POEM: Not Unlike Hope

Here is a poem about hope, sometimes on the run, sometimes on the lam.  Hope is never lost, and hope often lurks in sometimes unrespectable places. This poem has plenty of puns, hidden jewels, drama, chase scenes, and victorious poetry.  Enjoy!

Not Unlike Hope

Take heart
Breaking news
Hope is believed to be
Residing in an undisclosed location
The authorities have undertaken
To apprehend hope
Dead if need be
Vowing to devote all needed resources
To the hunt
For citizens
Turning in
Turning out
En masse
Lady Justice
Expects her clues so
Much like a pink panther
Only rarer
Insulated by specious arguments
A trade mark
To protect and serve
The last
Ne’er do well
Hope rears
Her ugly head
Only aft her
Out laud
In the vicinity of
Lincoln and MLK Way
Where the scufflawless meet
The police force
O Captain! My Captain!
Flailing too
Up the poetry
As we cooly add verse
Shelling out what is ode
And the sonnet rises
Not unlike hope

POEM: My Heart Breaks Daily

Life is messy.  Compassion is messy.  Acting in the world in a way that is congruent with one’s broken and breaking heart is a challenge.  A challenge to the actor, and a challenge to those in the world witnessing and trying to make sense of one’s acts.  Here is a short poem about such heartbreaking action:

My heart breaks daily
Spilling out into the streets
And other public places.
The authorities instruct me
To clean it up.

POEM: A Mother’s Nature

This poem did not exist a few hours ago.  I was interrupted by a thought (captured in the first few lines) and I took the time to jot them down.  Seconds turned to hours as the muse is a taskmaster second to none!  The harm we are doing to our planet haunts me.  Meditating upon the good nature of a higher power helps center me while on a planet where cynicism flows freely.  I am powerless over the creative powers.  This is a good thing!  I stand in awe.  I will stand to protect our planet.  Enjoy!

A Mother’s Nature

Mother Nature is relentless
Like our best dreams
Unlike the monster one step behind us
And gaining
She will do us no harm
Patiently waiting
For her children to return
To the home she has fashioned
Never out of style
Yet oft forgotten
Too few admitting to such a hospitality
Taking the mantle of patients
Picturing her children’s development
Framed by her own love
Razed buy edifice complexes
No matter how
She made them field
And forced unmatched
Given freely verses
Accrued credo
Never to retreat
With receding heir lines
Lured into orphanages
Buy counterfeit presents
That no’s no currency
Giving no quarter to a homme-less mom
A mirror sham to couch their shame
Forging the future
A bode
Swayed by unnatural winds
A backwards whirled
A lost race
Imitating won another
They could get no flatter
In the crush of by-gone dates
Rapt over and over
For what they ware
Gripped by un-void-able cells
Phony sustenance
Quiet a pare
The elusive wons and zeroes
Forming a mock 10
Sow quickly barren
Fake breasts
Seduced into beating
A psycho-path to
Unending litter
Mine-ing anything and everything
That would
Make steal
Throbbing from a mother’s chest
Hearts trumped
Up on false charges
Beating the rap
A single ruse
On Mother’s Day know less!
As she goes
About her business
Miss taken
Scores of prodigal children
A fatherless brood
Ever digging that irony
Any bogus meddle will doo
Pinned to their empty chests
Never wandering up ponder
All is dwell that ends dwell
Wee awe
End up
In hour
Birth place
Returning too
One’s native
Mother Nature
By awe accounts
How can it be
That she is
By us?
There is no sphere
Like hers

POEM: O Children of Mother Earth, Arise!

This poem has emanated from my musings about the oil tar sands in Canada.  The extraction of these oil tar sands, in some of the most pristine parts of North America, is the largest single scarring of Mother Earth ever undertaken by human-unkind.  It seems that our oil addiction has us scraping the last drops of oil from the planet, squandering nature’s wealth — our children’s children’s inheritance — and polluting Mother Earth which sustains our very life.  Greed is the most dangerous enemy of sharing a planet together.  I hope that people from locales all over the earth rise up and protect Mother Earth from the many assaults on her.  As for my Toledo friends, you can check out and join Occupy Toledo’s resistance to oil tar sands being processed here at the BP refinery.  Think globally, act locally — that’s local, not loco!

O Children of Mother Earth, Arise!

