20200120.0430

The time approaches.
It can be seen.
In but a year,
If we are here,
We'll get to see
If we should flee
Across the sea
And seek new land.
We understand
That the command
May well demand
We take a stand,
But we well know
That what we show
Can stand few blows
That others throw,
Not with fists, no.
We can scarce go
Against that flow;
We'd feed the crow.

20200119.0430

Much yet needs mending that has been broken
And much needs to be discarded that is broken and
Cannot or will not be repaired
Such things can still injure
Feet can catch in holes where
Structures that should support have
Fallen away
Hands can be cut upon
Ragged edges unattended
And there remain many who will seek to do harm
Who will seek to elevate themselves by
Cutting others down like trees and
Standing upon the scaffolds built from that lumber
Grinning
Perhaps
As they place the noose
Thinking it the ribbon of a medal
Some honor
I can hope to see such coming and
Harden my bark against the bite
Blunt the blade that would else sink deeply

20200118.0430

We exhumed him
The professor I had once envisioned
Confirmed that he is dead
He was not stillborn
He drew a few breaths
Screamed
Defiance and
Outrage and
Shock and
Fear
But lapsed into a coma before he could walk
And I was long in the process of
Pulling from his cooling corpse the
Tubes and
Needles that
Kept his heart beating
Feebly
Blood sluggishly oozing through his veins
Going through the boxes that had been
Gathered for him
Showed some things we had thought lost
Cookbooks with recipes
Particularly fondly recalled
Old methods books for saxophones played
Ineptly then as now
Tchotchkes and bookmarks
Bringing smiles to faces among
The grimaces of old dust
And the occasional dead roach
We keep a few mementos of him
Things chosen to retain
Not kept anymore from the inertia of
Nearly twenty years of
Life often spent badly
And we are happier for it

20200117.0430

A miner, I
Drilled down a bit
Seeking treasure
I buried mine
Instead and left
Another approached where
I had sunk in from
Another way
Opened the chamber
Retrieved the treasure I had
Unknowingly buried
But come to treasure later
I have held that treasure
Close since, but I
Will let it go
Someday

20200116.0430

I used to try to ride for the brand
Even though I hadn't a stake in it
But them as own it
Have a blast on the bang for their buck
And if they can buck a rider
And still move the herd
They'll do it in a hurry
And leave 'em choking on the dust

20200115.0430

To serve the Stupid God unknowing can,
For those who seek atonement, be forgiven,
But all too many serve it as their plan
And would see others to that worship driven,
See them from a fairer prayer be riven
And in their tears and screams take their delight.
To such, no mercy should ever be given,
For kindness and compassion are not rights.
It is not fear that bids us take from sight
The putrid mess, to cast ordure away.
It is not fear alone that bids us fight,
But also hope to find a better way,
And knowing that it will not be through play
That we may Stupid God’s effects allay.

20200114.0430

I have stood outside where I grew up
Seen across the fence and through the window
Watched as what would have been a bough grown strong
And heavy with sweet fruit, abundant seed
Bent and broken and bared of its bark
Become a bludgeon to leave bruises that never heal
Should I look to my own hand
Would I find it clasps a cudgel
Its grain darkened from the oil of a grip long held on it
And grime not shared with Ellen Terry's Sargent role
But no more subject to being scrubbed away
The line where once the branch grew straight and true
Marred and dented from where it has swung
And where its swings have stopped too suddenly?
What marks have I left on flesh
As yet otherwise unblemished
Whether with purpose to cause pain or
Idly waving about, not bothering to check my backswing
Or, indeed, what lies before me,
Seen no more than empty air?

20200113.0430

That those who serve the Stupid God will fail
To recognize the price of their travail--
Its kind, its reach, its grasp, its scope and scale--
Is no surprise. They are the sort who heed
Stupid God's lies, who think they do not need
To think about where thoughts and actions lead,
And so they are surprised when their desire
Returns and burns their hearts as searing fire,
Casts their wants upon a raging pyre
And eats the ash. Who evil's root will eat
Should not much start that others take that treat
From those they claim themselves to love, or bleat,
Like goats, they find themselves to be betrayed,
Since they but suffer that which they have made.

20200112.0430

The quiet seems to have returned at last.
As celebrations fade into the past,
We are into the normal rhythms cast
Of life, and we can play again in time,
In common meters, old patterns of rhyme
That shape our thoughts that touch not the sublime,
But in the daily drudge again us mire.
Even now, though some may still aspire
To lofty goals, they towards them climb no higher
Than they already are, and many fall,
Demanded answer to quotidian call,
And such will be the fate of nearly all,
Though some few will succeed in their intent.
But more of us are otherwise long bent.

20200111.0430

Too much of me bleeds over onto her.
She should not have to bind my wounds;
I am supposed to be the medic of her heart,
Holding her together until
She can find her own healing
And better.
Yet I see the stains already that
I have left upon her;
They sink in and set,
And I cannot scrub her enough to
Rid her of them without
Rending her worse.
That it is ever thus,
I am certain;
My own skin shows the marks upon it of
Such scouring,
Such discoloration from the hurts of others
Overflowing.