Tag: poetry

Thrones

She
had
the
big
chair, just
as so many
before her

used
that
seat
with
the intent to
take over and
plunder worlds.

One
may
sit
and
rest, while
many more
must fight

to
be
in
an
adequate
state of
existence.

One
can
sit
and
take it easy
on a throne
without gems,

and
the
men
and
women of the
world can be
seated as well.

So
we
in
an
abased state
must rise up
so all may sit.

Tightrope

If
I
lean
too much the one way, or too much the other, I will fall.

If
the
rope
went in a straight line, I could keep my balance well enough,

but
the
rope
keeps veering to the right, making me counterbalance left.

How
far
is
too far left, or not left enough? Is moderate “too balanced”?

One
has
to
walk it slowly, yet the human race’s time is running out.

We
can
not
stay on one side; we must go, yet to fall is certain death.

Flying Saucers

We see them
arrive on Earth in
flying saucers.

Humanoid,
yet bug-like, with
antennae,

as we see them,
they come in peace…
perhaps.

We see & hear
with fear, however,
firing

our guns at them.
And then, when they
shoot back,

we see them
as the aggressor, not
ourselves.

So many
think of aliens as
monsters,

yet once,
we saw a child
befriend ET.

Why can’t
we be that boy,
blind to

the bug eyes
and antennae, seeing
instead

what we
all have in common,
feeling love?

Hourglass

The tiny grains of sand,
dropping down from
the top glass bulb
to
the
one
on
the
bottom, fall quickly.

The time we have
to resolve our
O,
so
sad
&
dire
predicament has a
brevity like a mere hour.

We cannot dawdle.
Time
is
run-
-ning
out.
If we don’t save our Earth,
there will be no more trees,
or creatures, people, or seas.

Our
orb
will
be
no
more. Man will be dust.
Cities will be ashen, and
all life will fall to the dark dirt.
Green and blue will turn to grey.

When our
time here is up,
our home will be but
a bland, brown hill of sand.

Wine

In vino veritas,
but wine can
also be
a way
out
of
the
sad truth trapping us.

Dipsomania
craves a
high to
fend
off
the
low of
depression.

There is the high of
drink and drugs,
and there’s the
opium
of
the
toiling masses,

the wine that one imagines
to be transubstantiated
into the blood of Him
who had blue water
turn into a
red
and
tasty wedding beverage.

We cannot change
our blue to red
by wine gods
or
by
the
Word of God’s red blood.

Changing blue to red is not a
matter of Spirit or spirits.
Red bourgeois blood
must be spilled
so
we
can
have a red state for all the people.

Lakes

The water of a lake should be our focus.
Its fluid, moving waves, no firmness,
do not detract from its reality.
Pay no attention to the land:
there’s nothing there.

The universe is watery, all wavy–it’s vibration.
The stoniness of earth is just illusion.
The rocky land just hardens hearts.
The hard earth makes life hard,
but lakes are refreshing.

All life is flowing, fluid change, lakes’ blue beauty.
Sticking with the hard ground causes suffering.
We must learn to drift with the current.
Take note of only peaceful waters.
Be blind to the dirty land.

Jump in the water, take a swim, enjoy the cool.
Don’t let want’s summer heat dehydrate you.
Lakes’ ever-moving waters do enlighten.
Rocky ground makes rocks of brains.
Get yourself all wet instead.

Vases

A
red
rose
out
of
a
curvy
vase
looks
lovely
when
it’s
wanted.

There
are
many
ladies
that
prefer
them
empty.

A
few
that
sit
on
a
bench
are
forcing
flowers
into
curvy
vases.

These
few
have
trumped
those
wanting
empty
ones.

A
lie
that
few
on
a
bench
will
utter:
flowers
offer
sacred
life!

Flowers
left
alone,
though,
often
wither
away
and die.

A
bud
left
in
an
O,
so tiny,
young
and
weak
vase
won’t
live,

and…the…vase…

the…flower…blooms…from…

will…shatter.

Shores

The surety
of the ground
is a frightening
thing to leave for the sea’s uncertainty,

so naturally,
we would rather
stay here on the shore
than swim out there and risk burial in blue.

Sometimes,
however, the quaking earth
forces us to leave the sturdy land
and venture out to a turquoise, wavy world–to keep on swimming,

to keep our heads up, our mouths groping for air. Our faces

fight to stay above the waves. Our paddling arms and legs

cannot rest, as achy as they are, until the water shallows.

We see
the shore,
our salvation,
and we crawl out of the wet, and fall exhausted on the sand.