Do not presume to find our end in fire
reduced we are to subtle heat obscured.
Look not for bombs, like rain from clouds, perspired
for there is shelter in the war endured.
Seek not your reason wrent from mind retired
that sank beneath the waves of years matured.
Best let the end become the pray unknown
no part of life will find our deaths postponed.
Monthly Archives: June 2022
XJ6
“You can’t see it through the rust
but there’s a real nice car beneath there,”
my father would say with a smile;
that expectant grin that invites you in.
It doesn’t make you tea or coffee
but it will gladly show you around.
His calloused hands covered in oil
would read the pocked surface like braille
blues and browns hiding brighter memories
that he could somehow see clearly
though he would rarely articulate.
If you were patient enough however
you’d see it in his youthful eyes
trapped in a cage of years indiscernible,
a child was there, lost amongst trees
though grateful for the forest.
He’d send another gulp of coffee down
and nod in respectful silence
as if all of us had agreed on something.
To be fair, even when we didn’t,
I wish we had. It always felt good
to share a destination with him
to hop into the front seat
and just let him drive;
rust be damned.
The Wolf That Needed No Disguise
Liberty is dying
sure
but we’ve known that.
Two months ago we heard it scream.
On January 6th we waded through its blood
barely able to keep our head above the flow.
In 2016 it’s attackers announced themselves
their intent
their accomplices
and spent four years brutalizing it.
August 10th 2017: Stabbed
October 6th 2018: Stabbed
October 27th 2020: Stabbed
We’ve felt its pain in thousands of similar cuts
its longing in empty positions
its hopelessness in lack of protection
Liberty is all but dead
and the only thing keeping it alive
is the malevolence of its attackers
who more than anything
to torture it forever;
To keep you thinking
somehow
it will pull through.
To give them more time to pervert and destroy,
manipulate the numbers to make fascist oligarchy
look like democracy
Reminding you that
your voice matters
But it doesn’t
sometimes change requires more than words.
Candlelight Vigil
Let us remember, finally, that man on the corner
that lonely soul who walked the streets alone
took shelter beneath the trees
before he could ever find it in our hearts.
Let us remember all the times he walked by
smiled and waived as we drove to our lives
each of us pursuing vastly different days
to sleep more comfortably through the night ahead.
Let us remember that precious neighbor
who wasn’t a neighbor at all,
for we gave him no quarter
lest that quarter depreciate our own
Let us remember the tragedy was not his death
but rather the life we allowed him to live
for when it was tasked of us to give
we gave only the scraps we felt for us unfit.
In his death, let us finally remember that man on the corner
though we couldn’t be bothered when it might have mattered.
Samsara
What ends will begin again
the distant observer reminds me
hidden in shadow
their eyes reaching out with their own light
metal things – sharp like ice
seeing me fully;
where presence, thought, and action
coincide
all the moments in between.
A brutal transparency
that turns the veins to stonework.
We lock eyes over long,
each of us
throttled by the others gaze
only one of us
haunted by it,
until the day ends and a new one begins.
In the morning
I will wake
to see myself staring once again
eager,
but patient to take my place
to see through these eyes
rather than the emotionless space.
The Rot
A strange beast hides amongst the trees
waiting patiently
while the world –
the world grows around it.
Cradling it,
in flora and fauna,
until that darkness
is
unrecognizable
…only the foul stench remains.
Above,
the clouds break-
the sun stretches again,
the errant thought of that rot abandoned
to the weeds,
the corruption it hides
left in the soil
far beneath.
The day continues with a calm wind…
A late summer afternoon will find
many friends in the forest-
weaving through the green
in waves of shadow and tufts of grass;
The harsh sun
a gentle hand reaching
through the canopy
combing the coat of the earth.
It pauses a moment
when brushed against that malignance;
that strange beast that hides amongst the trees
born of those it never sees
Sinking
The sea aches with the setting sun,
where immutable forces meet
something stirs.
Eyes catch but a glimpse
before the light is pulled beneath the waves;
the curled fingers of Poseidon
throttling the form.
Resigned to the demise below
the last hope of a tired dream
dies,
as the dreamer did long ago.
An Empty Scoreboard
High quality plastic eraser.
Hi-polymer lead.
A legacy of cartilage,
ancient and soft with use
like a worn glove.
Sometimes a written word
can feel like a line drive caught,
the sun overhead
everyone switching positions,
all your concerns lost in an afternoon.
An Indeterminate Number of Trees and Rocks Behind the House
If I die in this place
who will find me?
Like a piton
this thought, is stuck in my mind
My sneakers were made for lazy days
for sidewalks and classrooms
they fold over rocks like jerky
slipping
more often than
catching.
They are quick to remind me
I don’t belong
here.
but the height makes me quicker still
all the while still wondering…
If I die in this place
who will find me?
Scaling the cliffside
I look for rebellious roots
terrified brittle limbs
confident rocks
eager to help a hand
miles away
my home is empty
the sun is setting
and my mind echoes…
If I die in this place
Who will find me?
Ode to the Pen
To you who are so confident in the sharp angles
who will not bend by force
but will shape the mind,
the scales by which our history is judged
the catalyst for all intellect divined,
I ask, what shape would be made of us otherwise?
Through you we’ve explored our history
Through you we’ve reached
Out
into the future
and found a place there
Whether
Quiet
Or loud.
Through you we have a voice that
transcends
our isolation.
Grow Gray With Me 