Thursday, December 31, 2009

On the Eve of a New Heart

Brighten my cold cavern, every crevice
with your distant atomic flash.
Melt away the frozen particles
of stubborn animosity, cowardice, fear.
Belshazzar sits at the side,
knees now knocking one against the other
as he witnesses the foreboding script.
His fate is the fate of Herod
and countless other would-be dictators,
once confident in their cruel reign
over the enslaved souls of men.
Come to me and burn deep inside
with your distant atomic flash.
Every vestige of me a fading memory,
every despairing tear removed,
and now every morning, new mercy.
Let the revolution start!



A reflection upon the following image from Read Write Poem prompt #107.


Monday, December 21, 2009

Ripples

Ask what your country can do for you;
Ask not what you can do for your country.
Ask not what you can do-
Your country can do what you can’t do.
Whatever you think you can do,
Your country can do that better than you;
So ask what your country can do for you.

Countries are pretty neat–
They do stuff for people all the time!
All you have to do is ask;
Go ahead, ask anyone.

Your country can do things for you, yes,
All kinds of things your country can do.
Believe me – no, believe your country –
It has everything you need, it’s true;
Your country loves YOU more than you do.
Your country can willingly do for you
All the tedious things you used to do,
Like choosing what tastes best to you.

Hey, you pay, so you don’t do;
I pay, too, for you.
Ask what you must not do;
Ask away, it will be done
For you.

All these comforts are yours for the cost
Of a compact fluorescent light bulb,
and one small request:
Ask what your country can do for you;
Ask, keep asking, don't stop asking
Until you cease to be you.
Then ask again.




December 21, 2009
In loving memory of liberty and individualism



In the spirit of a broken record, here is this week's poetry coming from prompt #106 at Read Write Poem.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

When--

inspired by Kipling


When summer turns to autumn, then to winter,
And life dissolves to death and gloomy gray,
When months have passed and solitude still lingers,
But hands are folded for another day;
When weddings, birthdays, grant you celebration,
Yet years reveal what truly lies beneath,
Your patience dies and leaves you no ambition,
And sorrow quickly calls out unbelief;

When wars break out and safety seems elusive,
Or terror leaves a chilling sense of fear,
When earth is shaken, damage so extensive,
And what will happen next does not appear;
When safe and sound become distress and hunger,
What comforts small and few are left to see!
You might do nothing more than sit and wonder
If time will be your friend or enemy.

When plans are thwarted, absent rhyme or reason,
Or so it seems the hand of fate is cruel,
And obstacles begin to mount unbeaten
By sheer determination and renewal;
When every critic finds a chance to slander,
To bring your heart way down into your boots,
The strength of your resolve so frail and tender,
Your hope of harvest shrivels to the roots.

And when at last you sense the sad abandon,
That lowly mood where no one seems to care,
You’re all alone and friends seem somewhat random
When stakes are high, the cost too much to bear.
But fear not, for another day is coming,
When mercies fall like manna from the sky.
The disappointments soon will fade to nothing,
And comforts will be yours in full supply.



For Prompt #105 at Read Write Poem, I am posting a revision of my poem "When". Inspired by Kipling's "If", I used the same meter and structure. The content is of a different sort, more somber, but leaving a tunnel of light at the end.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Macropsia

Through a sliver in the blinds I peek,
observing two spheres:
one, the remnants of fire
readying itself to retire,
exiting with lazy evening purple.

Farewell is offered to the other one,
drifting in its paleness,
shrouded in silken sari.
She assumes her duty,
governing the darkness in solitude.

Howls of gratitude soar one by one
past mighty summits.
Into her presence
come the primitive songs;
no crescent tonight, only crescendo.

Against the blackened backdrop,
showered with crystals,
she slides westward,
growing ever larger
but ever further from my grasp.

When the moon starts to blush,
as it does tonight,
a withering world
is revived again
to cherish the One nearby,
the One that set it in motion.

For Prompt #104 at Read Write Poem

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Pomegranate on the Border

Glorious garment ahead,
Crippled soul enamored,
The soft edges inviting
My fear to touch.
Lungs not ready
To breathe,
Tongue not ready
To savor.

Transcendental thing,
No casual series of threads
Soon to unravel.
Celestial comeliness
Within the hem.

Fruit –
Blue, purple, scarlet,
Priestly ornaments,
Life of the mystery
Revealed to weary eyes,
Tear-stricken eyes.
I would taste what I see,
Fear be damned!

Twelve years…

I come bearing fruit,
Wearing the robe
Of another,
Complexion colored
Of liquid ruby.
The naked, the hungry,
The empty –
Come quickly.




For prompt #103 by the good folks at Read Write Poem .