Hallway to Nowhere

Category: society

  • Tis The Season (Poem)

    this place is shouting louder than ever

    commands in a language that is not my own

    celebrate this right now right here (or else)

    who would not want to join in the festivities

    hymns carol in stores and restaurants

    a red-suited jolly old figure greets all at town hall

    ornamented trees stand in public spaces, even on a theater roof

    a themed parade shuts down Main Street and scares my dog

    attendance is optional this year; what about next

    red green and white everywhere alongside red white and blue flags

    now mandatory for homes vehicles businesses

    the air thinner than ever for those who are otherwise

    it’s getting harder to breathe

  • Same Game, Different Day (Poem)

    and so we wait in different ways

    discuss-or not-the end of days

    this approaching event

    we forget that we’ve been here before

    the die gets cast again and again

    a golden apple caused a war

    destroyed a city and founded an empire

    all for vanity’s sake

    death and the destroyer of worlds

    brought horrors beyond imagine

    killed people both quickly and slowly

    again because of wounded pride

    the mad, the bad, and the angry

    are still riding the storms of fear

    from which they feed and draw their strength

    one day, some day, we’ll stop and say

    let us not be afraid any more.

  • Funereal Years of the Anthropocene (Poem)

    flowers have died despite care

    we too shrivel in the dry hot wind

    we wait upon rain in the evening

    placing hope in the massing gray clouds

    neighbors murmur to each other

    tonight I have heard it will come

    one places an umbrella beside the door

    another his rain boots

    and one carefully checks her water gauge

    remember how recently it poured everyday

    vegetables rotted before they could be picked

    ants invaded homes to escape the wet

    streets became fast-flowing creeks

    drought, flooding, we move through it all

    with eyes closed and fingers crossed

    believing that superstitious behaviour will save us

    instead we are being delivered

    to the consequences of turning away

    when shall we mourn

    how shall we grieve

  • Dangerous Things (Poem)

    when I was young, I knew so many dangerous things

    boys risk their lives for chance

    in brief suicidal encounters with other boys

    girls buzz their hair in swagger

    for langorous forbidden dances with other girls

    bodies hide different meanings

    with changes and revisions often unseen

    words and stones hurled from car windows

    are equally capable of inflicting bloody wounds

    queer fag dyke tranny used on us like knives

    to carve their imagined shame into our very being

    but

    the most dangerous thing I knew is what I still know

    we are here, have always been, will never not be

    our risk brave, and we pay love’s cost

    our swagger pride, and we openly embrace

    we have taught each other magic

    made our scars into marks of beauty

    transformed their scornful terms into rallying cries

    when we look at you with clear unafraid eyes

    we see who you really are, so that you turn away

    because you know, have always known:

    we are the dangerous things

  • Lotus Cushion Of Main Street (Poem)

    I sit within the silence of distraction held by the noise of morning’s rush

    rumble of trains and shriek of car alarms

    industrial counterpoint to ongoing birdsong and chatter of squirrels

    louder than any of these the clangor of mind

    bang and buzz of thoughts going here there off in every direction

    follow me follow me follow me each one cries

    I pay every due a brief nod of acceptance bid farewell continue to sit

    aware in the swirl of cacophony

    not yet gone beyond but here and here and here

  • Shadow Town (Poem)

    ghosts of yesterday linger in alleys

    spirits of might have been drift through streets

    shards of broken dreams glint on sidewalks

    tatters of abandoned hopes hang in storefronts

    we could have gathered all to eat real food around a common table

    chose instead for some to feast and others beg

    found acceptable for those who have

    to laugh in derisive disregard at those who lack

    indeed to deny them room in any stable

    those all being filled by brass calves

    soon to be paraded out by fools as gold

    and children starve

  • The Ghost Of The Bonefire (Poem)

    the scent of smoke lingers in the alley

    the restaurant has been gone for awhile

    the owner saw the writing on the wall

    shiny dollar signs scrawled by new money

    incomers remake the town into their own image

    wealth management firms with financial planners

    luxury sports with concierge golf

    rooftop bars with small plated precious food

    soon they’ll build themselves a place of worship

    inside will be a golden calf

  • “Children Want To Work Without Lunch Breaks” (Poem)

    (The title is a quote from a U.S. State-in the Deepest South-Delegate)

    these new gods, deities of flash and cash

    delight in human sacrifice as they stride across the world,

    our backs their stepping stones, our faces to the ground.

    we sing in worship, songs shouting possession;

    we groan in pain, cries seeking recognition.

    both go unheard by the hard indifferent dirt

    and the gods pay no heed at all.

    why should they, made in our image?

  • All We Can Do (Poem)

    because the tidal overwhelm of war remains,

    and women cry until they have no voice

    and orphaned children die in cratered streets

    and everywhere men kill other men because they can.

    I sit with my back straight and become glass.

    all the grief of the world washes through me

    and through you, a darkened ink of light.

    we breathe. all we can do.

    because the common squabble of life constantly rains,

    and this one accuses that one over something

    and words become harsh here there everywhere

    and bitterness becomes ordinary coin.

    I carry kindness in my pockets to give away

    as do you, little bits of good to see us through the day.

    we smile. all we can do.

    we all do what we can. that is all we can do.

  • Tanse’eryth (The Language Of Trees) (Poem)

    because the language they taught me

    was not enough, a paltry thing used only by them

    and I wanted to talk with trees, I made my own

    words reached into the sky, not grasping like hands

    but open like branches, with silences so that birds could alight

    and not be scared and so share their stories

    though most thought me solitary even friendless

    I laughed at this, being only alone

    when I had to go out among them, and I felt pity

    for all they could not hear