Category: poetry

Terraces

The upper classes
are kept up by the middle classes,
who are scared of dropping to the lower classes.

The wealthy
should be lowered to the middle,
so that we can bring the poor up from their misery.

The super-rich
will never be brought down,
so the poor must rise up to take them down.

The establishment of a temporary workers’ state
can equalize us by keeping a tight leash
on the rich, stopping their rise;

then the capable
can produce all of the things
that everyone needs, down to the neediest.

Trickle-down

Wealth trickles down to the poor, they say, like
how
the
sons
of
God
went
down
to
wed
our
girls.

But that descent led to the Flood, so many drops
of
rain
on
to
the
land
to
end
all
of
life.

Thus, those in power will not allow the trickle-down,

even though their Church insists the Word was flesh,
the
Son
of
God
come
down
to
us
to
save
us.

does.
gold
as
sky,
the
met
and
rose
who
Word,
and
The trickle-down’s a myth to trick us, like the Flood,

Lamps

Sometimes,
a man’s words
are a lamp for your
feet, and a
light on your
path ahead.

Nobody
puts a lamp
under a bowl,
but on a
stand, to
light all.

But some
put lampshades
on their heads to be
the light
of the world, when
really they’re just fools
who don’t know the light
from the dark, and they
lead everyone astray,
instead of
edifying us.
Do not be
blinded by
their false
illumination.

Bridges

Since rivers of bitterness separate ourselves from others,
bridges
must be
built to
link us together. Our words, then, can walk back and forth

above all that water, and not let our words get cold feet.
Bridges,
made of
empathy,
can then replace bitter thoughts with compassion and love.

Remaining here, not looking over there, past troubled water,
.
.
.
makes lonely and desolate banks of grass on either side.

While trolls may be hiding beneath bridges, our big, gruff friends,
ramming
them out
of the way,
can make walks from one side to the other less painful for us.

Luciana

Now
as you
walk up
these steps
to your so new
resting place, do
remember us down
here on Earth who loved
you, learned from you, laughed
at your witty barbs on the sad state
of our world down here, and felt your caring
for the downtrodden. We will never forget you, for
your absence down here is a black void we’ll never fill
with another comrade so great as you were. I don’t believe
in heaven, nor do many of us, your friends, but your loss is enough
to make us all wish for a heaven, since your not being here anymore makes
our Earth more of a hell. May you find peace where, without contradiction, no matter
if the place is above or below, a state of mind, or a void of nirvana, that is still a heaven.

Fins

A
fin
seen
over the waves on a beach is a scary thing to see.

A
fin
that
has been cut off by shark hunters, though, is far more horrifying.

A
cut
from
a hunter’s knife is worse than the bite of a shark’s teeth.

A
cut
fin’s
death
to fish
without it.

Shark finning finishes sharks. No fins seen over the surface is our boon, but their doom.