mavors’ fables…

mavor's fables

tell me
no more stories
of
war
i don’t want
to
hear
about
acts of valor
on
the battlefield
or
families left behind
orphaned
by
political
and
corporate greed
no
don’t
tell me
another story
until
you can
raise
the dead

 

 

waiting room…

waiting room

do you know it
that
feeling of entering
a room
knowing there’s
something there
a heavy
invisible mist
something
primeval
that
you begin
to
fade into
your body
and
mind
seem
to become
transparent
your
train of thought
becomes
erratic
as you
try to define
what’s all around
that
you’re unable to see
as you scan
the room
and
focus on
the eyes of others
eyes
pale with anticipation
it seems
like
no one else
notices
that it’s present
the more
you fade
the clearer
it
becomes
it’s
death

providence…

child solitary soul confinement

it’s just a question
one that
keeps me awake
at
night
many
have asked
and
i suspect
many more
will ask
over
the centuries
to come
if there is indeed
a merciful god
why
isn’t there
divine intervention
to
protect
innocent children
from
the cruelty
of
mankind
oh
that free ticket
into
heaven’s a nice
consolation prize
but
wouldn’t it be better
to
give them
a chance
at
life

it’s not always obvious…

it's not always obvious

stopped
by
aunt bea’s
to
deliver
some
costco items
she
had asked for
i told aunt bea
that
i had
had
a very
interesting conversation
with
an elderly woman
who was in
one of those
electric shopping carts
the kind
with
a small basket
in front
which seemed to me
to be
ill-suited
for
a warehouse market
a market
that
generally
sells supersize items
and
that basket couldn’t
have held more
than
two or three
of
anything
but
we had a nice visit
however
i said to aunt bea
i still can’t
figure out
why
she just didn’t
order the items online
and
have them delivered
aunt bea
smiled
and
said
maybe she wasn’t
shopping
for
any particular item
but for
what you provided

 

 

inconsequential…

inconsequential

had you known the truth
you would have refused to die
for freedom’s facade
your final flag draped coffin
would hold just their empty lies

 

 

the forgotten…

the forgotten

sitting unheard
in
the shadows
of
life
are
the old dreamers
dreamers
who had
such
wonderful plans
as they
set out
on
life’s journey
only
to end up
barely visible
in
the shadows
of
existence
with
their dreams
scattered
like
litter
around
their useless feet
useless
since
they have no time
left
to travel
the promise
of
death
anchors them
to
retirement home hallways
or
their
artificially
cheerful cells
decorated
with
life fragments
a time
when
they weren’t
in
this purgatory
this
transitional place
that
offers
drive-by-visitors
family members
who’ve
forgotten
that
beinghood
is more than
safety
it’s a warm embrace
and
seeing daily
the faces
of
those you love
but
convenience
becomes
the watch word
and so
souls become
forgotten