An ancient lie
controls the world,
its flag unfurled
before the eye:
that might is right;
the mystery
of history
is that what light
the meagre flame
of truth reveals,
the winner steals
in a rigged game
won by a cheat,
claimed before birth,
so that true worth
seems like deceit.
06 MAY 2017
Leave a CommentWhat may begin
as lose or win
soon starts to spin
outside that frame.
It seems like play,
this bob and sway:
a bright display,
almost a game,
a wild careen,
drifting between
two wide extremes,
darkness and flame.
Always the chance
in the day’s dance
any advance
could leave you lame.
Each place you are,
gutter or star,
leaves its own scar.
No point in blame.
Thus every art
contains, in part,
true and false starts.
Each ends the same.
27 APR 2017
Leave a CommentLet loose the chains that bind you to the past;
though they restrict, they cannot hold you fast.
The future is not set; no die is cast.
Whatever plans and schemes you make, don’t last;
tomorrow’s rain and sun mind no forecast.
What is to come, will come, no matter what;
a shut door cannot slow storms so vast.
29 MAR 2017
Leave a CommentThis is the morning of the first day;
nothing much remains of yesterday
except some dust in the clay on the wheel,
a flew flecks of shadow in the gray.
This is the morning of moving on;
what happens now is already gone,
chaff on today’s mown lawn blown by a breeze
that has no memory of the dawn.
This is the morning of here and now;
in past soil turned under by the plow
its seeds take hold, somehow, and make their way.
No pause for reminisce is allowed.
This is the morning of the new day;
what can remain of yesterday,
except the faint scent of decay that hangs
above fragrant, new blooms as they sway?
This is the morning of what will be;
let all yesterday’s visions go free.
What good their subtlety to you today?
Past boldness provides no guarantee.
27 MAR 2017
Leave a CommentWhat’s fit to print is not news.
Our bitter, contrary views
are merely stuff we seek to use as new fuel;
like fools, we think we choose
to fight false with what is true,
wielding light that will burn through
the lies and mad bugaboo everywhere.
Now there’s a hopeful coup.
Hopeful, but not meant to be.
The real world seeks symmetry
and balance, but will not be rushed ahead
or led like a pony.
No, to make news in these days,
one must seek out different ways.
To prove a thing, you must amaze the wild mob;
a big job with no praise.
15 MAR 2017
Leave a CommentI’m so tired of all this:
the endless sense of hopeless;
the evil creeping like mist;
the feeling ever helpless.
Walk out into the sunshine!
Find anything that’s divine:
some thing we share, yours and mine.
Look past its flaws in design,
find a world worth redeeming!
Seek what is, not the seeming:
beneath the gray – the gleaming.
Wake up! Stop death’s slow scheming.
14 MAR 2017
Leave a CommentCome up again from the earth;
break through the cold crust and breathe!
Stretch those limbs, no worse for wear;
awake from your winter death!
Rise up through the thawing soil,
and drink the melting snow moist;
with your rested throat come join
the rest of the newborn choir!
Shake loose the dirt, seek the sun!
The world is once again young.
It wants new music begun
and merry wine and song brought.
Come up again from the earth;
enough of this bitter death!
Take down sad winter’s stale wreaths;
hang daisies and baby’s breath.
13 MAR 2017
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