Category Archives: Poems

Poems

Good morning…

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Good morning

It is still this morning. 
Loud car next door, no longer there.
Kids not going to school.  
No trucks on road being productive.
Today just quiet and still except
the haunting call of the mourning dove.
For who does she mourn, for humanity?
Or lost friends or unfound love?
Why is her call not a happy one?

Maybe if she only knew
how beautiful the morning is.
As the light streams through the trees,
she may remember why she came this way
and that it meant something
to those whose hearts are open,
and who cannot help but smile
for the good morning it is.
Remembering why we came this way.

 

Poems

Some Absurdities are Too Much to Accept

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Just Enjoy The Movie

As absurd, as sounds of lasers in space.
As ridiculous, as glass bubble deep sea craft.
And the car that defies gravity jumping a bridge.
If you don’t point it out
everyone can enjoy the movie,
undisturbed by such absurdities

If you don’t point out that patriots
don’t try to stop free and fair elections.
Or that those who love law and order
don’t riot against police protecting democracy.
If you don’t point out that white supremacy
implies inequality and all lives don’t matter,
Then everyone can just enjoy the movie.

Blog, Poems

As We Break…

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In a blink of an eye,  Kabul has fallen… failed decisions by our President and no clear plan.   Yes, it matters not which president we had because 70% of Americans wanted us out.   A tragedy for so many caused by our elected officials becoming populists instead of pragmatist, followers of their base instead of leaders.  Modern American politics is broken by parties that care more about their own power and position than people or principle.  Yesterday I was depressed, today I’m mad.  But the world will go on.

As We Break

We’ve outgrown our clothes,
big and muscle bound,
tied together by a coat we wear.
This overcoat of populism
a coat ignorant of history.
Threadbare stretched across
broad backs no longer working.

We are big, but weak.
Taken down by “leaders”
who become followers
for the sake of power.
In the process they became powerless
and we leaderless.
Weakening us
as we forsake history.
And the flexibility of pragmatism
is a distant memory
given over to brittleness of populism.

And we break.

Poems

Journeys…

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Journeys

Some are long, some are short
Some are easy, some are hard
Some walk in apparent straight line
Some manage through twists and turns
Some are made with joy and singing
Some are made with pain and sighing
Some make the best of everything
Some see the worst in nothing
But all have the same end-destination.

 

Poems

Threat of Rain…

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Threat of Rain

We speak of the threat of rain
as if its intent was to cause pain.
We should be rather faithfully inclined
to the promise of gentle rain un-maligned.
As we would, if we understood and knew
as the deer does run and flowers grew.
That this is life, a life of hope and surprise
where rain and sun, and wind we surmise
are seconds in our lead stories, so grand.
But instead, we are seconds to a life-giving land.

 

Poems

Our Reflection

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Our Reflection

Lost in the chaos of our own making,
avoiding reflections in the mirrors
of our soul, an unholy undertaking.

Resilient we pride ourselves to be,
despite the climate we made,
before the judgement of the Sea.

Of all the science we hold dear,
It cannot stop the death
always coming, always near.

We are blessed with a life raft
of miracles we can employ,
but ignore because we are daft.

Daft from the moment we hear
the deniers of science,
power-seekers, purveyors of fear.

A life made easy by avoiding mirrors,
showing us our true Dorian Gray,
humanities’ distortion, and all those tears.

Poems

Reading Old Poets

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Reading Old Poets

Before the words are spoken,
before a wheel has broken,
beyond the horizon of time
and in the far reaches of a mind
the story has been constructed and told
then reconstructed, so it never gets old
for the imprint of love on life is known
beyond anything the heaven’s have shown
to be the unchanged fortunes of a poet’s fate
no matter long-ago written or just-of-late
it becomes who we are and what we will read
beyond the horizon of a life we will lead

Poems

The Optimist’s Shadow

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The Optimist’s Shadow

Eighty percent chance of rain,
but it might not.
Seventy percent chance of pain,
but it might not.
Sixty percent chance of division,
but it cannot.
Fifty percent chance of revision,
but it will not.
Forty percent chance of caring
but does it matter.
Thirty percent chance of waring,
and this will matter.
Twenty percent chance of sunshine,
and this will make it clearer;
the optimist’s shadow is hard to find,
and a winter of discontent is ever nearer.