A Sorry Breakfast
Such news, I must confess, is full of grief.
When like a sudden tide they all rush in
the hot global singles, those in the know,
as warlike as wolves for all they eat
with the latches to the gates left open,
with such little wit from those that have it,
and a sleeping potion for all the rest...
But how can you regret the inevitable?
Yes, that's a rather difficult question.
Like an island bound tight by the ocean
with no tardy tricks to save your one life,
you must live careful in your own country
in banishment and in some poverty
and keeping inspired, but not consulting.
At The Brink
Here is the moment that we wait, not patient,
not impatient, we wait to unpack
sins of our fathers, sins of our own making,
and those we know not with those we know.
In the corner the beasts watch and their slaver
coats the earth and runs over heaven.
While we lean over desks to drink anxious coffee
from distant lands where thin children toil.
Love cowers under the bed while science snickers
and the headless ones in the backroom,
after conferences and consultations,
sell us products not profundities.
We wait while thunder builds like a century
passed, like a century with no roots.
We wait and there is a peace without a voice
and an understanding now out of town.
With Each Other in Descending Degrees
Signs that may signal the death of nations―
the high wild winds and the uneven ways,
all these groups made subordinate to groups,
the bloody drops on a sorrowful face―
may just represent that long succession
when many a limb has decayed and dropped off
covering the surface with an ever
growing and hungry evil, to be undone...
But these are hours for simple necessities:
an old car waiting in the driveway,
the decades of a lasting marriage,
sunshine in a morning after morning,
and that place where you go to remember
your soul as even as a calm sea and still.
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