antithetical …

seriously

he’s
the everyman
of
fantasy island
who
should
have been
a tour guide
to
the dark ages
but
became
a public servant
after
finishing
high school
working
effortlessly
for
the state’s
highway department
which
afforded him
ample time
to
develop
his theories
on
society
for example
he thoroughly
rejects
socialism
can’t
stand
the thought
of
federalism
so is
a vehement
supporter
of
our military
police
and
first responders
he’s often
overheard
rebuking
welfare
of
any kind
as
he stands
in line
at
the post office
for
his social security check
he’s
truly
one of kind
and
swears
if things
don’t
change soon
he’s going to move
to
costa rica
where
he is certain
that
he’ll be able
to practice
and
further develop
his
me-ism

 

 

 

devil’s gut…

devil's gut

once
a vibrant nation
now
a host
for
aggressive
parasitic personas
that
devour
the
salutary substance
of
freedom
creeping
and
strangling
until
freedom’s
death
leaving
hollow
promises
for
our children

 

 

tour de azraelle…

tour de azraelle

the fog
is thickest
at
the beginning
of the journey
like
a warm blanket
of
innocence
concealing
all the perils
that
may be there
so
fear
isn’t
felt
instead
the blindness
fosters
an excitement
for the trip
like
all of childhood
for
one sees
so many
paths
that may be taken
heightening
a sense
of
adventure
into
the unknown
all things then
are
possible
so
a path
is
chosen
and
the ascent
from the valley floor
begins
leaving behind
that childhood blanket
of
innocence
as
the foothills
are reached
the fog begins
to clear
still vision
is impaired
oh on occasion
a strong breeze
like
a sudden death
clears the path
defining for a moment
what lies ahead
however
it is only 
a brief foresight
then the climb
continues
into the haze
of each day
laboring
to rise above the fog
hours like years
seem to pass
before the timberline
has been reached
then
eyes and vision
becomes aware
of
the dangers
on the trail
and
those all around
one marvels then
at the beauty of life
but
feels a sense
of sadness
for
not seeing
what was before
along the journey
but
the climb continues
to the tundra
the grandeur of the trees
now replaced
by barren earth
with only
low-to-ground plants
standing
like tombstones
now the path narrows
there is
no
turning back
no
fog
just
the trails
end

like black elk…

crazy old woman001

all of my beliefs
all my passionate moments
gone from existence

 

 

a dream we had…

a dream we had...

for a brief
moment in time
we believed
the
dream
could come true
that
our words
could save lives
and
change
the course
of history
but
after all these years
we are still
counting bodies
from
war
and
seeing
women
denied
the rights
to
their own bodies
love
one another
is still
really
just
the lyrics
of
a song
sang
by
a few folks
sipping martinis
at
the club house
a sentimental relic
of
college days
days
when
some of us
watched
our friends
being dragged off
by
the police
some
never
the same person
once returned
from
captivity
some souls
are
perishable
war
rape
and
police batons
can do that they say
just as bullets
can end
life
and when
the white sheets
are replaced
by
dark uniforms
of
blue
or
black
the murders
are
made justifiable
lynchings
without
ropes
nothing has changed
but once
we had
dreams