formication…

i
listen
for
sounds
just beyond
these
invisible doors
wondering
if
anyone
hears my words
i ask myself
are these poems
just
ushered
into
darkholes
where
each
simile
and
metaphor
are pulled
into
fields
of
apathy
from
which
they will never
escape
nor
send
back
signals
of
their survival
it would appear
the
whole
process
is like that
of
faith
belief
beyond
reason
writing
to
cleanse
that
feeling
of
insects
crawling
beneath
society’s
skin

 

ain’t left the station…

been sittin’ for years
posters on the walls have changed
even have been able
from time to time to change seats
but freedom’s  train ain’t arrived

 

the gnat’s complaint…

these webs
are
so unjust
flies
always die
staring
into
my eyes
with
the most
incriminating looks
as if
i
were the one
who spun
this web
but
i
and
those generations
before me
have been
trapped
within
these fibers
of
lies and promises
for
centuries
had i
been born
with
more mass
i
would have flown
right through
this
social web
no more
inconvenienced
than
needing
a quick shower
afterwards
but
that is not the case
i
linger here
as
a bit of amusement
and
as
a morsel
for
a boring day
a systemic slave
the quintessential
essential worker
to be
devoured
or
left
to
just
decay
and
die

 

when in interlude of darkness..

if
you
feel like
you’re crawling
through
mud
with
rancid water
soaking
your clothes
and
the weight
of
progress poverty
pressing
you further
into
the mire
of
inequity
you must
still
continue
the fight
for
social justice
but
each time
you grow weary
focus
on what you do have
those
loving hands
that
reach out for you
those
words
of kindness
and
appreciation
for
all you’ve done
and
those tearful eyes
that
look to you
for
what
you will
do

 

from the window an old pokey pickup truck…

i’ve spent
quite a few
sleepless nights
during
this
quarantine period
trying
to
measure aspects
of
my life
and
wondering
how others
could have
just
now
begun
to
appreciate
the struggles confronting
those
all around them
since
aunt bea
has lived
through
so much
i thought
i’d give her
call
and
asked
her opinion
aunt bea
said
the pace
of
our daily routines
blurs
our views
of
of life’s journey
keeping
what we’ve seen
or
what
we could have seen
out of focus
perhaps
the pandemic has
forced us
to
slow down
and
see
what’s been
right
in front of us
the whole time
we just
needed
to slow down
a bit
to feel
the pain
of
others

 

refugee’s journey to freedom…

he said
death ain’t
that
bad
but
dying was
quite
complicated
found myself
and
family
in one of those
no man lands
between
two nations
we had left horror
only
to find
that
horror
had followed
our footsteps
winter’s frigid hands
took
our first child
while
the second died
of
that new virus
well
that’s what we
suspected
since
no one
was testing
nor
for that matter
considering us
suppose
it didn’t help
that she
hadn’t eaten
much that last week
my wife
the elders said
died
of a broken heart
such things
are hard to prove
but
having such losses
and
being seen
as
subhuman
may add
some validity
to
their belief
as for me
i drowned
crossing the border
my body
was swept
out to sea
no need
for a burial
in
another
unmarked grave
so you see
being dead
ain’t
all that bad
but
dying
well
that was
complicated

 

editing and proofreading needed…

surely
had the poet
found
the right words
people
would have listened
or
read the words
upon
the page
and
rose up
from
complacency
to feed
a
starving child
or
to shelter
a
fragile soul
from
life’s storms
those
poetic words
that
would give
hearing
to
the deaf
and
sight
to
the blind
surely
had the poet
found
the
right
words
the
right
incantation
dead emotions
would
be
alive
for surely
no
human
could ignore
and
deny
such
basic
needs
of
others
to
exist

 

an unknown soldier…

he had been
dead
for
a couple hours
but
no one noticed
since
he often napped
in
the afternoon
in
the shade
of
the war memorial
to
vietnam vets
he claimed
that
the figures
on
the memorial
were his unit
and
the one
leading the charge
was modelled
after
him
lots of folks
would just giggle
and
say
sure man
that’s you
though
there was
a strong resemblance
anyway
he said
it’s my
right
to sleep here
so no one
was really concerned
about
his long nap
could have been up late
making the rounds
of
restaurant bins
last night
you’d be surprised
by
what they throw out
so
he may
have been feeling
like
a stuffed cat
needing
to sleep
more than usual
so
no one was concerned
until
the police
showed up in the park
along
with a contingency
of
border patrol agents
making
one of their routine
round up
the mexicans
and
vagrants
strategic operations
it was then
when
his friends
got concerned
he didn’t respond
when pushed
by
an officer
of
the law
he
just
laid there
motionless
someone
said
he got buried
in one
of those
national
cemeteries