standing by…

why am i awake
it’s much too early to write
this ipad’s a curse 
placed near my bed by my muse
makes me her on-call poet

 

 

free wine from false prophets…

flagrant lies and crimes
are summarily dismissed
by hate’s disciples
charlatans face no judgment
shielded by a nation’s myths
the key’s self interest
feed disciples their fears and
they willingly drink
whatever poisonous brew’s
placed in their chalice of self

mr and mrs creamcheese…

ken
      and
karen
don’t
       quite
              get it
freedom
            isn’t about
the small
              amenities
                            and
              tokens
                        tossed
             here
                    and
            there
as
    some
    conciliatory
                     means
    of
       reducing
                    their
       guilt
for
    that doesn’t
                       change
            the fact
                         that
it’s
     still
           a cage       
 for
           those

without

            freedom

 

 

insufficient for purpose…

ain’t got
no fancy
iambic pentameter
to wrap around
my words
nor
sweet rhythms
to conceal
the crimes
of our time
no metaphors
for the sounds
of bullets
ripping
the flesh
of children
huddled with fear
in their classrooms
can’t find
an anonomatopoeia way
to say
the gun lobby
is french kissing
dollars
into the mouths
of senators
so they’ll
turn a blind eye
to the streets and classrooms
flowing
with innocent blood
but they ain’t
the only ones
refusing to see
that racism
defines this nation
and perhaps
the entire white world
for tears are shed
when ukrainian children die
but not even a sigh
is heard
when children starve
to death
in africa and bangladesh
or
children are struck down
by an israeli drone
there’s no fixed meter
that can convey
the absolute sadness
of parents
with their child’s death
no poet can ever
capture the emotions
for such an event
we merely stutter
our thoughts in words
onto the page
hoping to express
our personal rage
at the inhumanity
of mankind

so many poems…

i wonder
if
anyone
stops and stares
at
these billboards
of
my mind
the words
that
i place
upon
the page
i suspect
most
will be forgotten
along
with
my name
that is
of
course
not much
of a surprise
we poets
for centuries
have pasted
our feelings
on
every surface
possible
words
often erased
by
ignorant
self-serving hands
or
those frightened
by the truth
but
we have
had
our say
and
on occasion
are able
to give voice
to those
who dare
not speak
giving voice
to those
unheard
we poets
attempt
to yell above
the vulgar platitudes
of
concern
and
empty promises
promises
for a better day
if only the oppressed
will
give
it
time
time
the one thing
they’re permitted
to have
and
oppressors
want them
to waste it
waiting
for what will
never
come

dear liza…

i’ve
just been talking
about
life
and sometimes
it’s not
so
pretty
but my words
merely
reflect
what
you already know
so there’s nothing new
in
what i say
my words
are
just
a reminder
that
there’s a hole
in
the bucket

 

 

mexican jumping beans…

seems like a harmless toy
but
i’ve begun to wonder
if it wasn’t
an early indoctrination
about mexico
and
its people
people
portrayed
by
speedy gonzales
and
pablo
a gun packing
and
no doubt
violent
lazy mouse
while
speedy’s
promiscuous nature
was conveyed
in lines
like
speedy gonzales
is
friend of my sister
quickly
appended by
speedy gonzales
is friend
of
everyone’s
sister
what strange
saturday morning lesson
to
precede sunday school’s
love thy neighbor
oh
and don’t
get me started
about
three black crows

it’s all good…

i should be concerned
so many world tragedies
but i’m just a squirrel
and well to tell you the truth
life’s just down right good for me

the big lie…

of all the lies told
perhaps the greatest of all
is the one which starts
we hold these truths to be self
but alas just empty words

 

a request for redress…

now lord
i know
you’re supposed
to be
all knowing
but
i’d still
like
for you
to check
my personal data
in
your
final judgement book
where
you will notice
that
i
have
rarely complained
about
your
divine
wisdom
oh
i know
as
a youth
i complained
about
3.2 beer
and
that
whole acne thing
resulting
in
your version
of
mandatory teenage celibacy
but
this
is
about
a serious design flaw
that
you made
during
that
whole creation thing
a problem
i’m sure
you don’t have
but
ask
a member
of
your trinity party
for
verification
of
my
little
beef
simply put
i
cannot reach
the
center
of
my back
to
scratch it
when
i have
an itch
this
significant design flaw
which
is
not only true
in humans
since
i have noticed
that
other creatures
demonstrate
the same problem
thus
having
to revert
to using trees
and
such
to scratch
their backs
now
since
some of us
have
evolution
you could remediate
this problem
without
calling attention
to
your initial mistake
as for
those
of us
in
the here and now
i humbly
suggest
that you
daily
send down
angels
to relieve
our
center
spine woes
oh
and
if it’s not
asking too much
could
you pass
this
modest
proposal onto
the other
divine beings
as
a
public service
pronouncement