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The just persist.

Fallen Reign

The reign fell
On the just
And the knot sow just
And might be
What is it
A boat
As the tide razes all
Weather you Noah or not
That which bids
An olive branch
Like goaled
At the end
Of a rainbow
Never agin

Here is a poem about the future, with two competing views; one anchored in both antiquity and eternity, multigenerational — the long view; versus another, characterized by the 30-second ad,  24-hour news cycle, and quarterly earnings reports — the short view. Hope abides and sneaks up on us with creative outbursts, even in the face of short-sighted, self-destructive weighs.

The Future, The Passed

He abode
So far
Into the future
To fix your eye
On him
Would peer
Only as a might
A mote uncrossed
Not worth won’s tension
And to boot
Far in arrears
He wrested
Rooted in times so ancient
What ever
Turn a bout
Would halve a mind to mete
Olden daze
Cleaving the novel
Awe weighs losing out
To a 30-second add
That curser-y lessen
Of the quick and the dead
That witch will
Last
In efface of that unquenchable first

In these somewhat psychotic days, some may be tempted to believe that we can act outside of history, or ignore it. Still, I suspect that reality will have its way with us. This may lead to the inertia of history acting akin to the quote: “You can always count on Americans to do the right thing, but only after exhausting every other possibility.” [attributed in some form to Winston Churchill] I am more hopeful. I see an irreducible human spirit that rises in the face of injustice. The greater the injustice, the greater the fuel for this spark to start a fire in our collective hearts. Then, there is know greater force in the world.

I’ll Have a Side of History

History is often
Like the last kid picked
Fore a team
Its secreted virtue rascality
As serendipitous as fate
Underestimated
Its irreproachable timing eternal
The best on its side
Fulfilling the worthy work of sentries
Fiery generations unmatched
Awe weighs on the right side

A short poem to remind us that awe is not lost.

Bred of Life

Eternity calls
In every moment most kneaded
Bred for ever and ever
Flower and sweetness
Salty tears
Water yielding to life
In tending
The yeast of these
Time gives rise to awe

One small hope in the unfolding Trump regime is that the off-the-charts power-mongering and corruption will result in minions behaving like scorpions in a bottle, turning on one another, perhaps degrading their degrading schemes.

Scorpions in a Bottle

The ultimate con quest
Won wring
Too rule them all
They have
Dissembled together
Dough minions
Of every manor
Their savvy genius rounded up
Their whored of power
Stacked
As giving
As a hill of beings
As the profits speak
What lack he
O death wear
Is thy sting
A morality
Slipping
On barrels of snake oil
A mortality
Sipping
On poison
Its soul weapon
A battle fool of fateful pricks
And all that madders
What race engender
That will
Get me a cross
That finish lyin’

The myth of Icarus is one of hubris. Icarus fashions wings of feathers and wax and flies toward the sun. Untoward to him, the sun melts his wings and he plunges back to earth  –for a new sort of flies…

Icarus Flies — The Gathering

As Icarus flies
We wax on
Wee are awe that
Dissembling
Such reverence
Fore all of our droppings

Love is bigger than hate.

Healing Fire

I am naught
Created by my enemies
The most fateful of lessens
I am awe
In the presents
Of my One True Friend
My soul in large
A journey to love true
That healing fire
Never forged by hate

A little Monty Python for a Monday mourning…

Net Zeroed

“We come from nothing, we are going back to nothing — In the end what have we lost? Nothing!” ― Monty Python

I was down
As a madder of fact
I was caught up
We have nothing
Too fear
Accept fear itself
We a peer
From nothing
Wee return
Too nothing
Weave bin
Net zeroed
And you no what
That’s really something

Election day — so it begins. One last, hopefully last, poem about Trump, his lies and conspiracy rants, and his self-fulfilling profits.

Taking, Their Q

They took their Q
From a toxic waste dump
Of conspiracy theories
Truth bastardized and orphaned
Beyond the pail of the retched
Awe the wile
Taking
Their Q cards
From invalid facts
Props
Helled up
Buy the flimsiest of crutches
As if
Some motherless chides
Or if
In power some day
Pigs flying
With all their knew shit

If continuing consumerism is our notion of progress, then carrion and on…

Progress

Progress is
An allusion
To something ails
Bought ensouled
Re: store
As you whir

Most people are skeptical of something coming out of nowhere — no surprise there. However, many people overlook the commonly cynical view that much of what we do disappears into nothing, makes no difference. Perhaps dispelling this cynical magic would lead us to value what we do a bit more…

Relieved of the Magic of Cynicism

He said determinedly
What you due
Doesn’t matter
No difference to be made
Whatever is the point
Projecting
The tip of the spear
Of cynicism
As some negating mystical acts
Chopping us off of consequences
Of any kind
And shit coming out of nowhere
As from some magical asshole
I opted to reply
Thanks for noticing
This is my superpower
Stepping outside
The chain of causality
Feel free
Creating anew
Give it
A whirl
Of good
You might just
Find it
Super natural
Though at thirst
You may still
Hunger for your chains
Relieved of all you do do

As climate chaos ravages our one and only home, many are still mostly worried about gas prices and refueling…

Re fooling

Gaming on
Saving the planet was
Up to US
And he was speeding down
The high way
Rushing to get off
The broad way
Exit 666
To get too
His hows
He had
Already bought it
Consumed with his own
Life
He was deathly a ware
That he was
Lo, on gas running
Road raging fumes
Naturally, when the law pulled
Him over
He was beside himself
Aping some sign language
Muttering out of breath
Still resenting
Any mother stopping him
A little hot under the collar
Copping a lame plea
I saw you like flying buy
As plane as day
Due you no what fast is?
What might
Be tolled
Making everything
Fine
I was fueling despondent
I had to get
Wear id be home free
Just
Like everyone ails
Yielding a posit
Some vane tempt to feel safe
And secure
Hoping against hope
Fore a bit of credit
Accept we awe no
Hows it goest
Means
Ends
Busyness as usual
Know such luck
Re: fooling ourselves