a world full of inexplicable things
inexplicable to me, that is
with each new day I am as a child
reaching into a box of wonders
entering a library of marvels
listening to a chorus of virtuosi
even when streets fill with rushing rain
even when sirens wail in ominous lament
even when walls tumble from searing heat
despair is companioned,
holding fast hands with curiosity
death. death. more death.
violent murderous wartime death.
pestilential starving cruel death.
death in streaming technicolor.
death in social media posts.
death in every possible way.
a friend who lives in another country
sends me a constant barrage:
this country, that country, another country
is perpetuating horrible death.
why does he think I don’t know this?
I spend my time now
writing graffiti on gravestones
throwing flowers on funeral pyres
and detailing the beauty of vultures that fill our skies.
this early morning.
air should smell of rain, wet leaves, mud.
train fuel reek fugs the fields.
birdsong and squirrel chatter should accompany our walk.
metal engines clangor away any animal noise.
nature inevitably prevails,
however industry (and we) might choose.
look up, the sky is ever there;
walk, the earth always beneath;
every manufactured thing; fundamentally part of the world.
in the pause between piston beats,
I hear the cry of three Canadian geese flying their regular overhead route.
I walked and dropped things
my eyes first
they rolled down the hill
then my ears
they fell into a patch of mud
then my nose
it caught on an old stick
then my mind
I draped it acoss a barbed wire fence
it followed me home
stinking like a dog that rolled in muck
it all becomes too loud
unkind words with sharp edges
shuriken hurled from screen and mouth
walking the street an act of endurance
yet anchors of stillness even beyond breath
rebel flower half-hidden stubborn with purple bloom
stark outline of a tree bare against gray sky
slow drift of a bird in dying noon
and always always just outside reach
the coolly radiant nocturnal moon
sit on your cushion and chant
lokah samastah sukhino bhavantu
may all beings be happy
(may you be happy)
I will not linger to join the company of haunts.
The world is overfull with ghosts.
They shadow our footsteps, stain our windowpanes,
And walk the streets in silent hungry procession.
They watch to see if we remember.
We do not, not enough, never enough to give them life.
I will not take a place in this bread line, though I’ve seen faces there I know:
A grandfather in tattered black coat; a poet from a vanished land;
A goddess still in half-bird form.
I leave behind kindnesses you can have, dreams you can hold,
But not myself. Forget me entirely; I will be gone.
from behind the grey steel bars he gave his heart to the sky
untethered without any strings not even the faint thread of hope
it burned there for a time brighter than the atomic sun
shining with all the many dreams he gathered
the stories we told him the lives we wished for our children
like him with no official warning-
though we all knew this would happen
it died with one final burst of light
the soldier’s bullet that passed through it
cried in futile sorrow as it fell to earth
the tattered shreds of our destroyed future
drift through the clouds
unawares amongst them walks
acquaintance colleague stranger friend
me and I a monster
solitary kinless outcast born outcast chosen
watching them move through entertwined circles
face pressed to glass eyes wide with wonder
hand hiding slight quizzical smile
fascinated by spectacle wishing to help in minutes ways
regardless I remain this grotesque foreign chimera
first breath when I open my eyes
so bitter I gag to spit out the detritus
night caught in my throat, all I dragged up from the midden
mouth coated with ash, nose with rot, fingers with slime
sleep a visit to the charnel house, waking hours a walking pyre
I constantly shed charcoal shards, a neglected trail of blackened bone
sit down uncaring of brown sodden grass
clank clangor clarion noise saturates the surround
graffitied cars speed color through gray rain
rumble grumble lumber vibrates underfoot ground
briefly no self no other but only this
the passing rush of the train