Redundancy

Fuchsia and magenta are
Different words for pink,
Just one would suffice,
You would think...

Dear Readers

Stay with me,
All you distant friends,
Because, who knows,
Where this journey ends...

Ethereal

Blue gold light, through
The evening sky I send,
For your waiting eyes,
Arriving well after I end.

So Mistaken

Indigenous people, welcoming where
The European explorers landed
Thinking it was India, couldn't prepare,
Let alone imagine, what lay ahead...
The long process of exploitation
Leaving them weakened or dead,
And their treasures plundered,
Should have killed them instead.

Alarm Clock

Early morning, rise
Up and roll out of
Bed, rub my eyes,
Do some scratching,
And then realize
That I am late for
Work, and after that,
It's frantic out the door,
The peace of sleep
Retained no more...

What We Lost

The mountains, where we used to dwell,
Now abandoned by us gone down
Into the valleys, where fields compel
Conformity and endless labor,
The mountains are now the abode
Of animals and spirits living in the
Deep green the gods bestowed,
The woodland, freed of humans,
Becomes unapproachable because
It can, the once familiar forest
Grows back into the wild it was...

Winged Demon

Making honey, the bee
Is a hard-working thing,
But the wasp only lives
To hunt, kill, and sting.

回転寿司

The plates of sushi go around
And around, endlessly,
Man-apes eating
Voraciously, thoughtlessly,
Until there are no more
Fish in the sea.

 

Judgment At Starbucks

Over coffee and cheese cake,
The women converse about
How things converged to make,
The messy state of affairs
And misfortunes of friends...
Perched on plastic chairs,
Dissecting others, they cut
Their cakes into little squares.

How I Spent August & July

Get up from troubled sleep,
Go out into the summer heat,
Sweat and slog through a
Working day ... then repeat.

Hope

Magically resilient,
Kids at play, in front
Of the refugee tent.

Distant & Galactic

I suppose if I lived in this house,
I would be haunted by the sight,
Of our Earthly insignificance,
Shown by the sky each night.

Transition

The rainy season ends,
With the onset of heat
The summer sends.

Gone are the
Cool cloudy skies,
Now all humidity
And insects' cries.

BOHICA

Despite the lessons we learn
From doing and failing, and
The levels of wisdom we earn
From painful experience, the
Same mistakes always return.

= = = = = = = = = =

BOHICA = Bend Over, Here It Comes Again

Passive Aggressive

Office power politics, being what they are,
A frontal challenge would result in a loss,
So while walking two steps behind, as escort,
You stomp hard on the shadow of the boss.

MH-17

After the blast and the massive shock
Metal screaming as it's ripped and sheared
By the seething air, and the wind without
Oxygen mercifully blots-out what was feared
In the back of my mind every time I board
A jet, and unconscious, for a minute I fall,
Seat belt buckled, at great speed, toward
The ground, then I wake up and it all
Becomes terrifyingly painful and real,
Those last couple of minutes tumbling
Downward, and wondering how it will feel
When I slam into the dirt of the Ukraine,
And end this senseless unlucky ordeal.

AM Null

The morning is as gray
As I feel ... A misty null
Of cool moist silence,
Heavy listless and dull,
Pervades and prevails
On this emerging day,
The damp air inhales
All the energy away,
And motion is left for
This numbness to belay.

Saturday Morning Delight

The pure pleasure
And cold fizzy punch,
Of a big swig of beer,
Drunk before lunch.

Sales

Constantly bombarded, not with bombs,
But rather, with ideas and insinuations
About what we should acquire to
Improve our selves, and situations,
We surrender to the pitch, and splurge
Purchasing things we never would
Have bought, were it not for the urge...

Supporter

A weight settles on top of me,
And it's a burden of necessity,
Which I accept unconditionally,
My being part of a machine,
Designed to convey, I support,
The warm grinding, quiet & unseen.

Number 8 Approaches

Waiting for the typhoon,
The air grows heavy and
Humid, and will soon
Swirl, blow, and gust,
Forcing trees to bend
And break if they must...

The tempest winds will end,
But too late for what was
Broken, what now must mend.

Miracle In The Redhead's Garden

The lustrous, wondrous, gorgeous rose,
Blooms, regardless of who might notice
The spot where it so quietly grows,
The flower, unseen, un-smelled, still retains
The sweet perfume its petals enclose,
Waiting for the visit by a honey bee.
Or, perhaps, the approach of a nose
Belonging to someone stopped by
The blossom's pure beauty, I suppose...

(Photograph By Bryan Moyers)