it just got personal…

 

reasons for entry
differ
patriotism
poverty
or
boredom
with
where one lives
for some
training builds
a sense of allegiance
to
the flag
for others
an outlet
for
emotions
regardless
battlefields
those human devised
disasters
like
all disasters
makes the unwilling participants
face
life’s uncertainties
and
how in the blink
of
an eye
death
that
primal disaster
can wipe away
existence
so
in that light
death becomes a teacher
teaching
what’s important
our
morality
and
community
a community
that
we would
die for
and
when
one is torn away
from
that community
like all families
there is
grief
but
there is an urgent need
for
revenge

 

requiems in the sand…

 

i’ve started writing
my new poems on the beach
words briefly exist
like the lives of those they speak
voiceless souls trapped in man’s games

 

the poet…

 

walks
just outside
the
circle
of
acceptance
a daily exercise
of
self-awareness
rather
than
some
political statement
of
indifference
to
the routine rhetoric
of
elected demigods
demigods
whose
heart-felt solution
to
problems
generally
involves
an
assassination
a
historical pattern
that
is practiced
by
today’s
world leaders
regardless
of
religion
or
race
or
one’s
previous
level of persecution
from
others
it’s just
the thing to do
when
people fail
to
to comply
of course
one
should not presume
that
justice
will
in any way
be
served
for
justice
is
apparently
negotiable

 

junk yard dogs…

 

i checked in
to see
aunt bea
after
returning
from
a business trip
to
washington dc
aunt bea
noticed
that i was
upset
and
asked why
i said
i’m having difficulty comprehending
the hostility
that’s
being engendered
by
the white house
i just don’t know
why
aunt bea
said
as a child
i recall
that
the junkyard
down by the river
had
high fences
to
conceal
an array of trash
collected
over a lifetime
and
probably
illegal whiskey stills
it
also
had
the most vicious dogs
dogs
barking
day and night
hoping
to instill fright
into anyone
who dared
to
attempt to see
what
was
truly
behind
the fence

 

a different palate option…

 

cold dark earth with death’s foul breath fills the earth’s lungs and children’s eyes
war’s orphans buried beneath layers of hate and poison gas
wine’s sampled by politicos while the children taste death’s brew

 

unaccompanied valise diplomatique…

 

loud outcries filling airways sanctioned murder must be avenged
journalist cut in pieces for suitcases to journey home
who can search diplomatic bags often the law protects crime

 

ground zero…

 

once again the streets
will become the battlegrounds
unabated greed
blinds rich from consequences
but shields no one from anger