I may not be happy
with the way things are,
I may express dissatisfaction
In my local bar,
But I refuse to burn down
my street in extreme reaction
to some civil distraction--
seems to me somewhat bizarre.
I must take care of business
in my own neighborhood,
Being no part of any fringe faction.
Give me a rocker and a cigar
And let me live in peace
Trying to do what is right
As every good citizen should!
Written August 14, 2022
[or, perhaps, a Rhyme!]
When the poets fall silent Man will not only lose his voice but also the notion of Life. ~Suzette Richards
Steeped in the pain of his slain countryman,
surrounded by the turmoil of real fears
which lay exposed on the stone-cold tarmac,
a poet dipped his ink in the spilled tears.
He had a name … He had a name …
A mother’s son had stood up to be counted
during a time when voices were made mute,
indoctrinated to a point of stupor.
A poet observes and remains resolute.
He had a name? He had a name.
No statue would be erected in his name
as he was not the first man to be slain.
At the next roll call of the civil unrest,
this poet’s words ease some of the naked pain.
He has a name. He has a name!
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