we get distracted
and lose our concentration
so fail to see death’s
not standing in the shadows
but is now right behind us
Poetry
child prodigy…
when i visited
aunt bea
there was a young man
sitting on the curb
in front of her home
who
quite
reluctantly
moved
as i drove up
when i asked aunt bea
about his behavior
aunt bea
said
that child
always
nods his head
and
says
yes ma’am
at least
acknowledging
that
i’m taking
but
his actions say
he hasn’t heard
a word
i’ve said
i do believe
that child has
a promising future
in
politics
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…
Read Between the Minds 