Ten hurricanes in ten weeks,
Or so says CNN,
North Korea and Iran
Could be shaking hands
If it comes to WWIII
California is burning
Vegas is still hurting
Puerto Rico has little
In the way of food and water
While Trump signs yet
Another executive order
Could nearly turn an atheist
Into a person of faith
But you know what they say,
Everyone prays in the end.
Category: poetry
Rest
Black white color dreams
Waking in the in-between
Of the heat and chill
Stillness of a soul’s rest
Within the petals of the blessed
As on a windless sun hot day
A softness of grace finally felt
Two Hours
Two hours waiting
Two hours till death walks
Across your domain, your Eden
The longest two hours now
Will be the shortest two hours
After
After you no longer chase squirrels
Or kill snakes to lay as trophies at my feet
I will hold you as you
Dream and drift away
Wrapped in your blanket,
The one you’ve had since a pup.
After you are gone
Taken from my arms
Both of us limp
You will dream
Of running and running
For the joy of it,
Of chasing and catching
The geese you love to swim after,
Of digging and ridding
Your yard of moles,
Dream my friend, my companion,
My comforter, my furry kid
Dream as only angels can
Until we meet again
Trails
Set out years ago
Dropped breadcrumbs
Some no bigger than dust particles
Of the soul
Along the roads and paths
Thought I’d find my way back,
There’d be time
There’d be years
Be months
Weeks
Days
Seconds
Left before the sand
Absconded with the hourglass
To find the trail of dust and crumbs
Sweep and pour them
Back into the soul
Add a few ingredients
Create once more
From the beginning
But birds and squirrels
Feasted on the leavings
And I’ve no desire
To return to where I started.
Modern and Clean
Let’s play house
Without the home.
It’s all arranged so prettily
No mess, no fuss,
No dusty hairball under the couch
None of the huff and puff
To blow a life down
Just learn to float on the surface
No need to swim in the deep
Keep it all to memes
Or 30-second bleeps
Nothing more needed
With all things clean
Disowned
More delicate than our dying Earth,
The fragile blood of our children dries,
Blistering in a baking sun
While we watch
Our babies gasping
Like hooked fish.
Our humanity broken,
We are wooden pawns
In the game of masters,
Men who would be kings
Posturing outrage
Over plans known
By them alone
Made in black secret rooms,
Selling us all to Mephistopheles,
Trading on the fragility of our attention
With the lives of our children,
Who made us human.
Nothing is left to wonder at,
But if this is the day
Humanity made
God tearless.
Tear Down the Curtain
A battle won,
Time now to rise,
Rise in the streets to remind
Of a time when
With a banging shoe
Our damnation tolled
As shouts and threats
Of our burial
Brought us to the brink.
We must rise,
Rise, take to the streets,
Stand beneath the feet of great ones
They plan to topple and disgrace,
To show we see the link
Smelted and forged in gold
With the man behind the curtain.
We once caused a wall to fall.
Let our numbers now rip down
A curtain made of gold.
History
Spun out from the centrifuge
Twisted in helix meaning
Strands entwined, twisted back
Stretching toward history within heritage
Search through the montage of time
Sift through pounds of truth and lies
For a few ounces of purity
Measured out within the mess
The now was the past
Where to walk
We travel back
On twisted helix roads
To the selves we were
So very long ago
And learn
The future braided
In the past
With the now
And made us whole
Treasonous Restoration
The once silenced sentiment
Finding voice in our modern age
Now screams in rage:
BUILD A WALL
WHITE POWER
MY PRESIDENT SAYS WE CAN KILL YOU NOW
GET OUT OF MY COUNTRY
And on it goes
Until an absence of color
Signifies ownership
Of Justice whose scales were sold
And tore off her blindfold,
Of Liberty whose anger more than scorched,
That book of law before that torch
She turned and hurled into the Caspian
To douse the betrayed flame.
Robes torn, heads covered in ashes
Justice and Liberty now sit on the ground,
Crying out:
With headstones overturned
And threats to Abraham’s schools,
How long before another night
Of broken glass?
With two now dead in Crescent City,
How long before the crosses burn
As the noose is placed round
The necks of Nubians
How long before the crosses twist,
And on them, shepherds are tied
And left in the cold to die, crucified?
When did the colors of our flag turn:
Red, White, and Black?
Trash at the Curb
Trash by the curb
Cardboard boxes nested
One within the other
Standing upright, resting
Against the edge of the smallest,
An old collage Walmart picture frame,
Matting included,
Old photos still within the frame,
A wedding, a first baby then a second,
Graduations and first cars,
Pictures telling a story of a family,
Colors faded by the sun
Having spent years by a window
