Black Ants

If you think, if you dream, life is where you need to be.  We should all live in a no war zone.  There’s no room in the logical mind for killing, brutality, and butchery.  Open your mind.  Pry and squeeze or whatever way you must to open your brain to reason, to peace, and good Karma.

 

The belief that everything happens for a reason just might be wrong.  Perhaps some things happen serendipitously like walking into the street and being hit by a car, or walking into the street and not being hit by a car.  It’s not always guided by some finger appearing out of the sky and with a deep Charlton Heston voice saying, “Don’t walk into the street!”  Sometimes an ant is crushed inadvertently by the black heels of illogical thoughts.

Regret

I can hear the gentle wind

across your tombstone granite

blowing lightly empty words

words you never spoke alive

blowing still, still so slight

are you wondering

are you echoing

what was never said to you?

Yet whisper does the wind

as it careens lightly off trees

whispering soft repentance

for words too often spoken

Now I walk away

breezes brush my back

away from your death

with words left, still unspoken.

My Story of America

 

Long stemmed grass stuck between my teeth

shock of black hair blowing in a summer breeze

I lost count of puffy clouds slow motion journey

across my panoramic view of childhood.

I guess life awoke my sleeping innocence

eighteen and America counted on me

to kill protect uphold words written

before my naiveté before I could shoot a gun.

Dark spots growing across this wrinkled skin

tell a story repeated in so many volumes

so many stories lost on hills valleys jungles

headless soldiers burned like a Sunday barbecue.

Did Uncle Harry, Grandpa Seth, Daddy Johnny

come marching home again hoorah hoorah

did anyone wave their bloody legless bodies

in the air and scream “I’m buying.”

America’s stories are written in blood

hot rivets and soured sweat let’s kill those reds

yellows blacks browns and baby eggs

let’s kill mothers collateral relevance is all.

Peace is reading a newspaper want ad

grandkids suckling in the parlor

growing gun hands and running feet

they too will learn too soon, too soon

So what’s your plan little child soldier

go to college learn you are useless learn

Thomas Jefferson loved black women?

His genius mind is lost forever in the southern plan.

Learn that God is only you inside a Santa suit

learn your parents were wrong about freeways

cause nothing is free especially not your way

money pays for the paper George and John wrote upon.

This is my America you don’t like you shun

like dumpster diving rat lovers

cardboard mangers sitting on steam grates

back alleys backwashes backstabbing.

Grab your last pay check and scream hoorah

parade your colors of black and blue

life is not mine to keep or yours to take

salute this brass bell America shoot my head off hoorah.

Eternity is Scary

 

I am scared sometimes in empty rooms

not certain why maybe it’s the ghosts

of my history silently floating clouds

old haunts old guilt old miseries.

I am uncertain about hereafter,

heretofore, hereby, and here

it confuses me to think somewhere

in the dirt of my grave will be an angel.

Do you understand the Armageddon

the burning ring of fire Johnny Cash

whistled in the shower with June

July and August somewhere in the background?

Eternity seems to be immeasurable

in terms of finite and infinite math

Jesus played baseball for St. Louis

God built a damn somewhere in Idaho.

Evangelicals run it all someone declares

Pope Benedict polished his silver hammer

I’m lost in this manmade universe called heaven

who ratted on Moses and his Red Sea magic?

My Box

 

Through the years I have noticed that life is a series of reruns so when old people see something that others consider strange we only nod our heads and smile knowing quite well that it’s been said or done before.

 

Poetry is kind of like that.  Everything has been said that’s ever going to be said, but the poet’s challenge is to express it differently.  I can’t count all the poetry I’ve read by the “greats” and wish I had said it…too many to count.  I simply repeat words used by so many others, but I try to say exactly how I see things.

 

The world has shrunk it’s true with the advent of the internet Ipads, Ipods, and cell phones, but it’s still the same.  People still kill for power or shame others for power.  The act of dehumanizing others is alive and well, and all the digital communications owned or invented by man or woman will not change the black hearts of dictators and religious leaders…sometimes critics can fit in that category.

 

I live in a box which keeps me safe from the world around me and as long as I can stay inside the box all is good and delicious, but one cannot stay in his or her box forever.  I guess it could be said that my poetry and my attempts at poetry are an effort to leave the box metaphorically.  It is scary I must say to write words and stories and have them judged by people I don’t know.  Perhaps it is my way of coming out of my world and sharing some of it with others.  Rejection hurts and acceptance is marvelous, but the silence of complacency and disinterest is deafening.

Tyranny Revisited

You stand concrete still,

glass eyed lover.

I have no answers to this cusp

we find ourselves teetering.

You hold the torch my forefathers

cried upon beholding

their prayers answered.

Is it now to be a tourist attraction

scraping knees with oil rigs,

soda cups and the spit of gods?

What did ghosts of warriors fight for

if not for the huddled masses

seeking freedom from tyranny and the British fist.

We must now resist the fist from within.

The Edge of Dying

 

I fell into a silhouetted sleep

alone with tubes

catching my life

between two worlds

breezes touched my arms

and robotic clicks of numbers.

My dreams were ethereal

filled with flying silk.

Masked faces whispering

numbers exponentially

“Can you see the angels?”

Someone softly questioned.

I sadly said, “no.”

The low humming

of oxygen

and more silhouetted

softness stood next to me.

I knew the sweet smell.

It was you.

Angel

please take me home

that’s where I belong

sleeping next to you

into whatever eternities

await.  Without flight

I shall pass and not return.