There are times
For acting on impulse
But ultimately,
Hearts are made to feel
And we think
With our heads;
So let’s stop hanging
Upside-down,
And be right-side-up
Instead
(Upside-down World was first published in the Poetry Explosion Newsletter)
∞
Patriotism
Thomas Paine said what was right
When others wanted to overlook--
He persevered, published his book.
If only we will look and see,
The figures in our history
Generously offer insight,
Rouse us from silence to noises,
And give us eyes, to use our voices.
∞
‘Manifest Destiny'
A truthful journey covers great distances,
Over oft-rocky terrain
And, it’s hard to recognize progress
While looking down,
To keep from stumbling
Over rocks and roots
The path of contrivity is tempting;
Offering short-hikes up to those guaranteed,
Breath-taking vistas
But too many peaks clustered closely together,
Can form a mountain range
Of indifference, and
While captivated,
At least momentarily,
By the panoramic view,
A wall forms between
The present,
And destiny
∞
Until There's Really Nothing Can Be Done
A wind of protest
Whooshes past;
The breeze
Itself a welcome relief,
From the oppressive stench
Of lazy discontent.
But all too quickly, hands
Are bound behind backs,
As the well-oiled
Political machine in its smug glory
Moves on, a carefully built
Conveyer belt
Of deceit,
Attempting to silence those who dare speak.
Ominously it glides along, evenly paced
Towards the impending cliff edge of space.
Darned if it does seem we're gaining momentum! But in which direction?
As we scramble swiftly backward, we're told there’s little can be done
∞
Garden Party Pleasantries
Canvas canopies here,
Attempt to screen the sun
From a group
Gathered to hear.
Already-soaked-in-heat,
Rising from the
Clay brick patio, helps to
Draw forth sweat beads
That glisten,
Glaring and honest,
In this sweltering
Political season.
Introductions are made;
Drinks, served;
Speeches, given;
Pleasantries, exchanged.
But the chilly breeze that blows
Through your
Flowery words
Is unwelcome,
Despite the warmth, revealing a crass temperature
To your
Not so subtle,
Disingenuous character.
Yet, you seem conflicted,
And I wonder if I’m the only one intrigued.
You absentmindedly deadhead a few dried blossoms,
Reminding me: We are all tending the same garden
∞
Intersections
Traffic converges
At intersections, as
Cars and trucks
Move in succession,
Hastily, or slowly
Toward stop signs
Making mass movement invisible
From this vantage point
And a standstill
Seems inevitable;
But advancement of vehicles
Marks progress
∞
Mere Pawns?
Mere pawns sit quietly
Upon respective checkered pasts,
Grateful the chess board
Is not made of glass
Satisfied participants
Knowing, alternatively,
Spare pieces are left
At outskirts, entirely
Hoping the next move
Might be theirs to make,
But acknowledging others
Whose roles have more at stake
So, having frequently observed the
Entrapment of kings who took the bait
And, desperately wanting
To avoid abandon’s fate,
Mere pawns working under royalty
Patiently await,
The chance to overturn the board,
When they will say, “Checkmate”
∞
Never Too Soon To Quit
Give me an analogy for war,
And I will show you the skills for peace.
Make me know what it’s for,
And I will help you to see
A simpler way
To understand
Why I blame
The nature of man
And why, the sooner
We learn it’s okay to be wrong,
We can spin this world the other way
Making grateful praise
From hateful riots,
And turning brash noise into serene quiet
∞
Beating Dead Horses
Oh my god
It’s tiresome, the way we have the whip,
And the carrots too, and we keep coaxing,
And prodding,
Even coddling;
And we led it to the water,
There was no drinking,
Or at least, not that we could tell.
And of course,
Just wishing
For civility, will
Never allow us to ride. But our State, of affairs
Doesn’t improve by
Beating dead horses,
And only draws more nasty stares.
So how long will
We continue
Trying to lead
Where no one will follow,
And everyone keeps
Saying sorry but,
“They’ve gotta
Go see
A man about…,”
You know the rest. Making
Changes mid-stream is never easy,
But if a turn of foot
Doesn’t help the pace,
It may be time
To scratch our picks
From their next race
∞
Taxes
Our roads are paved with dollars;
The bricks and mortar too,
Where our youngsters
Go to school;
All our infrastructure,
As a general-rule
But our homes
Are insured with
Fear, and our pockets
Themselves, lined with lint,
Rubbed threadbare
By nervous hands shoved in
To save warmth because
The electric bill didn’t get paid so there’s no heat,
And there are few perks at work
Since our businesses, by extension, have little profits to reap
From a people spreading the slight
Amongst the many, to feed
The voraciousness of the shrewd.
So our work may not pay, but our vote still counts,
For today.
Where will the ballots land?
Haphazardly on polling place floors?
Or, into capable hands?
To handle
Responsibly
An increasingly polarized
Society’s needs,
Ass
embling together, amicably
Against the proponents of greed
∞
On Pacifism
The exigency
Of humanity
Is the opportunity
To elect peace
Over war,
Recognizing the choice
Is espoused to valor,
Not fear.
For there is action
In inaction,
Particularly in death.
And what we meet
In the pacifist's demise,
We find
Was humanity's only trait
∞
Diplomacy
Self-defense and
Self-promoting
Both convey a set of motives
In personal matters,
Or those of a nation,
To win or lose,
To stand or fall,
Depends on the artist
Within us all
∞
Entitlement
Who deserves
To drink, eat, be?
Who has truly
Earned their keep?
The deer of the field,
The fish of the sea?
Life is work, and work, life.
Oh, to live honorably,
Knowing, in earnest,
Earning
Is not meant
For keeping;
Nor does
Having, and having kept
Equate to
Having earned,
As a leaf is not
Entitled to its tree.
But we were all
Born to die free
∞
Call Me Home
Call me home,
Beyond the graveyard
Of self-defeat,
Beyond the unkempt,
Cracked, and
Callous-producing street,
To that place before weary
Where I never wept,
Nor feared
For all the empty soda-can
Brokenness and disgrace of
This world’s countless years.
Call my eyes upward
To remember again,
There is an aqua sky
Way up above the hurt and
Useless junk, where American
Eagles…and other birds, still fly
∞
Premise of Peace
We will be okay
Because we’ve always been
Okay,
Because that’s the best
We can ever be
Before the warring starts,
And the powers-that-be
Conspire to manipulate the free,
And the whole world pushes
Hard against itself
Until something slips in the struggle.
Then there’s an aftermath of rubble
But some of the tension dissipates
In the release,
Reminding humanity of our need
For a common premise of peace
∞