Nights are too short, dear
when you are here.
Nights are too long
when you are gone.
Morning weeps humidity.
Birds sing sad songs.
Bees wander aimlessly.
The sun hides a weary face.
Voices sound too loud.
Emptiness becomes full measure
of the hearts lost treasure.
Garden critters stay hidden.
Fruit on the vines wither,
bitten open, useless, forbidden.
Your leave-taking reminds.
The world can be coldly unkind.
You rose with the dawn.
Showered, and now, are gone.
Filed under POETRY
So enamored of myself am I
that I do not see you
though I look you in the eye,
all sincerity belied.
When I face you so confidently
the only one I see is me,
reflected back clear as can be.
Every charge I make against you
is really my confession.
I speak with such aggression
to hide all fase impressions
lest you take the time to think.
I use the fear I sense you feel,
reflected back at me,
in a never-ending loop;
which only makes me more afraid
to ever acknowledge you.
I must seize your power for my own.
It is the only way I can survive.
I can only live my life
if I steal yours
Your life or mine?
There is but one answer.
It is why you take my side.
It is why fear makes you hide
any conscience you once knew.
I will always be watching you.
I love watching myself.
All narcissists are blind; you see.
My dreams have taglines; colored lights forming words,
scrolling across the bottom or the top
to awaken a sleeping brain.
Sometimes, bold sentences
within thick-lined boxes to draw attention.
My tired body sometimes fails to notice or understand
the insights my vivid dreams demand.
As I dreamt last night and viewed my last scenes
a box appeared with a message to be gleaned:
TO GO FORWARD IT IS OFTEN BEST TO LOOK TO THE PAST
WHERE YOU HAVE BEEN BEFORE.
And, then, I awoke to my here and unformed now
wondering what part of past
informs a future built to last.
Dreams leave clues like any good mystery.
Dreams fragment history.
Dream introduce me to strangers
who tell their stories, and not my own.
I wake confused yet excited to explore
the fading dream some more.
I turn on lights to brighten the dark morning,
awaiting a breathless sunrise
to seep beneath shades hiding the night,
which might bring surprises to my door.
It is difficult to see a future
when these days are so dark.
Dreams tell me to see clearly
my future relies upon seeing my past.
I search each dark corner
with a flashlight in my hand.
If I can see what brought me here,
where I now wonderingly stand,
I can see a future brighter than indignation,
more solid than fearful imagination.
A future where strangers’ stories become my own,
and I can grow from seeds I have sown
in the dark soil, now,
so well known.
Filed under POETRY
Comfort is undersold.
Passion, unlike us,
never gets old.
When age exceeds
the body’s needs
comfort remains
as we enfold
hearts and souls
amidst limbs entwined
whispering I am yours,
and you are mine.
Filed under POETRY
Simply waiting will not do at all.
When did simply waiting
accomplish anything at all?
Yogis pose in silent waiting,
fingers touching in connection.
While we who simply wait
have no connection at all,
and lose ourselves
in self-destruction when we fall
within the ring where the fight is set
by the one percent and big tech bros
placing their weight and cash
heavily upon our backs
until the fight is so unfair
we realize we have not a prayer.
Church pews sit empty.
The fight is on every screen.
We fail to realize we are in the ring.
We cannot simply watch the fight.
Simply waiting cannot make all right.
We will go down with the count
toppled by high winds, fire, and flood.
The severe cold will freeze life’s blood.
Recognize we are in the fight.
We have always been in, to our chagrin,
fighting for our very lives;
while being entertained to silence
and static acceptance of violence.
Simply waiting did not stop slavery,
Jim Crow, voter suppression, child abuse,
sexual harassment and women’s subjugation.
This has always been the fight of our nation.
This is not a new fight we watch as battles
in the ring to see which latest victim falls.
We cannot simply watch from the sidelines
because it is us inside the ring.
It is we who shall fall.
We the people shall participate.
We the people shall win or lose.
Do not sit in your corner.
