Free Verse in Useless Times

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The lights flickering

In the distance are red

and I believe that

I’ve totally lost my head.

The city it seems

is burning red

tonight

Not sure of

just what I’ve said

from one moment

to the other.

Verse pours out like

random bread that’s

passed out

for the swollen bellies

of the famished.

See how skeletal they sit

or lie beside

their mothers,

and are easily

mistaken for the dead,

like so many

of the others all around them.

A look is in

children’s eyes,

eyes with wrinkles

deeply etched.

Mother’s are cradling

their heads.

Hunger, pain

live here raw

like free verse

doled out

by parted

empty lips

in vacant

useless times.

Women and children

gather scraps of metal

in abandoned mines

at the expense

of fragile lives,

like free verse collected

in some

long forgotten,

still,

and useless time.

And all

seems random

here

and destined

certain

not to survive.

No need for

lullabies,

no need for the contrived

lines of verse

that rhyme,

It’s just all meant

to be so simple:

Death just comes

wandering here,

meandering

on its own

picking

left and right,

whatever

may be in sight,

like free verse in

useless times.

The Past

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The past made you,
put you where you are.
The past comes
with nostalgia,
pleasant memories,
or fostering regrets.
What truly
matters Is living fully
with positive
awareness in the now,
By not taking to heart
who others think
It is you are,
By not accepting blindly
Your ego’s automatic view
of who you think you are,
coloured by the past,
but by
observing self,
And contemplating
your
behaviour,
discovering
Who it is
you really are,
And by making earnest
Effort to be better,
And truer to
The Self
For the sake
of self,
And for
The others
All around you.

Grace

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Grace

Who has seen
Your beauty?
Who has felt
Your grace?
Who has looked
upon
the blinding
luminescence
of your face;
How can we, and who
can hope to see it ?
Only those who fully
contemplate and
Breathe
the common plight
and fate
of human race,
of a living
on the edge
Of a latent
Never ending,
Ever present grace.

Juxtapose

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As the ice exists
In sunlight
As the unseen
wind blows
Hard and cold
On a carrying path,
So my blood
Is coursing,
So my heart is
Steady,
So my love is
Constant,
Like a bird
seeking
Shelter
and fulfilment
In a constant
flight,
Shrouded by
The clouds around it.

End Song

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image

There was a man
who thought about the past, that thought
His life was
Ending, future nonexistent,
and suddenly
one
day
he opened his eyes,
looked around
and realized
the wealth
that was about Him :
his friends,
his family, his health,
his loves,
and all
the many places
of his habitation
In others:
the souls,
that were
Mirrored in his soul,
And his soul that
was mirrored
in theirs,
and he realized:
this was good,
that in
this unity
itself there
was no other Existence;
that could be truer,
No greater longing
Than for this
Happiness;
And instantly
in the
Now,
he was
at peace,
in this place of
Kindred
Soul.

Frida

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Frida

imageYou came
Last night
a dark shadow,
As all wandering
Souls do
since Eurydice
In floating cones
and cylinders.
Your presence
Unfelt since
Wandering
The blue walls
And easels
Of your existence,
An
Eye In the place of
The coyotes.
Your flowered
Flowing
Beauty,
A Nocturnal Black
Graced with
hanging
Silver,
Flesh held in place
By rods of steel
And torture,
By the things
That eased your pain:

*Love,

*Pigment,
red as blood
From the back
Of Trotsky’s head
Or from ears cut
by Aztecs warriors,

*Two beds to rest in,

*And your
tiny
Prayerful
Lily white devotions
Crucified on walls,

A Maternal fabric
Behind glass walls
Caged.

A gift sealed in bedrooms.
for certain times.

The cathedrals
And Cortez’s bed
Lie In the place
of Aztec ruins
By your side
In moonlight .

Atlas and Lovers

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Atlas and Loversimage

At the bottom

Of the world
Atlas strains
to lift his burden.
At the top,
Two lovers embrace.
The male lover
chained to
rock of earth,
She amorously
attacks
And picks at him
Winged,
Like a tender hawk,
An angel.
And G_d
has skewered
The world in a middle
Place with
His staff,
Like an apple with
a piece displaced.
He suspends it
And holds it
firmly In its’ place.
Atlas lifts only
What he can bear,
although his
Burden is thought
Unbearable,
And the lovers
Although chained
grow anew,
and curious,
suspended,
They
Float In the air,
Their love,
A flame of
Sweet terror
And
Furious.

Gruff Old Man

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Gruff Old Man

The gruff old man
said :

When they flattened
that house
into a parking lot ,
all the memories of
your family
And our friendship
there,
came to me again.
The fact that place
of shelter
was no longer
there
and the comfort
of its’ sight
forever gone,
even though it was
years ago you left,
He left,
So many years ago,
It simply
brought me
to a deep despair.

Politics

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Politics

A Greek politician
or
A diplomat
Once said:
If you are
Young and
not a Marxist,
You have no heart.
If you are old and
not a capitalist,
You have no brain.
Why not have both
A capitalist head
A heart that’s red
And therefore Marxist.
What’s more

it has nothing

To do with politics
At all.
Head over heart,
Or heart over head
It’s a matter
of the
moment
or position,
that’s
All.