Sitting in the Back Seat

Worcester Art Museum, November 2019

Who is the person
known, but unknown
a mystery to the mind.

Our desires
sizzle and sparks
a rather dark world

where my orange dot
retreats and burns
with hell flames, hotter.

I once laid
flat, in your car
now I kneel at an altar.

You say a woman glows
as a sun-lit finch
woven in grass baskets

and I perched above
your head
my soul soars higher.

Pregnant Woman, Otto Dix, Worcester Art Museum

Midwinter Nightdream

No. Yes I am
content to be silent

so please excuse me
if I resist the urge
to take down the world

shouting at the clouds
to part open
so the sun can speak too.

No. Yes, the sun refuses to shine
as I refuse to grin
and bear the fault of others

as wayward wind
leaves chaos behind,
surface sin hides my face.

Here’s looking at you kid.

How many times have I watched Casablanca without catching the interweaving of espionage and intrigue with undying romance? Too many. I actually thought, until this latest viewing, that Ilsa Lund left on the plane to America, alone. Never realized she was married and her man was fighting valiantly behind-the-scenes. I was so focused on the romance that I missed the back story, the WWII narrative and obviously the double-crossing French Capt. Renault, along with Rick, who played all sides of the war to their benefit.

If we stop breathing, we’ll die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die. ” Viktor Laszlo

It is a romance, but the drama shines, building to a hero’s crescendo. The world, along with those imprisoned, fought valiantly in WWII, to secure freedom from the authoritarian Nazi regime. Casablanca teaches humanity that the only problem with human nature is our short-sighted and narrow-minded focus on ourselves. There is a greater vision of peace that gets tangled in the web of human need. Innocent hearts must remember the greater good is worth fighting towards. Rick understood this well. Never stooped below his values for a cheap thrill.

A kiss is just a kiss.

Today America celebrates a day of Thanksgiving. Not everyone understands the holiday nor does the whole population celebrate the season. My greatest concern is mankind’s inability to understand the other in the midst of their “I am..”.

May we all listen. May we all strive to be peace makers.

Same Shame Worn

I rarely get angry. Then the anger rose. And I moved my anger towards the pain and thrashed my tongue about the air.

A dangerous game played
your heinous smile
woven from lingering sin
worn dangling, unleashed
wounds folded into corners
frayed, spat upon.

How terrible to mimic beauty
the soul’s peace
thrashed about on threadbare couch
with pressed thorns
you chose to keep away.

Told to squash the anger,
I grab a plastic mask from the kitchen table,
don the fake skin
attempt a coup,
dethrone your yellow jacket.

My inner child, absent still
desires our glory moon.
Love falls short
of a bird’s wing to carry
our hearts to a land of cope.

You move and I remain.
Nothing changes this grief
to wander this earth
helpless. Alone.
Not lonely but without
a loving arm to hold.