Don’t throw in the towel.
Get up and fight. It is not too late.
Then get to the polls and vote to win.
All bets are on you. Gloves at the ready, and grin!
Then prepare for the backlash,
one worse than the one before.
Get in the fight again.Knock your opponent to the floor
with such a strong vote he cannot rise.
Put him down for the count forevermore.
Then raise your gloves high and stand tall.
Simply waiting will not do at all.
They are not fooled
because they lack intelligence.
They are not fooled
because they lack information.
They are fooled
because they lack imagination.
It seems incongruous,I know
That those so
easily fooled by conspiracy theories
stay seated among its mythology
without questions.
No hands raised to learn more.
No efforts made to discover
if the storied message
could actually be other
than what they are told.
Such power games are very old.
Conspiracy theories require
nothing more than dull acceptance
to feed damaged egos on fire
while living half-lives
which must be fueled by ire;
lulled by lives so dull
they cannot imagine why.
They are too eager to create
false safe-spaces
to guard what life they have left;
where little is required
of those half-alive,
except blind acceptance
of the true thieves
who stole their missing half
long ago.
Now, blaming others.
They have no imagination
left.
I am a weed.
I am a plant whose reason for being
Is not yet known,
Whose worth is not yet understood,
Whose value is not yet measured.
I continue to grow
No matter the challenge
Of heat and cold,
Of drought and rain,
Of sun and cloud.
I am a weed.
No tender flower
Of grace and power
To bring a tender smile,
Or sweetly scent the air,
I am simply there;
Along the side of the road,
Holding tight between the cracks,
Emerging where unexpected,
Growing after being cut back,
Refusing to be dislodged
To satisfy what the garden lacks.
I am a weed.
Strong.
Resilient.
Resistant.
Surviving.
Filed under POETRY
Despite what we have been told,
money is not the root of all evil.
Money is neither good nor bad,
It can be either warm or cold.
But, greed, that nasty fellow
eats away at heart and soul.
Puts self above the common good,
turns courage into cowardly yellow.
Shame finds no home among the self-serving.
Enamored wealth sets its own pace,
sets purposeless and questionable goals.
The weighty stacks of greedy acts is unnerving.
Senselessness rules its theft of compassion.
Ignorance shelters the ruse of satisfaction.
Depravity sets up cruel games of distraction.
Fear, baseless fear, becomes the sole passion.
Greed can become the ruin of us all.
The music calls
across the walls
that separate
the hopes and fears
each of us hold in thrall.
Music is our common language,
the heartbeat which unites
and could, if we allowed,
enlighten and enrich us all.
Our feet tap tentatively,
lest in shame, we fail or fall.
We must learn to walk before we dance;
and before we walk, to crawl.
Crawl, then walk, my pride demands.
Then dance a sacred dance with all.
Dance, while still, the music calls.
Filed under POETRY
MONEY, MONEY, MONEY
Money counts for nothing.
It has no intrinsic worth,
these tiny bits of metal
dug, then foundered from the earth.
Money adds no value to our lives.
Its value lies outside its cost to self.
Its only value is what it tells us.
Money talks after all.
It tells us what we truly value,
whom we raise up, and whom we let fall.
We bet our future on its use,
or bury it in secure vaults.
We use it to boast about greatness
while it hides our basest faults.
It buys the things around us.
It buys the myth of our safety.
It serves to remind us
we are nothing at all;
but, tiny specks in a universe
among many millions just like us,
trying to rise while gravity pulls us
around and down giant black holes.
Money fools us, a tool that uses us,
while we think we rule over others
just like us.
So, we gather it as best we can
to show we are better than
our fellow woman or man.
We cannot rely upon our own souls
to bring wisdom, love and life,
to end the useless strife.
We buy bullets instead of bread.
We drop bombs instead of supplies.
We destroy earth instead of fear.
We believe our own and others’ lies.
Money becomes our grand prize.
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Filed under COMMENTARY, POETRY
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