You spoke, and I awoke,
yet I fear
the time is near
when the dark depressing truth
of humanity
will take root on its tail
and then devour itself to
end it all
forever. Maybe
that’s our difference.
You claim
god so wants it,
I say let’s ask
him
or her
or it
whatever.
Look both ways.
Because you were alive yesterday does not prove you will be tomorrow.
Mind the gaps in thought and deed.
Seeing her standing alone
Yes, I want to beware,
Zoned into love I was thrown
Yesterday’s memory to declare
Grabbing this life of my own
Yearning for someone to care.
Look both ways as the planets align.
Mind the gaps when two bodies are in gravitational pull.
Unwanted Help
Invited to the Inspector General’s team
following years of experience,
known as the dreaded, unwelcome, I.G.,
our evil trope: “We’re here to help.”
Hated and despised, our team
of untrusted inquisitors and fault finders
were greeted with feigned welcomes,
red carpets covering fire and brimstone.
Treated well with subtle urgings, indirect bribes,
kindly disguised distractions and rarely,
outright hostility; like emotionless automatons,
“We are only here to help you do better.”
Fear and respect swam in the same swill.
We were as pleased to leave as they
to see us go.
Look both ways for the best and the worst.
Mind the gaps, therein are found hidden weakness.
His gallivanting days now over, the old hippie rides a recliner, pets the old lap cat, takes his medicine when she tells him, and he hopes she’ll rub his neuropathic feet. He votes absentee, remembers sex and pot, and wishes things when he looks at her.
Look both ways when crossing paths.
There is no past and no future.
Mind the gaps in the circle.
Dying to Self
The obdurate lad labeled shallow,
his brooding nature, vengeful plotting,
lacked love, friendship, deep perspective.
The cold-hearted brutish Devil Dog
sought glory in death, salvation through agony,
shadows to kill without meaning or purpose.
Death and destruction his insensate shield,
as he was, he couldn’t survive
in this world at peace with love.
Curses of sympathy and empathy
mysteriously hatched humanity into his soul.
The old poet sleeps feeling thoughts of emotion.
Look both ways for the glory of Beowulf.
Mind the gaps in hidden emotions,
lest the beast of Cain’s progeny kill the stoic.
I wrote two poems for Sammi’s weekender. I posted the first one Saturday. This is the second.
Everything Changes
Into a kaleidoscope
of passion we creep,
from stumbling blocks
to steppingstones,
we eventually leap
mortared passages,
segues of
unplanned journeys,
everything changes.
Look both ways to see all parts of life.
Mind the gaps where trouble may lurk.
Dream Real
Colorless kaleidoscopic
images,
sounds of heat,
windless breaths
through closed eyes,
defenseless hearing:
run, kick, yell,
stop breathing.
Fight back!
Awaken.
Dream real.
It’s a dangerous world. Look both ways.
Mind the gaps. Watch for guns and teargas.
Memorial Day is a day of remembrance to honor those who died in battles of all past wars in service to America. A Memorial Day (or Decoration Day) tradition is the buying and wearing of a red poppy.
The VFW organization has had the Buddy Poppy as its official flower for almost 100 years. Profits from artificial poppy sales have helped countless veterans and their widows, widowers, and orphans over the years. The poppy itself survives as a perpetual tribute to those who gave their lives for America’s freedom. That tradition is based on a poem.
This poem was written by Colonel John McCrae, a surgeon with Canada’s First Brigade Artillery. It expresses McCrae’s grief over the “row on row” of graves of soldiers who had died on Flanders’ battlefields in western Belgium and northern France, with a striking image of the bright red flowers blooming among the rows of white crosses.
The poem, “In Flanders Fields,” was reportedly first printed in the British magazine, Punch, in December 1915.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly.
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
by Colonel John McCrae
Look both ways for the reason why, in war some must die.
Mind the gaps and wonder,
“And how many deaths will it take ’til he knows
That too many people have died?”
(“Blowin’ In the Wind” by Bob Dylan)
Being one with nature,
the coexistence of life on Earth
is such a wonderful concept.
What is more part
of every life than death?
Has anyone told the fire ants,
much less gained the cooperation
of such touchy predators?
Will they forgive my use
of deadly chemicals to remove
a hideous colony
setting up housekeeping
on my back porch?
Will the bite of the rattlesnake
be part of Nature’s
delightful beauty?
I love Nature, but
I know something about it.
It’s unforgiving, painful,
deadly, and indiscriminate.
Natural selection
is Nature’s evolutionary tool
and the reason
ninety-nine percent
of all life types are extinct.
Look both ways,
mind the gaps in everything,
especially where place your body parts,
lest Nature object in some naturally painful way.
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