Category: family/ child/ immigration separation

Times of Shattered Glass

Times of shattered glass 
herald the approaching dark
Crone of a world war.

At night, soldiers come 
children cry out, glass shards of fear 
crushed into their skin

If we do nothing--
slaves we become, breathing out 
blood drops of a dream,
emptied of promise
held within springtime blossoms
of “a more perfect union”

The End of the Grand Romance

photo courtesy of @Liliwhitwhit on X



Nonsense things of twisted rhetoric

hang around the neck of a nation.

Words braided into twisted doctrines

of red and black and white.



Hatred fought so long ago

blended into now

with a new pandemic 

in the wake

of aberrant dreams.

Here where truth once

swayed and danced,

offering humanity

a grand romance

of belief in a thing

the world had never seen--

Golden rules made real.



We knew our daughters and sons

would serve as the sacrificial lambs

to keep our rules golden

for all generations to be free.







Though freedom be washed

in the blood of our lambs,

we still believed

in the grand romance--

And oh, how we did dance

For over two hundred years.



Then the roped nonsense came, 

tarnished the shine of our romance, 

interrupted the rhythm of our dance.

The twisted rhetoric strangled us

as a new sickness spread.

No ease given; no treatment sought.

Pockets lined with gold 

more important than golden lives.



Hatred and apathy listened

to the new prophet,

who said they were right--

Everything wrong was 

the fault of others:

The poor in spirit are just lazy.

Those who mourn make excuses.

The meek are just weak.

Those wanting righteousness want it all free.

The pure in heart want to give your gold away.

The peacemakers don’t want us to be strong.



Then the new prophet claimed he was the persecuted one,

promising vengeance for his own sake.

His apostles believed his sermons,

proclaiming him their chosen one.



Order is all,

He said.

Law is all,

He said.



He would teach them

by putting all people

in their rightful place.



Justice lay raped,

bloody, raw,

beaten and gassed,

in the streets 

as his disciples cheered

while the petty false prophet smirked,

holding a Holy book.

Re-forge the chain of Liberty’s shackle,

he ordered.



Then Truth 

stopped swaying,

stopped dancing,

offered us nothing,

flames of romance dying.

Orchestra of Children

untitled

An orchestra of children
Provides a symphony.

The violin of a two-year-old
Sings the plaintive cries,
“Daddy, Daddy!”

The lone flute of a three-year-old
Soars above the din,
A painful wail,
“Mommy, Mommy.”

Then the scratchy oboe
Of perhaps a four-year-old,
Keening for an aunt to be allowed to come
And take him to her home to stay.

Next all the whimpers,
Sobbing, moans
Squalls, and laments
Of trumpets, tubas,
Violas, bass and all the rest
Join the cacophonous clamor
Of such a discordant melody,
Harmonious to the hardened of heart
Who give ear to this orchestra,
Deserving of nothing but the pain
Contained within the symphony
The progeny play,
As less than they.