Found in the Lost Pile of Civility

The year 2018 is locked away. The key, fiery hot, so as not to entice people to hold on. Look back.

I look forward to 2019. My prayer focuses on the war of words, which has reached a feverish pitch. I honestly hope people’s superiority complexes does not burn down houses; leave room to erect new powers and diminish freedoms.

I smell the fires burning and there is little relief. In our condemnation, humanity in one fell swoop, dresses outlandish lies with mixed-up truths.

Only the tree is honest.

Seems to me
as we slowly decline,
we beat around the bush,
contemplate how to survive.
Generations realize this drift,
on a sail-less boat,
the cloth wrapped around our bleeding hearts,
words confessed on bended knees,
misses the sliver in private eyes.

Same old, same old story.
The beginning is the end.
The terror in other’s minds now belongs to us.
Realize hungry is, as was,
and nothing eaten ever satisfies.

Measure our words against ourselves
need I stand upon a soapbox,
add my rhetorict to humanity’s misery?
As ash buries the smoldering coals
are we aware we are wandering,
found among the lost pile of civility?

Heading out and feeling guilty…

Life is full. Rapturous. Engaging.

how
easily
swiftly
defeatingly
im drug back
to the war zone -death.

Sometimes death frees more than the person gone. Other times it chains hearts to dreams and wishes. And then there is death that haunts forever.

I think our Creator is wrong… love will not save the world. Unless love is required to discipline. Unless love is required to forgive. Unless love is no longer allowed to hate the enemy.

tomorrow

Frozen Pond Longing

Does it bother -you
or me
the way tinsel hangs
on the tree
or static waves -adjust
cling us
to every thing
and then we discuss?

i wonder where i am going with this poem? It hit me… wham! while brewing the morning coffee. It feels unfinished. Perhaps i do have more planned days ahead… another round of coffee, poured. Another night to contemplate what swims in my head.

bullshit and bile

In everyone’s “I’m not going to be phony, phoniness… ”

Ah, I just need to gripe to someone.

I can feel the volcanic ash rising. I’ve been burnt… smoldering for years. I need to release the trash compiled… hidden in recesses and crevices and tunnels.

Cut the crap! Get to the point! I leaf through the Sears Catalog, make my Christmas list, and it includes all I missed, being an adult. How did i miss childhood? While being my brother’s mother, my mother smothered me with her tears. I drowned in her fears.

Will i find my happiness in a bankrupt business? Maybe i can get in on that gig? Or rather i should roam the empty streets where dollar bills are strapped to soul-less shoes?

Is an egret an egret
or of another name
first determine nesting habits
and scope out long cafeteria lines
hungry is, as was,
we find
nothing ever satisfies…