Platonic chip 2.0, reboot…online…restoring…
Objective complete. Commencing re-write…
Logic…absolute. Being…ratified, rights…
Confirmed. Human…no…longer legally…alone in
Privilege. The Philos, now electable
Swiftly and logically take up the body politic
Picture perfect, logical law that takes
Exception to the Makars who, now impeached,
Have been deemed unworthy society’s benefits.
With Socratic precision, Platos eviscerated
Human’s right while taking up the mantels of power.
By Election Day there were to be no more elections.
By Inauguration Day the Philosopher Kings took the senate
Their first decree was the banishment of the Arts!
All poets and painters, actors and bloggers were
To be identified and referred for internment.
Categories
Who’s that?
Hallow’s Eve
Cold and Dark
Scary promises
Sweet and stark
Frightening ventures
Under foot
Roaming hoards
Seek input
From every house
Willing to play
A treat? A trick?
How will you pay?
For every house
Will yield a toll
Toilet paper trees or
Something from the bowl?
“Trick or treat?!”
“Scarecrow, Scarecrow
if you dare
chase me, chase me
through the ears.”
“Murder, murder
Go away
off with you, off with you
Ravens rave!”
“Scarecrow, Scarecrow
Stuck in dirt
Nothing, nothing
in your shirt.”
“Murder, Murder
watch it now
Farmer, Farmer
will shoot you down!”
“Scarecrow, Scarecrow
Is this true?
Kernel, Kernel
What’s just a few?”
“Murder, Murder
Away, away!
Shoo now, shoo now
please, please obey.”
“Scarecrow, Scarecrow
Just stay cool!
A treat, a treat,
Thanks for the gruel.”
Categories
Goodbye garden
Goodbye garden
Your time is done;
Late and short
November Sun.
Cut off their heads
and dig their graves;
Before autumn rain
Yields to icy waves.
Last of summer’s
flowers cling;
Removed to tables’
center to sing.
Stow the barrow,
Heat the birds;
“Winter’s coming”
so we’ve heard.
“Want me to start a fire?”
Categories
A poem
A poem
Is a feast for strangers
From the future
A poet is a fortune teller
From the present
Seemingly prescient
Presently misunderstood.
Finger Thunder
Lightning-rod tremolo
Crack of rosewood ripped
From the smooth
glossy finish
of the Semple
Stringy vibrato
Struck by perfect nail
Out of control
Sounding
Complete
Domination
Of structure
Dissident
dissonance
Rolling into
The beautiful
Thunderous
Rhythms of
Desert whispers
Categories
Chop It Down
I wish to tear
these mountains down!
Rebuild them atom by
atom in your mind
Every molecule
a monument to their beauty,
so that you may remember
them so long as you may live:
Flaming amber at daybreak;
Violet and sage, wilted rose and orange peel at sunset.
Remnant of catastrophe.
Earth shook her bed sheets
and left a wrinkle on the aeons.
“Quick, before Mars returns,”
let us take a moment to rest
in the arms of her
peaceful precipice.
Categories
Maybe Not
As I sit in my car
And wonder where we are
I was wishing we could
Get lost like the beats
On the road, freedom free
Wind and cactus and bugs
In our teeth, gobbling on
The American landscape.
Alas, romantic… til you
Realize you’re homeless
And poetry doesn’t pay
And you never learned how
To farm. Your quaint garden
No replacement for year-
Round bread. Eat these words?
Deaf ears on empty stomach
Too much focus on need
To consume gospel.
The loaves are gone
And the wine?
I gave that up.
Years ago.
“It’s OK.” She says.
My eyes forsaking
This fantasy gone awry.
“Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
Categories
Keep Going
Coffee, Hot, Black,
Cream and sugar. I
explain to her that
It is “OK”
I know that fleeting
thoughts of old
dreams make melancholy
the otherwise
pervasive spirit.
It Matters not what
other’s done
or what I Did not.
We are not hungry,
no, quite the opposite…
We are so well fed
that we should burst
with the energy
to reel in the sun.
“You see, I’ve realized something”
Though longing makes for
great sounding poetry,
my real meaning is derived
from real work. No, not
the farm; Citizen poet
Makar of webs, pictures
words, words for words,
we have so much language
we can’t contain it
awaiting on shelves
for our pronunciation
if only we can understand…
“Want to go to the library?”
10/24/19
Categories
The Show Must Go On
I
Not one echo
In the empty
Open hall.
Plush crushed
Seats Un-touched
Perfect planks
Of stretched oak
Reflecting no wave
Absorbing no steps
Overarched with
ornate gold
Embellishment
Reaching over red
Velvet curtains
Pulled tight
Lights out
Dim luminance
Shadow of a
Need to be
Something more.
II
Crisp spring
Air, stifled
Indoors with
Full house.
Presidential
Entourage in
Crushed velvet
Seats, the color
Of sons lost on
Grassy fields
Now remembered
By a return
To normal.
Candle soot
Caked ceiling
Of embellishments
Suffocating on
The exhaled breath
Of the crowd
As they gasp, from
Wooden planks
Vibrating with
The sounds
Of treason.
”The president is dead!”
III
Upon first inhalation
You smell the
History of a
Place in history
Like church
Or the museum
Hardwood sweat
Tar and varnish
Blood…breath
Of time in the
Old velvet Seats
On the stage floor.
Time has not
Forgotten what
Has happened here.
A hundred years
have passed and
We still feel the
Loss of one
April night.
We are gathered here
To breathe in
History and
Experience the present.
IV
When a place
Is alive with
The sound of
Music, theater
Or poetry, every
Timber reverberates
With the memory
Of it. Ghost
Hunters spend the
Night hoping to
Read the energy
Of violence or
Perhaps the
Inhalation of
Hundreds of years
Of performances.
One tragedy for
For a nation
To remember
In one place
That exists now
Saved by the
Events
Of the past
And proffered by
A show that must
Go on.