Beyond Repair

Tossing her manuscript into the air,

the poet kneels upon the ground and weeps,

expecting perfect words to flow,

to mask her white hair, grey eyes, sorrow;

acceptance that she wished for

became invisible in the sun,

the loss of face reflected in

his words, not hers, quoted throughout time. 

His words, not hers, quoted throughout time

reflected in the loss of face,

became invisible in the son’s

acceptance that she wished for,

to mask her white hair, grey eyes, sorrow;

expecting perfect words to flow,

the poet kneels upon the ground and weeps,

tossing her manuscript into the air.

© October 2020

The Written Word

For William, Billy, and Jericho whose words transported me

a red wheelbarrow full of sweet, cold plums

Where to begin to weave a tale with scenery and characters,

a noble city herein, an everlasting love with passion there

among the ruins of wars fought by men who fail to contemplate

a truce, a blending of the branches, two families with power and monies,

bold and criminal. A pattern repeated throughout the centuries, 

a collection of the thoughts, words, and deeds of heroes, set forth with

an addictive tune, to infiltrate, to permeate, to sway the people to a side.

tied to a chair with rope, the poetry exists

Daily massacres replace a lasting peace far down the road, a boy or girl

question who regains control and who designs the battlements and

why we follow fools who wear pajamas. Should we not reclaim our sanity,

rise-up and ask forgiveness of our mother earth before the planet crumbles, 

cracks open by the increasing greediness, those that only care about 

themselves (secretly saying no one else deserve to live). How lonely they’ll be 

when the rest of us are dead and buried.

a burgundy car sits amid bullet points in the worst winter

© October 2020