Monday, May 29, 2017

In This Garden, May 28, 2017

In this garden there are no fuming voices
With answers and choices that are neither.
On a Sunday with a woodpecker and a fat jay
Singing for their stake, in the shade of hazelnut

Bushes, now trees you can’t control no matter
How much you need deep down to grab hold
And steer them, hydra-headed it all comes back
Like the offspring of war.  Today I let it grow

As will, as squirrels bellyflop from the branches
To help me drown out the very best gone sour,
This hour when the lizard makes a mad dash

Between nettle cover along the narrow path,
Their hands wide open to the angle of the sun;
Already critical of what I have yet to write down.

Monday, May 22, 2017

America, the Game

In the game some play
By the rules, others slay
According to the aim
No matter what shame

Gets visited on the game,
The aim is always to win
And climb out of that sin
Losers feel all the same.

Unless your God awaits
With a book of notations
And timeless quotations
For your choice of fates,

Playing the game of lies
And disdain for the whys
Lands you the only prize:
Fear, in power’s disguise.

Rules apply to saps
And those with a vision
Of eternal damnation,
Feathers in their caps

Burning as beacons
For the whole of creation
Like blushing deacons
Witness dog exultation

On the corner where Go
Has an electric fence
To fry the poor and low,
Whose capital offense

Is being. Hence a God
Or a conqueror’s bod
Since the game’s rules
Are meant for the fools

While life means zero
To the capitalist weirdo
Whose one God is fame
And a moneyed last name.