morale in turbulence of time
Comforts or clutter of needs ,indefinite
Men walk towards golden or grey gates
Surrender in mounting rungs and ropes
Dreams shatters like lifeless dunes
Homeless sands beneath benevolent sun
Arrays of aim pierce like pungent arrows
Win or wane for fit to survive in moor world
Featherless souls in sheer free fall;
Can there be ceaseless outbound fountain?
That fearless and frisk in favors
Solo my spirit sway all silos earth bring
Let mind sleeps sight on alpine snow
The genial breeze to free and glow
Altar the heart with care to unrest
Torch of mankind ablaze with brave
Holy human share blessings that unbent
Wish the nourishing rain to furtile and flow
Generous greats render and row.
I was one of the cool set,
navy blue duffle coat, scarf around
my neck, seated at a table
in Pepe's Coffee Lounge
discussing Baudelaire
and T.S. Eliot and the demise
of the political elites.
The conscription ballot hung
over our heads helmeted
in a flowering of uncombed hair
in the winter of 1966.
We thought the world was about
to tip, that the old regime
was coughing its last
on Craven A and Camel cigarettes.
Booze was cheap and jobs
chased us down the street.
In a hundred buried silos,
annihilation was just a push
of a button away.
We partied hard beneath
the threat of that mushroom cloud.
We're old now, sit under the cloud
of our own thoughts, replaying
scratchy, worn out tracks
retrieved from the sleeves
of our neural LP's.
What we tore down back then
has been replaced with more
sinister demons that eat away
at the collective soul.
In the end, everything
is just reabsorbed.
Some of us still frequent
coffee shops and discuss
Baudelaire and T.S. Eliot,
still write poetry,
shed a tear
at the melancholic beauty
of a setting sun.
#12: Space Ghost-ed
Let's naught add to Space's new oddities,
we've space between our ears, with a spare room.
Silos hushed ... Grace spots our credulities,
our space mid-ear's blessed--a brain stained attune.
Post-Life; same space; new point--afeared darkness,
when question, "mark," life's course--you must enter
price if not taken; parts fatal, parts guess,
choose--right proves true, and--wrong haunts lamenter.
Existence; same brain space--darkness remains,
(dark alley, blind spot, or scary neighbor)
sensed points in life--in your space, your caused stains,
trifle (take) space. As written, (take) detour,
and highly fill the space between your ears,
to the accords of The Book of Life ... cheers.
Sky-Dancer
Why do you hate me so?
Upon wind up,
there are endless ways to go !
But you choose the fireplace,
jet streams, moving cars, nuclear silos
and the neighbor's bbq gang meeting,
in your flying @@@@@@@ hurry to stray from me.
Are you demonically charged?
I now need counseling because of your 'cidal arts.
After I thought I was over my cat's frequent visits
to my kites, in exclusive club-housings,
away with leave of branches jiggling,
giggling in the trees.
Sick!
Hateful Dance of uncalled for things!
Raised Iron works
thrust out of the blacktop.
Women-hole covers
appear; the tip of the spear
above new drilled silos.
Rubber slugs concrete.
Debora steers her way
through a slalom of
gender specific movements.
The road bucks under
her taught belly,
while fingers push
a wheel through
a video game maze.
Long laboring feminists
under hard hats
are digging her,
so she just smiles -
tries to relax.
Recognizing life's fields need steady crop rotation
Each of their grains harvested requires separatization
Safely stored in silos of compartmentalization
Red lights flash consistently on the horizon
Emptiness found in the words comprising
Tomorrow is another day or so, I'm surmising
Perhaps one morning, I'll wake up more wizened
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