Posts for June 19, 2018 (page 5)

 If but some words in their flight  
Could reach and touch the winter
Souls in this dark watch of night.  

There to reach the scarring marks of pain,
The fear of loss and tearing, shrieking terrors 
To wash away the fear with gentle rain.  

Would that once again Liberty’s flickering
Lamp would shine on the terrors spent
Against them on that far dangerous shore.  

Can we whisper, “O let the flickering
Hard won light grow strong to cast
Bright beams on their twisting way”.  

There to gift calm and hope to those
Lost children who presently suffer ill,
And reach for our best good will.

Will I ever learn
to edit these peoms
befote I post them?

little gray pigeon
in
little pink shoes
little gray pigeon
you
chase away blues

Facts need scrutiny.
Views wait to be understood,
Sorted, known, stated.

En route through Maysville
In a champagne Chevy Impala
Tunes on KBON 101

Kentucky is a gate
That opens and closes around me

Violence is someone else’s idea of manifest destiny
I do not know how the rest of you are networked
I am going home the soft way 

you can’t fix it
and it is broken
move on
you can
do nothing
about it
it has moved 
beyond
your ability
to touch
into the realm
of the past–
increasingly distant,
incrementally weaker.

also, don’t waste your
breath
on the future
–a thing which 
never arrives–
but is, rather,
always
ahead of us.

now is when you love.

now is when you choose
to do something 
good
with your life
–not necessarily
some grand gesture
but perhaps 
some
little thing–
but 
do 
something.

be intentional 
about it.

quit screwing around
and get something
done.

something that matters.

something like
loving
me.

I tell you things
Only a poet would understand
I’m pouring out my heart
To this stranger in the park, how surreal is this,
you know me better than my mother ever will
Even though we met
70 seconds ago
You’re an interpreter, sifting my broken words onto paper,
I can’t think.
For some, thoughts are clearer in print,so
You’re bringing my utopia to life
with ink.

Underneath my apartment building’s spreading oak,
ants busy: dissecting worm into neat segments.
Their path is defined by scent and memory.
Sure, the landscape changes (the contracted land-
scaper changes for his living), but the ants disregard
beheaded peaks and cleaved grass. Ants build new doors,
consume, carry oak leaves over their heads.
Each rain is a flood, and still either they hold
the same close path, or frenzy. It’s as if nothing changed–
because ain’t it always been the same?

Only a few days,
and we’ll be on vacation.
Good to get away!

Overpacking as always,
I will be prepared.
I’m only taking one book.

Well, maybe two.

Freedom rings — 
a silent bell
as humanity sits and listens

Children cry–
upon deaf ears
of Lady Justice– she has fallen asleep

Stripped of her motherhood
silenced by our nation’s patriarch–
politcal power, his vengence seeks-

genocide of freedom, 
humanity,
love, 
mercy. 

Oh, Lady Justice,
Wake!  Speak! 
Unite your people
And set the children free!