Anger Fed

Spread like a wildfire

in its first inception

simply ablaze

a certain force of reckoning.

~

Will cannot sustain

the deceit of lost control

only we the patient

our human condition.

~

Might we identify cause

rather than toss a stone

catch the ember

so nearby an out stretched hand.

~

For it is the onus of ownership

will allow ash an honest scrutiny.

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The Words That Speak

I read a poem today,

talked about saving a life,

that words could

in such a remarkable way,

cause someone to

rethink their moment,

that impulse,

the frightened reality

the edge.

 

I wondered about the beauty of a word

 

We might easily write about death,

oh the beauty of their lives,

the regret of time,

the nature of loneliness

how simple it is

when described

yet complicated when

lost.

 

I wondered about the beauty of a word

 

How does someone decide

to listen

what is the correct cadence

of wanting a wandering soul

to find their way

inside the mystique of

questioning

the human condition.

 

I wondered about the beauty of a word

 

I stood along the railroad tracks

watched the lights brighten

the clicking of the clack,

the deafening horn,

I watched the light of tomorrow

suddenly set in the western sky,

and then I stepped away …

 

I wondered about the beauty of a word.

The Tragedy of Time

Perhaps it is the not knowing

a circumstance

a press release in the evening news,

a morning alert

we all have found ourselves

recognizing the vulnerable nature

of the human condition –

oh is it death,

or simply the prolonged life

medical intervention,

that would have not extended any truths

centuries ago,

we just died,

a sort of flu,

unabated and watched,

observed and grieved.

 

Today, we see it in slow motion

the trip to the hospital,

the car ride,

a sudden turn

a flash of lights,

the triggers of taking a step off the edge,

and yet

there’s no time remaining

then,

afterward we know

only a memory.

 

There is that other real

tragedy of time,

those that wished for more

yet in their final moment

decidedly found Grace

where a soul

became such that entity

that begun a new journey

allowing the living

to pass through and step inside

a dream,

a fantasy

we cannot know

until some elegance

begins

while we do eventually

come prepared.

On Positive Outcome

We have these moments

we, the human beings

where emotions begin our day,

end our nights,

decide our way.

 

We sometimes cannot move a muscle

our bodies so strong, resilient

frozen to the ground,

the nature of a piece of soft furniture

becomes the bastion

covet our ill.

 

Today, nature’s frozen ground

sure to take some lives,

those of human beings

lost inside a vortex of instantaneous

decision making ice

 

We need to look for answer

instead of accepting defeat,

our bodies human yet frail,

we cannot allow the remedy of loss

become our only outcome.

 

Sweet is the human condition,

ready and willing

weep and cry, laugh in hysterics

the emotional roller-coaster

whom we become, come to be.

 

Find solace in the truth,

know honesty

recognize the power of an ill

realize the beauty of real,

stay safe, stay warm, stay in love.

 

No matter that the world has other plans,

let your own be the finality carry on a glow.

Standing In Line

black-and-white-community-crowd-9816

Readied the winds of change

would speak tonight,

fair warning,

a knee cap to the asphalt

the bleeding had begun …

 

and so he may believe

this might be a truth

 

He chose to ice the damage

knowing full well this body

would not desire the challenge

to respond

be the resilient one

hold fast to insurrection

 

and so he believe

this might be a truth

 

How ought the line respond

cut inside the weaker lot

forward we will resonate our steps

it is the American way,

we do as descendent find

sweet entitlement in crass negated

walkways, airstrips, bon voyage

 

I see the ghosts of my ancestor

still standing firm, dignity in hand

A Nostalgic Christmas Fairy Tale

We met in a college football atmosphere,

eyes locked immediate intrigue,

the sort you might not remind anyone

for it is meant to be a

quiet recall,

a soft memory

when everyone else went home.

 

There’s no one left to remember,

except perhaps

her,

the snowball fight,

the falling flakes

as big as night

Hennepin avenue forever,

we would run into each other’s arms

this sort of love

thing neither understood,

nor would either try to

recall another season.

 

We were playing soul-mates

while cars drove by,

people glanced and imagined

two people in love

playing in the snow,

a winter’s night,

a quiet recall,

I remember being with you,

so now the memory is left me blue.

 

I would say Happy Xmas around now

for we’ll never recall just when and how.