Category: Humanity

American Promise

I created this image using AI

I do not want the old America back.

I do not want the old America

where hate simmered

like a hissing tea kettle

ready to blast a whistle

strong enough to tear

a silent house apart.

I do not want the old America

where arrogance celebrated

the genocidal parade

against the indigenous people

from whom we stole this land.

I do not want the old America

where each new wave of immigrants

is viewed as a less than human infestation

to be eradicated.

I do not want the old America

where people climb and stand

upon the backs of others

for greedy profiteering.

I do not want the old America

who will not acknowledge

its past mistakes.

I do not want an arrogant America,

believing freedom and greatness

are measured by the damage

caused when the twins

of cruelty and brutality

are loosed upon the land.

I want an America

who can stand up strong enough

in the face of ignorance, prejudice, and greed

and in truthful wisdom say,

“We had moments of greatness.

Fleeting moments washed away

by fears of weakness and scarcity,

pointless, needless fears.

We will be great by being

the promise we were meant to be.”

This is the America I want to see.

A Visit From The Deer

Image is my own

The deer came to greet me today.
A small hello
before going on their way–
Two does and a fuzzy coated fawn.
The leading doe stared at me,
Assessing me a threat or not.
Her head turned,
her elegant neck stretched toward me,
her eyes softened as she decided—
no need to run away.

Her stare continued.
For a moment, I sinned.
I coveted her innocence,
their understanding of the world,
these mountains here—

Yes, I know,
they know the twins,
cruelty and brutality,
in ways I can never understand.

But I envy their ignorance
of the cruelty and brutality
contained within humanity.

Between Rocks and Hard Places

Image is my own

I read The New York Times–

Rocks and hard places

around the world

children and us

Starving

dying

murdered

between

rocks and hard places—

My face in my hands.

I think of my mother, my father, myself—

we all have lived

between rocks and hard places

from time to time—

But now, now—

It is all rocks,

it is all hard places.

For all.

–It has been raining here

for over a week

unusual

in this high desert.

The rain a result of storms

off the western coast of Mexico.

The mountains, like ancient grandmothers,

shroud themselves in clouds

as if mourning

all of us

caught between

rocks and hard places.

This world–

where a thirteen-year-old boy

says, “I have no one.  I have nothing,”

in answer to the choice

between voluntary departure or a removal order

issued by an immigration judge–

should not contain such rocks and hard places.

This world–

where a diabetic has been cut off

from health insurance programs

and rations out what is left of her insulin

to be able to afford gas to get work and feed her kids–

should not contain such rocks and hard places.

This world–

where a farmer must let his crops rot

since he cannot afford the diesel fuel

to harvest those crops without losing money–

should not contain such rocks and hard places.

This world–

where a young girl’s future

is never considered as important

as that of the man or men

who have brutally assaulted her–

should not contain such rocks and hard places.

I want a world

without

rocks and hard places

for my grandchildren,

for all children–

a world of plenty

of peace

of acceptance–

where no one needs stand upon another

to feel bigger or better,

where no one’s worship

is the only way to worship,

where care for each other

is placed above the dollar—

perhaps not a perfect world,

but a world

where we do not create

rocks and hard places

for people

to live between.

Dust of a Nation

Right wing demonstrators at Texas State University





winds carried the dusty remains





of a nation across the land










burying bleeding women





in breeding graves





dug by their slave masters





who thought to teach them





of their homespun place





woven in a tapestry





of chains










the remains devoid





of time’s progressive thread





that once contained





something more





than the prison





of being named property






	


	
	






	
	

		
A Burning Word
	


	

		

image courtesy of https://www.pickpik.com/










The words, the words--
They rattle in my head,
louder than 
the tail of a snake,
louder than 
the breaking of stacked billiard balls,
louder than 
the concussing jack hammer on a city street--
too much noise to hear distinctly
what must be written,
what must be said, screamed
into the foul fiery smoke-filled air

One word, one.
Just one, larger than the others,
louder— 
settles against my skin,
a lash of fiery noise,
burning, burning deep--
betrayal--
burning away tiny scars 
of other betrayals
a lifetime ago

This wildfire of betrayal
burns away
soul held beliefs
of common good.

	


	
	






	
	

		
Let The Horsemen Ride
	


	

		

(Revised from 2016 on the eve of our 2024 election)





Image courtesy of https://rose-of-god.fandom.com/wiki/Four_Horsemen_of_the_Apocalypse





The captain of industry gleefully looks to history
As a populous forgets all the tales of prophecy
While writhing in the seduction of blame and lies.

