a pregnant breath

[ Of tRUMP and Wall]

some say his will is stony thick
others opine his head is the brick
I say the skunk's own spray does  stick
and follow like a foul wind, a pinprick
to the most tender part of the heart

a real wall from hateful imaginings

[in a dream of God,]  a sea from her tear
verged sadness and filled Heavenly air
dimmed the gleam, stirred her anger
a gaping festered wound, from there
to the most tender part of the heart

the ears-fill of hateful rages
babies put  in barbed  cages
crossing arid stretches, bone dry
the dire stress- watching children die
for lack of water that we pour to ground
a libation to the  fertile surrounds
of hardness from greed  that cares less
for life than the gains of contrivance
when the sacred helm is a mere connivance

and the enemies appear to have its ear
in darkness, we stumble in blind fear
and America mourns, laid bare, betrayed
wrapt in own arms, confused dismayed
the strong woman was  bound in her sleep
drained by evil, blessings faded. we weep

but hope is an arrow that pierces deep
Tomororow speaks with a pregnant breath-- a new start
to the most tender part of the heart

i kneel because

Some kneel when the anthem plays
some shed tears when the spirit displays
its unmistakable art-- indelible impressions
when the humanity within rises to the skin
and we sense all--
even the motes and specks in the airs above us

The teenage boy faces his last vision of life
a smoking gun and blue steely eyes, that see a monster
where God put a precious child
so  I kneel-- not because of the song
or the honor of heroes long gone

kneeling because i cannot stand
my thoughts are unstrung, count  nine when I feel
the hard concrete of Missouri Streets
and seventeen  on the ragged pavement of Chicago-- on and on
choked like the breath-less moments struggle in NYC
or the little Cleveland boy in the park  with the toy

There is a little feeling, a small sting
that swells like volcano fire... yet I know
for all of its enormity, it is the way justice speaks:
in a small voice and at an unexpected moment-- it is
a pinprick for the heart of the heart.

an interpretation of November

it is a breathless wait
a paused exhale beneath
a focus on so many dear things
a kaleidoscope of dearest Loves and tenderest loss
juggled by a clown

now with his bozo crown
he balances on his head
while upside down his menacing frown
is a devilish grin

we perceive truth
through a prism of joy and tears
through years of wrong
evolved to right; here
the clown sneers; speaks day unto night
and the virtue of salty water for thirst

it is a breathless wait
testing sinews of faith
when the people called
in the name of freedom
shall breathe free again

justice-ku

my coffee is bitter
not worth the price charged...

in star bucks

no place to sit and wait
for mocha choco-lattes

The Peeresident

 

Ode to Donald Pee -
the insect politician, seems he
devours his followers-- daily!
Outed by the righteous Sir Comey
that in the mirror he does see
an entire country..and gleefully blurts-
ahhh- my just desserts!

Somewhere, wet eyes in upward stare
rise like a mighty flock in fervent prayer
that justice still exists, and everywhere
there is dread and fear, that the puppet strings
that make America sting in discord, may yet bring
the soul of its true self to rise, Phoenix-like from ashes
scorched ground, the Lord's whip has many lashes
and the greatest pain is in the joy of forgiveness

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The phrase "insect politician" borrowed with this attribution from the script and movie The Fly (1986) starring Jeff Goldblum,  directed and co-written by David Cronenberg.  © 6 hours ago, H. D. Moore    rhyme

an ancient curse

Don’t tie your precious freedom to a gun

It takes the rarest blessing shared by all

Human life - the wonder under the Sun.

When shared, life’s not a battle to be won

-together we rise, alone each must fall

Don’t tie your precious freedom to a gun

The bullet’s work done cannot be undone

It takes- unforgiving, breath’s final call

Human life - the wonder under the Sun

when armed, the weakling threatens everyone

 empowers evil to its dreadful haul

Don’t tie your precious freedom to a gun

Like ancient curses passed father to son

-the cult of killing calls in honey-ed drawl-

Human life - the wonder under the Sun.

 For love is never late nor over done

And life offers no guarantee or recall

Don’t tie your precious freedom to a gun

Human life’s the wonder under the Sun.