Friday, February 24, 2017
Bathing
Bathing in the silence
Of
Morning
Washing in
The cool air of spring
The birds
Will awake soon
But for now
All is quite!
Sometimes
I wonder
How the birds
Are still singing
At all?
For
The world
Is covered in hatred
Wars drag on
With no end in sight!
It seems
People have become
Numb to
The death and destruction
Of it all!
Sometimes
I wonder if the birds still
sing
In these
War torn lands
Or
Do they sit silent
Waiting for it all to end?
Not much has changed
In my lifetime
Two days after my birth
Firehouses were turned on
Crowds fighting for equality
Down the street
From the hospital
I laid in!
Not long after
The Gainesville Eight
Would go on trial
And
Become the anti-war
Talk of the town!
Vietnam and race relations
At that time
Had reached
The boiling point
In the melting pot country
I was just dropped into!
Yes
Not much has changed
In the last 45 years
In this crumbling world of
ours
A place where
Mass shootings
Bombings
And
Killings in general
Happen so frequent
It seems like
Only a few days pass
Or
Maybe even
week
Before the
next tragedy
Comes!
When will it ever end?
Amazingly
For now
The birds are still singing
Or
At least they will be
As soon as the morning sun
Climbs high
In the eastern sky
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
My People
My people
Could have come straight
From
A Faulkner novel
The generations that came
Before me
Were rugged
Denim wearing folks
Logging timber out
Of
Florida’s backwater swamps
Making moonshine
In the Appalachian Foothills
Sitting up all night
With the dead
Before laying them to rest
In the sandy soil of
small-town
Southern cemeteries
Shaded with cedars
And
Longleaf pines!
My people were
Truck drivers
Farmers
Factory workers
War heroes
Parolees
And
Preachers
They doctored themselves
Because
They couldn’t afford
Going
To a doctor
Or the medicine prescribed
Afterwards!
They clotted
Bleeding wounds
With spider webs
Drew poison out
With tobacco
Relieved toothaches
With honey
And
Chest colds
With camphor tree leaves!
Yes
My people could’ve come
From a Faulkner Novel
Or
Maybe something
Flannery dreamed up!
Sunday, February 19, 2017
The Written Word
Writing for me
At times
Is like
My heart falling out
Of
My chest
And
Onto the page before me
Then my pen
Rearranging it into words
Into sentences
Into understanding
Why it fell out to begin with!
All
So I can move forward
Scoop it up
Place it back in my soul
And
Love once again
Yes
My written words
Become the sutures
That hold me
Together!
Wrapping around
My very existence
So even I
Will take a chance
And
Love once again
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
Falling Inside
It seems people
Are
Falling inside themselves
These days
Totally collapsing within
Protecting their souls from
The roaming Jackals
Who are only taking
Never giving
Yes, yes, yes!
I’m sure
As soon as you read this
You thought, I give!
But this poem
Is about the world
As a whole
Not the few folks that are
Doing their best
To help humanity
And
They, you, I
Do make
The world better
Than what it would be
If we didn’t care!
Yes
The Venus Fly Traps
Are
Waiting for you
To land in a conversation
With them
Then they’ll close their lids
Biting down to crush you
To consume you
With their negative energy!
I wonder at times
If it’s with in human nature
To feed
On the kindness of others?
To feast on the weak?
Then some days
I don’t ponder
This question at all!
Sunday, February 12, 2017
Grace O’Malley
Grace O’Malley
Oh
How I love
Your story
Your fight!
With a sword in each hand
You gazed
Across the blue water sea
The trade winds
And
High tides
Were your almanac
Your Eyes
Watched for years
The cresting waves
Surrounding your homeland
Of
Ireland
Of
Clew Bay
Of
Clare Island
Grace O’Malley
Queen of the Irish Sea
The Gaelic Warrior
Musket blast blazing
Fire dancing in your eyes
The love for your people
Was
Never ending
Your Lads
Your Lassies
You fought till the end
Never bowing
Before her majesty
Grace O’Malley
Oh
How I love
Your story
Your fight!
Grace O’Malley
Queen of the Irish Sea
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