Listen, O children of Mother Earth!
Hear, those who have ears
Hear the streams of clean water, our tributaries of life
Hear the streams of cars and trucks dirtying the air we breathe
See, O children of Mother Earth!
See, those who have eyes
See the beauty of fields and forests, mountains and meadows
See the scars of strip mines and cesspools of toxins
Smell, O children of Mother Earth!
Smell, those who have noses
Smell the fragrance of wildflowers and gardens
Smell the stench of oil and coal combustion, and chemical cocktails concocted
Reach out and touch, O children of Mother Earth!
Reach out and touch, those who have hands
Reach out and touch the soil and sun which fuels nature’s bounty
Reach out and touch the concrete and landfills, the Alpha and Omega of so-called “progress”
Taste, O children of Mother Earth!
Taste, those who have mouths
Taste the fruits of her plenty, enough for all
Taste the bitterness of her children’s petty scarcity, robbing brother and sister
Feel, O children of Mother Earth!
Feel, those who have hearts
Feel the call of nature
Feel the greed of those who would of nature relieve themselves
Speak, O children of Mother Earth!
Speak, those who have tongues
Speak of the splendor of a Mother’s care
Speak of the horror of an orphaned race
Arise, every living creature, O children of Mother Earth!
Return to her lap, and breast, and arms
Turn away from her desecration
Take your rightful place, to neither rule from above nor rule from below
Work side by side
Play together
Live neighborly
For we share the same fate
Whether we share or not
O children of Mother Earth

POEM: Chicago Transit Authority and Me – 147 to 4

I recently spent the week in Chicago while my Dad was in the hospital for major surgery.  Travelling back and forth from the hospital involved going about 110 blocks on two busses, from the north end of downtown to the south end of downtown.  Depending on the time of day and how long I had to wait for the busses, this trip took between one hour and 15 minutes and 2 hours and 15 minutes.  Riding the bus is a great way to observe the life of commuters and just plain folks in Chicago.  I wrote most of this poem while riding the bus.  Enjoy!

Chicago Transit Authority and Me – 147 to 4

Students of life
Ride the bus
Make it a double!
The daily double
An express
Oh, to the heart of civilization
Such congested arteries art
A tact rendering society’s very core
Any falling short
In efficiency
Made up
Even odds
Run over by effectiveness
Pilings of people
Towering foundations
Things looking up
People looking down
In a windy city
Going bussed
Reaching a critical mass
Together experiencing the unspeakable
Connected somewhere else
Razing dreams
Of brighter palms
Too due lists
Play lists
Songs sung by someone else
Left only wanting
More Gigs
Beating the hum drum
“I pod people”
“I pod people”
Over and over
Over and out
Faster tablets
The magna carta of a new millennium
An ever-expanding tabula rasa
Living on
Cloud nein
Mean wile
The poor stare into their cells
The porous of all
A remnant grasps
To trees gone by
Scrawled by the prints of modernity
Yesterday’s news
Tomorrow’s prognostications
Today’s storyteller
Only lessor is
Standing still to arrive
The man clutching only to his bar
Drinking in
His river
As life passes by
Close enough to touch
Surrounded by a stream of cars
Never the same twice
Day after day
Some for hire
Some already bought and sold
Thankful to have a job
Washing windows in the rain
Making umbrellas while it suns
Trafficking in
The city
Flashy lights tell us what to do
And what not to do
Saying when
Hoping to get off
Before it is too late
A single bird
Nothing to see here
Don’t flip out
Dreading a park
Backs to the shoreline
Fending off the source
From still waters
Of a nameless state
Beyond the horizon
Sales trimmed
Passed what you can’t afford
Not too due
Drive on, fare people!
Fear not what you miss
For there comes an other
Echoing in eternity
Dozens of stories
To be tolled
Countless more
To be ridden
Far too many
On a shelf
A mobile library
Where audience and author
Miss unparalleled appointments
I’s that seldom meet
Idle business
Wasted time for sum
A riders’ workshop for others
So many blocks
So few children to play with
Silently groan up
Wonting to be scene
Not herd
With plenty of space to ponder
Who is passing who?
Encyclical roll reversals
At times
A living museum
Enriching the observer
In the presents
Of the seeming mortified
Weather paying a tension or not
Life will take you places
Each doing the bus they can
Out look
Fare to excellent
Many more waiting
On the streets
To be
Or not to be
Full, filled
Contracting countless riders
From ashes to ashes
From dust to dust
Only to return to where we came from
It’s enough to make won
A little loopy
Accept to know
That one
Awe ready
Has arrived