
Today is my funeral.
I have always been myself.
everyone else was taken.
I had become a fossil.
So many layers of sediment
have built up over time
that I
am hard as rock.
Too soon
It has become
too hard
to remain human.
Especially, when monsters
roam the earth with heavy feet
in lockstep with one another.
They stand atop
the crumbling rock and pray.
They say
that they
are God’s representative
on this dying earth
to show all the way
to greater days.
We were already pretty great,I say.
I thought we were stronger than they.
I thought they could not
make me, me, me ! their prey.
Yet, on this day we celebrate my birth,
I die during parades
of those who march behind
school bands playing my songs.
A Statue of Liberty drone-scape
dots the night-time sky
above Red-White-and Boom
crowds cheering while immigrants die.
De-naturalized, de-refugeed
de-citizenized.
No irony there?
How can the crowds
not realize I am dead.
They are cheering at my funeral.
After all is said,
I am done.
Too few mourners attend.
They have been forced to hide.
Even the Fourth Estate
has crumbled before my eyes,
its voices silenced,
without enough pride nor ratings
to turn the tide of my demise.
Perhaps it is a Celebration of Life
which once was, but is no more.
Can you bring me back from the dead?
Can you resurrect what I stood for?
“Send these, the homeless,
tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp
beside the golden door.”
You can still speak these words.
you can still act on my behalf,
on behalf of liberty itself.
This. This. This! I sincerely implore.









FIGHTING WORDS
Poetry has fled.
Art hides in plain sight
behind clouds of flame,
beyond winds of change,
before plutocrats take the stage,
no longer waiting behind the scenes
which hide their rage.
Words have lost all meaning
when facts go unchecked
flung too fast to sustain truth
and belief in its power to right wrongs
for the weak and the poor,
tossed aside by courts which cower
fearing loss of wealth and power.
Which words are safe when lies procure
the party in power’s silent vote to score
total control of each life, each thought,
each breath threatened by dirty schemes
to pollute the earth, water and air?
Words cannot be spoken, claimed by death
of the rule of law.
No words exist to describe the depravity
some of us saw
as our words lay dying
first inside
then outside
where meaning can be lost.
Words remain frozen in heavy frost,
weighed down by cold hearts
and dead souls
seeking total control.
Freedom resides in words
which too often remain unsaid.
Words too softly spoken to wake
those asleep, escaping, all hopes dead.
Too few words of truth must compete
with an onslaught of unchecked lies.
I listen and watch, lost in thought.
I write and I plead against what we have wrought.
Poetry, I fear, carries too-little weight.
Poetry, perhaps, has waited too late
to escape the threat when so many lies
have buried the truth for power and greed.
Money has always been the creed
clothed in religion and faith
which grants God’s grace
to those who deserve to see His face
on dollar bills and hung on towers.
False gods seek our praise as they devour
a country whose best citizens
refuse to use their power to remain free,
and would rather lose their democracy.
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