#riprng

oh roll, Orwell, long in your grave
while freedoms that you sought to save
choke, strangled by the backlash rage

Big Brother with his ICEy cage
nobbles Earth from 'neath the meek;
your book: his guide to Double Speak

"Free speech!" the order of the day
which, given, takes the thing away

■

or watch how woke injustice is
bent—nose to hell—on solving "race"
concluding its analysis
by punching itself in the face!
my tears have not the depth to douse
the fires burning every house
but let us not, in fear, repeat
the blazing burn of Black Wall Street

Christians, in a certain state
cling to the coins of Caesar
as tight as guns, the right to hate
Christ’s "Give your wealth away" mandate
—and other words once thought to save,
like "Best not kill or lie or crave,
nor hang my idol in the nave"—
while raling 'gainst a strawman
grinning in Gomorrah

SWIMMING IN THE GRAY

#poem #poetry
the throwing out of bathwater's
a practice that's gone down the drain
which is why it should seem odder:
the throwing out of babies still remains
and—this is curiouser still!—
the baby, gone, we'll keep the swill

examples from one tribe of late:

#poetry #process
Today feels different, even though the question hasn't changed: "will the States unite to overthrow their self-oppression?"

Which is to say, I didn't rummage this time. Breathing into the day's outrage, I Notion-searched and found this:

who lightens the load placed
on the other leg’s shoulder
discovers together how fast
further you’ll far

no penalties for false starts

no flags, no arbitration

run when ready

■

finally back in a form to remember
to yank these earbuds from their nests
lest the rain outside these too-
thick walls pass in whispers
unheard by these hungry ears
hoping, these days, hoping for a taste
of an ancient loved-one on my tongue
twirling face-up to the cycling sky

■

sharing my spirit with an army of ants
worms, beetles, frogs, mosses, mites, moles, and mongeese
and ohhhhh, how i long once more to be a forest
but reincarnation's a dart-hurling drunk, so here i sit before you
the child of a family that ate and burned the orchard of me

these days it's a podcast
i buried the book i'd made for her
a season of preparing unplentiful papyrus
three moons tanning Schnuff's hide post-jackal
let go that past life
joined them both in the ripening soil to bide my time

the rain out the glassless gap in stacked-branch walls
my hand-made hut alive with the ocean's blood
sifted clean through cloud kidneys
crashing into consciousness
aaaaaahhhhhh

peaceful, that hard scrap

hard scrap of a life to be sure
but remember popping back to reality
Daisy's paintings fading in your hands
dog and girl still clutched to my chest
still petting that sleek-furred schnuffler's pelt
as it surrounds the fade of my baby girl's dreams

to Veronica who, today, does not want to talk to me…

…i love you, my friend