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
