Politics and holy stains
i’m not thankful for split families
both the predators and the prey
wagers of wars and recipients
closest to my home
conscious objectors still in Canada
afraid their US of A had lied again
i’m not thankful for
the loss of comprehension
Every Meal Is A Feast
i am thankful for
friends and family
here and gone
who
miles or clouds away
still touch my heart
with gifts
that keep on giving.
when next i am to sleep again
will you be there with sheepish grin
i will not brush nor turn away
see you not in yesterday
again we make the figure 8
bells go tingling in the night
books unwritten taking flight
candles dim but light is longer
midnight come and we will go now
dawn
noon
dusk
the nightmare came strongly to a him repulsive kiss
before he half collapsed
his arm over her shoulder her arm around his waist
she would find him a hospital bed medical help
white nurse offensive
fat lady without compassion
phones had secret codes
who were patients non discernibile
over an hour she supported him
walking thru a maze of hallways
once she woke and remembered
all her nightmares took place in hospitals
falling back asleep she was there
still seeking hospital bed and help
“ok” her self said, “wake up”
coffeed and tobaccoed
the hopes and fears thru all the years
rest in autumn peace
the struggle with no resolution
put to rest
in it’s own halls of circularity
as piano man ‘splained
“too much mercy is wasteful,
too lightening bolt heavy is non justice.”
and Jesus said to Moses,
“What the crap happened
to Abraham’s children?”
justice lives not only in the now
sometimes it’s waiting in some halfway house
between the blood-letting and the peace
found
only with justice
what will reflect the blood on distant hands
that fashioned the knife
that foresaw the bomb
that Jack and Jill built?
that support the men
who light the fires
that scream the women
that scars the child.
does he hang down his head
Tom Dooley
or does he just look away
and dulled his senses
to no sense.
Is their hope Hooey?
Ah, Louie,
paint them a picture
from May to December
of eleven year old children or so
then when they remember if they remember they’ll
follow
follow
follow
(you know)
their heart.
my dressed turned blue/red
somebody turned my ride to pumpkin pie
and i ain’t gonna make it home tonight
…
Dear Abraham,
you offered my body to the Pharaoh
hoping for more bread, instead
he chased us out of Egypt
(at least he knew the moral wrongness of it-
calling your wife your sister)
we told our children God sent all those plagues
before the Pharaoh would set us free
Yrs, Sarah
Dear Sarah,
It was you who banished Ishmael and his slave mother
now all our great great great + grandchildren
are slaughtering one another.
We have to be the worst parents ever born.
Yrs., Abraham
you do NOT make castaways of your friends
and/or strangers
because they are a problem in your live
(mostly da doc speaking of money)
no one is born a bitch or conniver
or any other unsightly traits you mentioned
BE the human in the species you born into
use tongue/heart/brain, please,
let the offending party know
how they offend you
and, Sir,
the real world is hardly as you described
and yeah
next time you descend from the mountain top
here’s wishing you
a better
View.
came so close
did he wanna come home
strings from the near past
no longer cast in iron
stretching back to early child
is he having fun yet, again?
find him find him
find him and try to remember
what was that nickname you never once complained about
but shed somewhere around teen
it’s like my Jim boy said,
“it’s one thing to learn in your head –
much harder to learn in your heart”
“letting go lives,
day by day,”
his sister sighs