Thanksgiving 2017

The sidewalk receptacle stood undisturbed,

by passersby unperturbed,

in the cold evening.

The old man, face worn, brown coat torn,

pulled, from the trash,

a brown pizza box.

Box that yesterday held a large pizza:

tomato, pepperoni,

triple cheese and anchovy.

Box that yesterday passed round a room

with glee.

No way to un-see, attempt to forget,

pretend not to feel, or try not to cry,

though the old man tonight will not die.

The brown pizza box held a leftover slice.

Box that when opened seemed to ask why,

when gods among men play with dice,

do the poor and the weak pay the price.

Vegas Haiku III

Thundering gunfire,

Fireworks raining from the sky –

Your question cut short.

Vegas Haiku II

Thundering gunfire,

Fireworks raining from the sky –

Her chatter silenced.

Vegas Haiku I

Thundering gunfire,

Fireworks raining from the sky –

Run! He said, then fell. 

Dead Stars

No friendship can be safe 
From the destructive power of time,
From the curse of fading memory, 
From the poison of indifference. 

Our telephone line may bridge
The distance of the daunting miles.
But no bridge was built to cross
The distance of the daunting years.

To keep at bay deep fears
We pretend our friendship holds. 
But no denial can fill the loss
Of the trust we once held dear.

Courage it takes to see it clear:
The passion of youth does end,
That joy that we cherished -
That friendship won't perish - 
Lost when the road did wend
Far to the left and far to the right:
We walked our own paths,
Soon lost to sight.

If the child in you and the child in me
Should one day meet in your memory,
Tell them both to always sing
Of the joy and the excitement
In a future we held in awe;
Tell them both to always cling
To the vision of companionship 
In a future we thought we saw.

For across the sky the darkness falls:
On the sand alone I count my scars,
Your echo faint and then it stalls -
A friend like the light of long dead stars.

Republican Hell

All is not well.
The world has gone to hell
Because all we want to sell
Are guns that fire a shell
Faster than time can tell
The seconds when victims fell,
Bleeding enough to fill a well.
‎The leaders you elected smell
Like the sulfur they'll breathe in hell,
Foul odors we should expel
The next election by a groundswell
Of people, like me, compelled
‎To shake you by the lapels
And leave you with this bombshell:
Vote Republican and I foretell –
To all that's good just say farewell.

City Escape

City evening -

nightlife scents
in the summer wind:
cigarette smoke,
piss, sweat, and
garlic pizza.

The street lights
hide the stars.
Windows facing alleys
lined with bars
hide the silent little wars.

Revelers carousing,
crowds passing on the sidewalk -
their shouts drowned by the siren call -
while on the other side of the brick walls
shouts of another kind - 
disappointment finds
the tinder of alienation
and lights the fire of anger and regret.

We are a fretful nation
seeking always to forget
the home of broken dreams
in the safety of the city streets
where the heart ache always seems
to pass in a dance, a kiss.
A stranger's touch is easy bliss.

Insect

Today
I killed
A cockroach.
A subject we are loathe
To broach:
Is God the sidewalk
Or the shoe?

Is faith in an unseen future
The glue
That binds the suture
Tight,
That joins all things
In futile fight
For survival?

The image, primal,
Of the crushed insect -
I shall remember but soon forget.
We kill the small and worthless
Without regret.

Gilgamesh

Startled in the pre-dawn light
I awoke in time to see
My thoughts, my dreams,
Rush up the bedroom walls,
Leap in the quiet air
Through the windowpane
To God knows where.

The ceiling did not replenish dreams,
Not the closet, not the couch.
But the bookshelf held out hope.
In the gloom was tossed a rope.
To pull me from my bed
That grew or shrank
With the weight of joy, sadness,
Dread and madness.

At the other end of the rope
Gilgamesh stood and spoke:
Do not pine after dreams
Of storms and bulls and
Birds that breathe fire.
You have not lost your Enkidu,
Your innermost desire.
Your wildness sleeps
Without need of rest or dreams.

The good life is not lived
Building walls, fortifications
To keep your beloved safe and true.
Immortality is not given you,
Neither youth nor vitality
Outlast the adventure.
The monster in the mountain
Must be slain, though it bring
The rage of gods, the winds of war.
From unknown lands your dreams will spring.

Morning Mirror

In the gloom of dawn
Before the light of morning,
I am fully awake,
Staring at my face in the mirror,
The water running softly.
It has been running for some time.

I raise my hands to my face,
My fingers linger along and trace
The line of my cheekbones.
This skin will one day fall away,
The cheekbones turn to dust.

One finger runs down my nose,
A line slightly bent
By an experience that rent
My faith with hard cement.
This nose too will vanish.

The hair at my sides a bit grayish,
Showing how fast the days run.
They have been running for some time.
And though we run after our days,
Always we lag behind.

Ours is a fruitless race,
Death already shows on my face.
And my hair will fall into the sink
Sooner than I think.

In the growing light of morning
The birds begin to call,
Their cheerful sounds an invitation
To lay in bed once more
Until the sunlight is too bright
To sleep, perchance to dream.