GRAPHIC

I wrote this for the anniversary of Hiroshima, but forgot to post it.  

What minds are these that on numbed bodies lie,

to picture death by building, block, or mile,

as if the lives of every living thing,

from butterflies to babes at mothers’ breasts,

were not erased in that unholy fire

as Hiroshima and Nagasaki died.

 

Can they be buried in the lines of ink,

the dead contained where concepts’ limits lie,

as if time ceased to beat for them that day,

when minds measured the lives that could be saved.

 

Never a blessing had such a disguise,

to measure death and file it away.

 

Tell me the Niju Hibakusha rose,

to heal the scars that peace again could reign,

to banish horror after seventy years,

that shadowed stone might free their last remains.

 

Who truly loves that hears no silent screams,

their echoes undiminished by the time,

since two entire cities disappeared​? ,

their loss described in incremental lines.

 
 

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Re-post from November 2014

Haiku # 28

still water displays

life perfectly mirrored

yet shadows reveal

The most challenging aspect of my life is the constant pressure to attend to and adhere to current trends and accepted standards. Every day while considering my public behavior and expressing or repressing my opinions; I find myself confronted by the conflict between my perception of truth, my feelings about what happens around me, my commitment to integrity, and the potential consequences of honesty. The consequences of which I speak include: criticism, closed doors, literary rejection, political opposition, job loss, and verbal attack.

I find myself wondering if I should forget  all the pale spirits who started out to write their way to immortality and found themselves writing, 7 ways to…, for income from advertisers while gathering an audience of 5$ an hour hopefuls for content farms.

I want to write with, for and to somebody who wants and dares to read in order to: ponder, question, grow, change and understand rather than just to be placated, pleasured and reassured. Someone who touches and is touched by something Google AdWords never knew, Pinterest has no pictures of and Facebook never featured. Something they never stumbled upon or understood until they decided that living well and dying empty could never be enough.

I want to be read by those who want to publish writing about what nobody ever talks about. The smokers who can feel congestion growing in their chests, cough with increasing frequency and wonder daily if they have cancer yet and if they are, and will be, too weak to quit in time. The unspoken feelings of people who have been diagnosed with some disease they never expected to have who push down unspeakable terror, refrain from screaming what they know that no one wants to hear or can respond to and refrain from discussing things that might become too real to bear. The experiences that men and women have when they discover that they are finally growing old, see their first wrinkles, watch their bodies change, lack the strength to do something they have always done easily and discover that they are afraid driving, walking on ice, and losing control over their lives. People lying in bed with somebody they’ve just proposed to or been married to for a day, a week, or a year and suddenly wonder if they will ever want to make love to again, feeling trapped and wondering if they’re trapped forever. 

There are so many things we suffer alone, in isolation, as we imagine our flaws to be unique and keep them hidden in a world where so many others are so silent about feeling so much the same way.

Why is it we will view with our cameras, record with our pens, and focus our discussions on examining the most intimate aspects of our lives for sexual excitement or gratification, yet speak so little and disdain so powerfully these fundamental experiences of human life?

How many tell their children about the pleasure and pains involved in sexuality and how easy it is to let someone so far inside of you that they can hurt you, or change you forever and yet have never taken the time to know anything more about them than that they were attractive and would say yes to holding you at night.

Writers block! Take a breath, then, consider the fact that in getting interested in the fear or other distraction that keeps intruding on your writing time, you may find your greatest inspiration.

New World

Was I the wind in days gone bye 
and known to blow their ships astray,
to scatter them to other shores 
sending their traders far away.

What would your native sons have made
left free each passing century
leaving the flowing Prairie grass
the trees revered on land unpaved.

Sweet souls, wild, forever free
their red roots cut and others sown,
that paved the soil and cut the trees,
the spirit of the land unknown.

Erased beyond recalling now 
the shapes of native memory
who knew the earth and spoke its name
their Genocide our history. 

Could I return there once again
to time before their lives were spent
I’d whisper to the Elders there
to cast them from the continent.

When

When the people’s common creed
mouths lies to justify their greed
life spurned lust named the only need
till affluence and gold preceed
All conceptions of wonder.

The poets word, the mages curse
the cantrip in the witches verse
the dreams of men begin to bend
In Oberous the dream will end

The need for power has won our rule
bending the law to justify 
while merchant kings revel in wealth
as darkness fills their empty eyes.

Truth and faith are bought and sold
Kindness shy and averice bold
Rage sun hot and love grown cold
Darkness revered by every soul

Leave all ire put grief behind
Let light and silence fill you
Seek the world in fluid time
Let no obstacle still you

Breathe what you have ever spent
Perfect focus clear intent
With your fear and darkness spent
The golden flower will crown you.

Manifest

A blink and then it disappeared
the world that I had memorized
soft green hills and quiet wood
my hearts wish granted, realized.

Another step to set me free
the sun, the breeze,the rain and wind
the quiet groves and mountainsides
the myriad parts of who I am.

The formless love of ever was,
source from which all dreams begin
Light dreamt, embodied, cast, in life
It flows out, my Hearts sacred wind.

Prophecy. 

Everybody feels it coming
nobody knows it’s shape
the worry inside us growing
regretting each mistake

Everybody knows its bigger
than any that came before
carrying the power to break us
a fracture to the core.

Everybody feels so helpless 
nobody knows the lines
to the song our hearts are singing
while we’re running out of time.

Everybody knows the bankers
are breaking all the rules
selling lies and stealing futures
leaving honesty for fools

Everybody’s online hoping
to make an instant hit
watching which trend is rising
trying to get a piece of it.

Everybody out there’s turning 
those fifty shades of gray
defibrillating apathy
looking for a game to play

Everybody’s talking sexy
everybody’s looking smooth 
everybody’s got an itch to scratch
an endless pain to soothe.

It doesn’t matter who you are
or what you have to spend 
when the music stops keep dancing 
till the step that brings the end

When the time’s been spent and the light grows bright,
when there’s no time left for spin
Can you face yourself when the truth’s exposed
about the world you’re living in.

 

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