“These citizens united have bought authority and power and placed
Liars at the heart of governance. They divide and devour
Our people who cower afraid of their neighbors and countrymen
All made worse by the Makars who write tragedies for the takers
And Eulogies for those they have broken. They lament the worst
That this land can offer and make kings of traitors and accomplices.
So we are gathered here tonight to set the world alight and burn down
The halls of books and paintings. Set fire to the Museums and Libraries.
Let these flames be the last thing to read these words.” Thus spoke Tiresias.
The Socratic Society and Pathagoryns had gathered that evening
In every town, near every hall of art and literature, they broke
Into schools and every Library and pool of poetry
Were purged by the flames of change. Everything that
Once stood for Free Speech and the predicate good was
Licked by the fire of a new order. They moved silently
Through the streets, caught the paintings and poetry unaware
As it burned in its own prison of walls and shelves.
Category: Poems
Truth Under Siege
The work began before this land found itself under siege
The Pythagorans had for years made plans to unwrite Democracy
Preparations were made, the program laid, the foundation of the
Resurrection Council. Recreating the Masters and establishing
The Pillars to raise the rafters of the New Academy, usher in
The return of the teachers who yearn to create the Grand Republic
Set up the schools and the camps to produce the students
Who will grow into the proffered New Guardians
Teach them Mathematics and Gym, Philosophy and Science
Delete the Poetry and Tragedy; purge the Literature completely
Take up arms in defense of their fledgling government
That will rise from the ashes of these books
Do away with the old Democratic modes
Whose Freedom runs too freely in these streets
By The People who’ve overstepped their obligations to live
Their lives for the Better Good. The truth is under siege
In this Land of Liberty and must be culled for the New Prosperity.
Arts In Chief
“People of the nation – Rejoice – for today the artist’s guild
Has revealed the new Artist-In-Chief. Metron, The Makar,
The Poetic Calculator has been chosen to oversee the most skilled
Bards and authors, painters and creators who will prepare
This generation with their visions for our country
And bring to light the good rhythms and prisms to give
Tales that enlighten and delight with comedy and tragedy,
Beauty and morality to people who know freely how to live!
So, without further a do – let me present to you the latest
Installment to the cabinet of our President, the Poet Laurette
Metron.” “Thank you one and all here in Paterson Hall, lest
We forget from where we came, we return once again to get
Straight to the source of inspiration. I am honored
To be given this responsibility to the Heavens and promise
To return with gratitude and wisdom great works of expressions uncensored!”
But, there are many in the crowd, who wish to silence this proud canvass
Of the people. For a greater lesson to be taught of pomp and circumstance.
Unsolvable Meditation

At the end of the mathematics
Of the Universe, Hawking
Solved for God; the only
Possible solution for
The unsolvable question.
I am met with the same
Wonder as I sit under
The trees in the garden
Contemplating the galaxy…
And my place wherein:
A drop of water, charged
On a piece of sand, hurled
Around a ball of fire, swung
Towards an enormous singularity…
“Amen.”

Silenced by Fire.
The orange lightning
Spreads over my words.
They are burnished one
Last time into my eyes
As my breath turns
My last words to dust,
All their energy
Taken away
By the fury of the sun.
Classics

Classic icon of the West
The great steel horse, chief driven
Western power charging across the
Iron scars of a landscape torn open
With industrial desires and the need for connection.
Ancient mode in modern time, still carrying the promise of the dream across American desert. Anticipating your latest desires, in tow.
Carriage.
“Hey, is #489 running late?”
Painting is a prison
No motion in painting
Save the brush stroke
Permanently locked in
Line structure
& 2
Dimensions
Trapped on the canvas
Never offering the subject
The opportunity
To exercise
Free will.
Painting is a prison.
Haiku

Some experiments
Standing near Mirror
Lake, myself part of nature…
BROKEN! By a stone.
Face sheered off in time,
Her tall body arching o’er
Me. Shouting “Hello!”
Art Deco stole it’s
Design from a Zinnia!
Scallop eggshell domes.
“Twitter”
Perhaps a haiku / but unnatural the tweet / Broken! The syntax.
Makar Rain

Thousands of years of rain
Washing her bulbous face,
Chipping away at her grain
By grain, by boulder by grain,
Until one day a great collapse
An earthquake or meteor perhaps
She splits in two, dropping
Half her mass in an avalanche.
Sheets of rock splitting off
Tumbling in tumultuous shambles
Of her once bold face, until
Once again years of rain
Washing her caved in face
Chipping away at her grain
By grain by boulder by grain
Smoothing her, curving her
Revealing her true color
And character.
“Hello” hello “Echo” echo
Echo

Whatever I say, repeats itself.
“Hello!” Hello, Hello, hello…
As my eyes roll over her curves
Arching over me, bending in
Streaks of red and yellow
Broken finally by azure
Sky that offers the only light
Inside this giant bowl dome.
A cathedral, a great place to
hear the violin or guitar. A
Symphony or maybe quartet?
If you sing the canyon songs
You are blessed with a chorus
Of your own voices from
The echo chamber.
“Clouds, oh clouds, speak to me…”