Black Friday
Like Ramadan pilgrims they converge on
Walmart, Black Friday Mecca
flagellating themselves in early dawn
before the Golden Calf of bargains.
Lines form, encircling the mosques,
faint unintelligible chants waft in the breeze
of the behemoth's parking lot to the lull
of broadcast elevator muzak.
Doors open, a rush and crush like locusts
descending on Mormon grain fields,
they push, pull, scratch, bite-fight
to the death for toasters, TVs and trinkets.
We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." ~ Professor Keating (Robin Williams) in "Dead Poet's Society"
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Letters From Around the World
Letters From Around the World
Epistolary friendships -
pen pals worldwide
bring the globe to a single
heart, combining cultures
into a delicious dessert-
a tasty pastry, delectable
to tongue and thought,
sweetness and light.
The letters we write
broach abysmal bigotry,
remake the matrix of
universal understanding.
Epistolary friendships -
pen pals worldwide
bring the globe to a single
heart, combining cultures
into a delicious dessert-
a tasty pastry, delectable
to tongue and thought,
sweetness and light.
The letters we write
broach abysmal bigotry,
remake the matrix of
universal understanding.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Artifacts
Artifacts
Stowed away in the attic
in old trunks
family secrets reside
like forgotten diamonds
In safety deposit boxes.
Love letters from the war,
old newspaper clippings
of a suicide, a love-triangle
murder, a drowning, a
Pulitzer Prize. More shades
than we ever knew, color
the existence of our very drab
lives. Buried beneath the ballast
of genealogy , our history
sleeps under a pile of old clothes.
Stowed away in the attic
in old trunks
family secrets reside
like forgotten diamonds
In safety deposit boxes.
Love letters from the war,
old newspaper clippings
of a suicide, a love-triangle
murder, a drowning, a
Pulitzer Prize. More shades
than we ever knew, color
the existence of our very drab
lives. Buried beneath the ballast
of genealogy , our history
sleeps under a pile of old clothes.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Make Your Own Days
Make your Own Days
At a certain point, you must be self-reliant,
making your own days.
You must
find the magic thread,
leading you away from the labyrinth alone.
Who can resist independence?
To color your own sky, write your own song,
while the world weeps in quiet desperation.
.
At a certain point, you must be self-reliant,
making your own days.
You must
find the magic thread,
leading you away from the labyrinth alone.
Who can resist independence?
To color your own sky, write your own song,
while the world weeps in quiet desperation.
.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
What Can a Poet Say?
What Can a Poet Say?
You cannot write about moonbeams
When the world teems
With war and strife
Impoverished life
You cannot sing of daffodils
On bloody hills
Among the dead
Where soldiers bled
You cannot dance a joyful jig
While mourners dig
A child's grave
Among the brave.
You cannot write about moonbeams
When the world teems
With war and strife
Impoverished life
You cannot sing of daffodils
On bloody hills
Among the dead
Where soldiers bled
You cannot dance a joyful jig
While mourners dig
A child's grave
Among the brave.
Friday, November 06, 2009
Calmve Gladio Fortier
Calamve Gladio Fortior
The tools of war won't move a mountain
Or justify the ways of God to man
As a powerful pen pushing forth a fountain
Of well- wrought thoughtful words can
The novelist, poet, paper-back writer
Slays more dragons than a fearsome fighter
Sways more kings than an army of Huns
Evokes more passion than a battery of guns
Millions are roused by the words they wail
Like Chief Joseph's "I'll Fight no More Forever",
Abe's "Emancipation Proclamation" endeavor
Or Martin's "Letter from the Birmingham Jail"
Indeed, the pen is mightier than the sword.
Lay down your arms, embrace the word!
The tools of war won't move a mountain
Or justify the ways of God to man
As a powerful pen pushing forth a fountain
Of well- wrought thoughtful words can
The novelist, poet, paper-back writer
Slays more dragons than a fearsome fighter
Sways more kings than an army of Huns
Evokes more passion than a battery of guns
Millions are roused by the words they wail
Like Chief Joseph's "I'll Fight no More Forever",
Abe's "Emancipation Proclamation" endeavor
Or Martin's "Letter from the Birmingham Jail"
Indeed, the pen is mightier than the sword.
Lay down your arms, embrace the word!
Ever Nineteen
Ever Nineteen
Just below the surface
Sits an ageless boy of 19
Who ignores my aging being
Resides in careless, carefree crowds
Drinking, dancing, drowning out
The din of responsibility
With a carpe diem consciousness
Que sera sera, what will be will be
Embraces the clichés of youth :
Lets the chips fall where they may
Stokes the fire of the imagination
Resuscitates an old man's dreams
Just below the surface
Sits an ageless boy of 19
Who ignores my aging being
Resides in careless, carefree crowds
Drinking, dancing, drowning out
The din of responsibility
With a carpe diem consciousness
Que sera sera, what will be will be
Embraces the clichés of youth :
Lets the chips fall where they may
Stokes the fire of the imagination
Resuscitates an old man's dreams
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Back From Near-Extinction
Back From Near-Extinction
Now stealthily, quietly creeping through the trees
beside the still lake under the cloudy shroud
of the dark night, the alpha-male wolves come drifting
near to the shoreline, loping across open plain
where prairie-dog mounds, jutting through snow
in the dead of winter, and at the end of a pasture,
suddenly bare their fangs, snarling,
and leap, jaws open, downing the terrified lamb.
Now stealthily, quietly creeping through the trees
beside the still lake under the cloudy shroud
of the dark night, the alpha-male wolves come drifting
near to the shoreline, loping across open plain
where prairie-dog mounds, jutting through snow
in the dead of winter, and at the end of a pasture,
suddenly bare their fangs, snarling,
and leap, jaws open, downing the terrified lamb.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
A Minute About a Minute
A Minute About a Minute
Do not try to live forever.
Being clever,
will not succeed.
A finite breed,
into the good night we all go.
On with the show!
Strike up the band!
You understand?
This moment is your greatest chance.
Discover romance.
Wear yourself out.
Jump up and shout!
Do not try to live forever.
Being clever,
will not succeed.
A finite breed,
into the good night we all go.
On with the show!
Strike up the band!
You understand?
This moment is your greatest chance.
Discover romance.
Wear yourself out.
Jump up and shout!
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