A place is just a place
Until it is your home
And when you are leaving
All your memories come along
But a place is just a place
When its people are not near
And in this place your place is missed
By those who hold you dear
But a place still holds your place
When you are far from here
It waits to welcome back
Sojourners who can hear
The calling of that place
And those who keep it warm
With memories of communion
Who await with open arms
Southernly winter Sun
Rises slow, casting
Angular shadows sideways
To the north
Cold morning fires burn
A smoky film releasing
Over the city, creeping
Down the valley
As the day progresses
Mountain’s depth revealing
Ridges and crevaces opening
To the warmth
Cold slice of Watermelon
Circles are always complete
even if they are bent, shaken
or twisted.
They remain connected even
as gravity pulls at them
and warps them.
No matter how this world spins
and bends and twists us; together,
You and I remain circular.
My head, it splits
Like waves on
The barren shore
Bubbling oxygenation
As the brack
Settles into sand
And air escapes
Once again, gurgling
Out of the semi-solid surface.
My inspiration
Captured in bubbles
For brief moments — real!
In the end, a burst
Of emptiness, vapid dreams
Hollow constructions
Radiating energy but
Alas — empty…
These words, all that remain
Of the membrane of H2O
Clinging together desperately,
Delicately capturing a
Breath of life and then
Exuberantly
Exhaling it to the world.
Captive for one moment
Before being shared with
Every living thing.
The poem, the word of being.
1)
Free Speech
1st right.
Obligation
To complain.
No obligation
To be civil.
Yet, one
Does not
Have
FREE SPEECH
Unless one has
A complaint.
So, to say
That which
You complain
About has
NO PLACE
in America
Is to say
That you
Will have
Nothing
To say
Without it.
2)
Abridge —
To cut
Short,
Deprive of
Your right
To complain.
Censorship;
Now an open
Capacity
To circulate
Lies. No one
Stopping
The UnTruths.
Weaponized
Propaganda
Aimed to
Invigorate
Hate.
The end of
Civility.
Civic
Discourse
Denied. Silos
Of voice
Contained.
Poetry organizes
This chaos inside
My head
Falling
Words
And
Rhythms
|||/|||| || |||
Tumbling
Around my head
5,000 Ad Impressions
Per diem
Rhetoric
Duplicity
Spooks —
Watching me in my head
Everybody’s Judging Me
(This is you…too)
Though I’m swimming through myself
The curtain’s pulled and the
Only Wizard left standing
Is the naked poet, tearing
Down your walls with
Symmetrical condensation
Even if the drops take an
Eternity, they will nourish
The lichen in your mind
And undo your construction
That keeps you from your fellows
And your obligations to your community.
1.
Silent. Snow
On the ground.
No noise.
Not wind.
Not Bird.
Only the
Occasional
Dropping of water
From the trees.
“Da-lop”
Large, heavy
Beads hitting
Deep beds
Of white.
Then suddenly
“Kur-plasch!”
A whole
Snowball.
Cold radiating
From the
Blinding ground
Steaming
From mid-day sun
Casting
Saw blade shadows
From cactus fronds
On the blank canvas.
To Ascend
To summit
To take to
The high ground
No shelter here
Only vigilance
Every footfall
An icy opportunity
For mass and gravity
To take swing
And change
Your orbit to
Down
“Watch your step”
2.
Silent!
Mountainside
No wind
Only the
Ringing,
Singing
In my ears
And the heavy
Drumbeat
Of my
Overextended
Heart
Palpitating
Out of my
Chest as
I stop
And breathe.
I listen
And hear
Nothing!
The forest
Still, until
The brief
Drop of water
That “blips”
And returns
To the white
Cold canvas.
I found myself
Gripping my pencil
So tightly that
My wedding ring
Was causing pain
To shoot down my finger
—breathe—
Stopped long enough
To pay attention
And relax.
Another estimation
Of my repetitions
Not sure if it
Is a descent
Or a final
Ascension to
New heights so
That I might
Get a better
Point of view
My circling
Routine must
Be leading to
Something besides
Its own orbit.