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Marlon Ferguson Poem
Beg, Steal, or Borrow
What if rain nears?
Would Heaven’s tears sting less
The tender fears of parting,
Or burn, unending, until death re-unites?
I would borrow, beg, and steal
For the spark your eyes reveal.
In my darkness, there is light.
What if snow blinds?
Would biting north-winds surcease
My sorrow, or, ghost-like, enshrine my spirit
Caught up in fever’s chill?
Still, on I haunt Earth’s frozen lands
For the warmth held in your hands.
In your absence, I find will.
What if stars stray?
Would a single ray, o’er galaxies of stone,
Thy gentleness and grace illuminate,
Or cast dark shadows where your essence grew?
I would steal, beg, and borrow
For a taste of your tomorrow.
In our dreams, we love anew.
Copyright © Marlon Ferguson | Year Posted 2012
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Marlon Ferguson Poem
The Wrath of Reason
(For Rush Limpballs and his Smarmy Ilk)
Sycophants spewing forth the Milk of Malice
Drown the Warmth of Reason in icy ivory towers—
Pandering bigotry and denial unique to no nation—
Casting abominable threats of societal annihilation
With usurped totalitarian powers. False droughts
Of impure thought escape their gilded chalice
To weave among the threadbare brains of nonchalants
Eager to appease and follow unyielding lords
Who mask unseemly actions as so gallant,
And pass, for altruistic impulse, self-aggrandizing words.
Those who mar the world with vain and vicious prattle,
Who rant and rave and vomit hate to hear their pinheads rattle,
Who blast and carve society to fit their set of rules—
Espousing flaming rhetoric from the crumbling ledge of Truth—
Who cloak and quench the starry-eyed, charmed light of naiveté,
Should stew in putrid juices from the depths of their depravity.
We’re fools, perhaps, for paving ways for opportunist jerks.
But let us change the path we’re on for one that really works.
Intelligence is guaranteed to all inclined to think—
A muscle grown through fervent use, if not allowed to shrink.
Wisdom is not cornered by indoctrinating liars.
Let knowledge be, to “talking heads”, their farewell funeral pyre.
“The Warmth of Reason bathes us all,” I confidently shout.
“Rise up! Rise up, ye millions strong, and run the buggers out!”
Copyright © Marlon Ferguson | Year Posted 2012
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