dooming moral choice…

simple to ignore
the faces and lives destroyed
when your eyes are closed
if you ask for forgiveness
you’ll find that our ears are closed

 

gnarled old trees…

been
rooted
in the broken promises
of
freedom
for
over two hundred years
so
it should be of no surprise
that
we have grown
roughened
in
our views
of
the future
and
misshapen
in
our attitudes
for
hope
and
justice
in
this nation
oh
when we were young
we could
easily bend
and
not break
when
the winds
of
ignorance and hate
forced
us toward the ground
then
we would rebound
and
once again
grasp at the sky
but
now days
we refuse to bend
nor
do we have to
we have
an outside
that has grown hardened
and
an inside
having knotty memories
of
the pain
of
our lifetimes
we have
grown
and
survived
like
african mahogany

 

life choices…

like a lottery
life has random decisions
some are yours some not
so when traveling life’s road
expect detours and road blocks

sentient force…

that which has not changed
is that which has not been seen
dormant in the soul

 

interference patterns…

by just looking
at it
one might
draw
some
negative conclusions
for
the case
is
well worn
it’s
wooden shell
shows
its age
and
how
hard
it’s been
handled
over the years
some parts
are
tarnished
resembling
the color
of
gray hair
other parts
are
dented
and
i doubt
work
anymore
but
when you look
inside
it still maintains
its
youthful beauty
my old
kaleidoscope

 

colorless future…

don’t see no rainbows
nothing but death’s cold gray sky
ain’t  pessimistic
just student of history
still waiting for that damn mule

 

an old photograph…

i am
a fading
portrait
each friend’s death
dims
a part
of
who
i am
and
each death
within
the family
makes faint
a portion
of
who
i was
soon
i will have
no eyes
to
see
into
tomorrow

 

formlessness…

like staring
at
stars
we seek
to
find
familiar patterns
of
understanding
for
the amorphous hate
residing
in the heart
of
this nation
we
conjure up
through
our incantations
of
the sacred words
we the people
the
mythical spirits
of
freedom
and
morality
only to hear
the despairing echo
of
our own voices
voices
resonating
in the emptiness
of
each day
yet we
continue
our
self-hypnotic chants
as if
the very words
can charge
the chaotic
into
a form
we can understand
and
thus change
but
like
the centuries
of
incurable believers
before
us
our invocations
are
all for naught

 

movie props…

we sit motionless
while the scenery changes
and others move on
nothing has really changed for us
the illusion continues

 

rat in the shed….

not sure
if
you’ve ever
had
a tree rat
but
like most rats
they
don’t seem
to
get stressed
very
easily
no matter
what course
of
action
you take
they’re
just
difficult
to remove
it’s not that
i
haven’t tried
every
legal means
of
removal
but
the rat
keeps wanting
to
hide out
from
the reckoning
that will
no doubt
occur
if it’s rooted
from
it’s
whitehouse-like
fiefdom
but
i’m pretty sure
with
a little more time
and
effort
the rat’s days
are
numbered