Thus, all the best in humanity is left behind.
Firing squads, internment camps, and torture now promised.
Yes, the captain says to let the horsemen ride.

The angry populous forgets
The path of anger makes the “world blind.”
Yes, the captain says to let the horsemen ride.

The sun dons a robe of sackcloth, grieving.
The ocean’s rasping last breath,
As the moon’s face rained blood tears,
Turning rivers red.

Yes, the captain bellowed, “Let the horsemen ride.”

	


	
	






	
	

		
Laughter of Crows
	


	

		

Image courtesy of https://www.israelhayom.com/2024/09/01/hostages-death-in-captivity-announced-by-families/





Six bodies,
Six bodies—

Fifteen minutes later,
six bodies forgotten
in the collected dust
of memory upon the world.

Six souls passed away,
imprisoned from the light of God.
The sky shrinks away 
from the edge of earth
as the six join 1139.

I did not know any of them.
Not one soul.
I did not have a friend, a neighbor, 
a brother, a sister,
a father, a mother, a cousin,
an aunt, an uncle, 
no son, no daughter
among them.
But I mourn them,
as if I knew them,
as if they were family.
I feel the empty spot 
they left upon leaving the world.

You ask me why I feel their loss so…
My answer—because I am human.
In return, I ask…Why do you not feel it so?
 
No answers found 
in the mocking caw of crows
who laugh at humanity.


	


	
	






	
	

		
The Song of The Mountains
	


	

		

img_8986





Image is my own





Sitting here in New Mexico and looking at these mountains, I wonder if my mother ever heard the mountains of Appalachia sing as I do these.





The mountains sing their history--
of when they knew only tranquility
in the land of their ancient salt seas,
when the sun could not touch them,
when they were virgin still--
safe from the rough hands of the wind,
long before the rise of humanity.

Their song holds the rhythms,
the bars, the layers of the time before--
before an angry molten core,
containing not a single drop of mercy,
drove them from their ancient, peaceful home,
forcing them to be refugees in the kingdom
of sun and wind.

Their song holds the rhythms
of all they grieve
in witnessing humanity’s rise,
dripping in eternal inhumanity.

At the feet of the mountains, the lilacs,
nourished by snow melt tears,
bow their heads and dance in the rhythms
of the mountains’ song—
A dance of homage
to such ancient ones.








https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wITB_k8gX78&list=OLAK5uy_nKHcHbv67IP6facZWpq6ZwAhVrhAxMwQg&index=5

	


	
	






	
	

		
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.









	


	
	






	
	

		
Blood Reign
	


	

		










All photos courtesy of Ap and Twitter










I’ve revised and reworked an earlier piece written in 2017 as a response to the terrorism of Hamas and the war Israel has declared.  It seems to me that this slaughter by Hamas and the retaliation that Israel is now forced to take cannot be what any God wants. Surely, it is not what the Palestinian people or the people of Israel want either.   





The blood of children
falls as rain
on Holy ground.
The blood of their parents
chasing after
as if to save it,
stopping it
from concreating the land
to evil born of old hatred
as the world,
emptied of all care,
watches.

No uprisings.
No shouting in the streets
as this blood rain of innocents falls, 
flooding the silent world 
as nations watch, 
hands bloodied 
in pretense of helplessness
before turning their backs.
 
The seven descend.
Each with wings spread
enough to fill a house.
Shalom upon their tongues.
Throughout the compass points
they search to find
all the gnawed bones,
the muscles and sinew,
the heart and entrails
torn with teeth of hate.
And once the seven
gather all the tiny bits,
With flaming swords
used as needles,
they try to stitch
all humanity’s bloody bits
into one thing well knit.
Neither their swords,
nor spirit of their breath
have the power to seal
the meat and sinew to bone.

And then they know--
those who showed no mercy
would be given none.
Their heads hang--
Inshallah upon their lips
as they ascend.
Their flaming eyes
weeping tears of fire
as they see the red rider
striding across the land.

It is then the seven know 
humanity’s avarice and hate
had broken the fourth seal.

Maa shaa’Allah a whisper of smoke
within their throats.
From the seven sets of fiery eyes,
their tears of fire
stream Retzon ha-el 
across the night sky.