a person who vigorously supports their country and is prepared to defend it against enemies or detractors.
—
Patriot
Vigorous and strong
for country, not a person or party,
for a nation of ideals wrought with
wisdom and forged in a crucible
of conflicts for the rights of all.
Rights enshrined in our constitution,
in our bill of rights, our laws and
represented in our flag and the
institutions over which this
flag does fly.
A patriot protects the minority
as well as the majority with his vigor
believing in the constitution for which
he will defend against enemies
or detractors… foreign and domestic!
I love this word, it is like a remnant of the past,
it explodes on the scene but never seems to last,
an application of spirit and energy and even dare
I say muscle and intellect, something now so rare.
As I climb the steps of my imagination now slow,
it once was quick, two or more, certain I’d know,
where I was going and what would be at the top,
never realizing I’d find beyond this a long drop
into a far less vigorous state, where I’d sit thinking
what I’d not give to avoid the feel of energy sinking.
They are passion, they are
the future and they lie still
when they must, they lie
in wait, not to satiate their
appetite but to destroy it.
Waiting until they see it as
their turn, their time.
Lionesses formidable moving
with power sleek toward a future,
a kill, a pride of coordinated capability.
Woe is the world who so
believe it is the old lion who
rules and leads, for he is
given honor, only so long as
he may serve their needs.
He roars and makes noise,
but is nothing without them.
In his stone heart, he knows, a lioness
will one day lead, and with her sisters
they will crush their hunger with a
ferociousness never before seen.
The past we survived, with quiver and bow.
The future our arrow, destined to future’s end.
The now our bow and careful aim,
—————————and all that matters ➡
Is making the most of the moment.
Change is coming our way
for it is a part of life,
part of a flowing stream,
bubbling and brooking
along as the scenes change
as gravity holds us to our course,
and trees and boulders guide the way,
fairest creatures feed and nourish
from our waters, and we broker
other rivulets and bring messages
from the older times with us
as we meander in our own time
toward the grandeur of the sea.
Tyranny of the minority
upon the majority.
The rain keeps raining.
The guns keep firing.
Freedoms taken,
as are innocents.
Politicians keep lying.
January 6 insurrection,
tyranny of the minority
upon the majority.
Whataboutism, prevails.
Where is Hunter’s laptop?
Immense wealth does not
satisfy, as mad men thirst
for power… tyranny of the
minority upon the majority.
Fight for our freedoms,
rage on for what is right.
Believe politicians
Never buy extended warranties.
Buys vacation packages
… years in advance
Expect to win the Lotto
with the ticket they
forgot to purchase.
But they also, have
children and invest
in future education.
They build roads,
and infrastructure.
They vote, and pray,
and salute the flag,
trusting in all of it.
Birds fall dead from the sky
cars, houses spun up to fly.
Snow comes whipping in mid-May
and winds push March fires into LA.
In just a day, forty-degree swing
confuses songs birds now sing.
We ignore warnings signs and calls,
as water rises above city walls.
The canary in the coal mine has died,
and yet in greed and avarice we cried:
Who is willing to pay for such change?
Deliriously, digging deeper into derange.
For now we’ll fight and tumble about
things of glory and riches we shout.
Trying to be above someone or another
forgetting this Earth is all our mother.
Daughters of dinosaurs, birds will find a way
to sing of rebirth when we are gone someday.
And Mother recovers using her power to restore,
and no-one will remember what came before.
In the mornings,
I see happy people
walking after their dogs
with the light step
of a brand new day
green bag in hand,
dogs sniffing and joyfully
retracing familiar territories.
In the evening,
I see now weary people
walking after their dogs,
with slavish indifferent and
desire to be anywhere else
green bag in hand,
dogs sniffing and joyfully
retracing familiar territories.
It seems the dogs know
no difference, and along
with the green bags are
the only constants
in this observation.
Clearly the dogs have
better days than
their masters who
become their slaves
by each day’s end.