The coyote leapt
over the stubbled grass hedges
along the pond’s edge.
Silent single goose
stares silently in stillness
on the rocky ledge.
Each day the numbers
dwindle among empty nests
where Spring and geese mourn.
THROUGH-LINES
Before amendments,
only white men could vote
under a constitution meant
to protect white male power
and their wealth to control the hour.
The hours of Women’s Labor.
The hours of Black Labor.
The hours of Asian Labor
on railroads crossing the nation
with white men’s wealth protected
in box cars, from southern fields
and northern industries.
Oh, we can easily see
why Originalist judges seek
to turn back time and make weak
the power gained by women’s suffrage,
African-American civil rights fights,
and Japanese reparation gains.
Each accomplishment a refrain
against white male supremacy.
There is a through-line of meritocracy
from serfdom and caste
until at last
white men must choose
which they love more;
their country or their power,
their countrymen or their wealth.
There is no stealth
as they seek to regain
what they once owned.
The rest of us!
THE BATTLE IS ON
Do not drag me through the mud with you.
No matter what you say,
the fight will be down and dirty.
I know.
I have had to fight this way.
I will be beside you to comfort you.
I will not get in your way.
I am yours and you are mine.
Our fights are all our own.
We cannot our hands entwine
or the battle will be blown.
I will walk across the muddy field
and stay ready to lift you up.
But only you can wield the sword
so you may soon lift victory’s cup.
I will wash the mud from your face.
I will hose you down when needs must.
I shall trod the muddy field apace.
I will not make a fuss.
I have every faith you will succeed.
For, I believe in us.
Filed under POETRY
FROM UNDER THE ROCKS
I cried the night Barack Obama was elected President.
Tears of joy released the exhaustion
which I had carried door-to-door
for more than a year to those who too often
defiled all courtesy and shared community
with unrecognized racism, or even with vile threats,
as I pleaded for their vote for HOPE.
While my colleagues cheered with broad smiles
I lay my head in my arms and sobbed.
And, when they asked why I cried
I replied
“The backlash will be fierce
by those who now recognize that white power
is no longer strong enough to support their hate.”
It was clear my fellow citizens would not long tolerate
power in the hands of an African-American.
The rage would be unleashed and revealed
from where it had lain hidden
within our neighborhoods and institutions.
From that day on every African-American child
born after this date would enter a world where
dreams could be fulfilled, no matter how wild.
I rejoiced at this change of perspective,
but knew this would be just too much for a nation
whose history was built on white male supremacy.
Two steps forward. One step back. Progress moves
on and off-track until we wonder if we must go back.
We are not going back, just reconnoitering to find a new track.
That night, I dried my tears and planned my attack
ready to fight what I knew was coming and who would lead,
those who would block our progress at every turn
willing to let the country suffer and burn,
willing to break laws and undermine elections,
threaten and attack prosecutors and judges,
willing to engage in insurrection.
They have come up from under their rocks and we can see
those who have always threatened our democracy.
We know the way forward and we are strong.
So strong they know they have lost their control and that we
are moving beyond a world where only the good ole’ boys belong.
THE THIEF
Chronic pain is a thief
which stalks every bone and muscle
including the skull and brain
locking the flow across every sinew
of blood’s strength to reign
with ease and grace
across interstitial space.
Legs and pelvis lock in place
and the body can no longer race
along the path around the ponds.
Knees can no longer bend
to rest upon the earth and pull the weeds
nor plant the seeds
where the garden should grow.
Pain even steals words from where they reside
within the brain’s locked space
where dreams can no longer take hold
since sleep is stolen leaving behind
only grief and disgust at losses too great to abide.
The theft is its worst upon the face
where smiles are forced to hide
behind grimaces and half-closed eyes.
Laughter is the only relief to frozen space.
A sense of humor is the fiercer power
relieving pain hour after hour.
The deeper the laugh the looser the lock
that pain has placed upon the body clock.
Time passes with the pain as laughs invade
the place where pain thought to remain.
Laugh at pain and watch it rush,
pushed away by jokes and a comic crush.
Filed under POETRY
Think
“Anyone who has the power to make you believe absurdities has the power to make you commit injustices.” – Voltaire
Filed under POLITICS
HOLY SATURDAY
Time hangs suspended in the tomb,
rolled back behind a solid stone
chasing thoughts away
of what occurred yesterday.
Shrouded in a mystery
foretold by history
evil reaches across the space
where fearing loss of power
the great losers rage by the hour.
We helped create our own purgatory,
where all we do is worry
rather than embrace the true reality
we not so suddenly face.
We must roll away the stone
and bring truth home;
look at what we have done
and what we have failed to do.
The stillness of this day must renew
a strength we once embraced with pride.
Now we cower and we hide.
Are we so fearful and so weak
we dare not take a peak
into our shaking souls to see
the selves we have come to be?
Only we. Only we. Only we
becomes our litany.
Only we can stop the hate
that acts upon the institutions
we must rely upon
to uphold law and seek justice
to protect all of us
and this country we proclaim to be
the seat of freedom and democracy.
We must open up our eyes
and roll away the lies
that block this holy space
where salvation will arise.
Vote away the hate.
it is not too late.
GOOD FRIDAY
I do not kneel
at the foot of the cross.
I climb upon it and feel
the pain and loss.
Each of us carries deep within
our own crucifixion.
We pull our weight up the hill
to our own Golgotha and pray,
accepting the help, with humble will,
of those who come along our way.
Perhaps it is sacrilegious to believe
suffering is truly sin’s reprieve
when we have been taught
His death made us free.
The curtain of my mind was wrent
and any hate I felt was tossed
beyond the confines of Lent
which led me to this Holy Day of loss.
Yet, hope remains that on the third day
My soul shall rise along His side
and fear will finally be put away,
knowing nothing can destroy me now.
I will live to see Him rise on Easter Day.
Not even death can stop me now.
Filed under POETRY
DREAMS OF STATE
Waking in the half-state
within the space where worlds collide
with no need to run away and hide,
where languages merge to help us realize
our old reality has solemnly died,
we are born anew and lifted high
above the horizon and into the sky
in the arms of the ripening sun
where all new life begins.
Every single day, we turn
in the arms of stars to find our way.
How wild this earth-turn
ride around the sun
across our galaxy spiraling wide
into a universe where silent winds blow.
Where we shall land we do not know.
On mornings like this we do not care.
We are content to fly on currents of air,
floating across places yet to be seen,
across new horizons and new sunrises
to worlds we have never been.
We find new courage to open our wings
and finally let our true hearts sing
in praise of the morning sky’s rising
after the night’s long-dreaming sights
to find ourselves newly alive.
We shout with joy, “What a ride!”
Filed under POETRY
CLIMATE CHANGE
The man who lived in the desert
had never seen a world full of green promise.
The man who lived in the rainforest
had never seen the sun-burnt-out grass.
The man who lived on icy planes so white
kept his eyes half-closed to protect his sight.
The man who lived in the dark cave
kept torches burning to light his way.
Until now.
Now, that the ice has melted,
the cave has flooded,
roots rot green fields, soil turned to clay,
and winds blow the desert away.
Across the planet men are in dismay.
Now, each man is on the move
looking for a new safe place.
Earth trembles beneath the feet
of so many on the move.
Too many play ring-around-the rosy days of yore
until we all fall down.
There is no going back.
There is only today.
Filed under POETRY
