Wealthcare

I could tell you of my sons
the bravest two I've known
I could tell you of my friends
and how their needs have only grown

I could talk about myself
of my weight and weakened bladder
but you would only laugh
or at best it wouldn't matter

We know it isn't simple
to fix this kind of system
but why have you dismissed our lives
when you have never lived them

Your lives guided by votes
your hearts tainted by power
You revel in your distant view
from your lonesome little tower

But when our children die
and loved ones are left to suffer
you'll celebrate your bottom line
from behind your golden buffer

Please don't pretend you care
or even speak as if you could
for whatever goals you claim to have
none of them are good

I Must Write

I must write
Upon these lines
One thousand words
One thousand times
The meaning lost
Emotion spent
All the tears
That came and went
A droning hum
A high pitched whine
A shadow looms
That is all mine
Dark and deep
And all around
Full of smells
Full of sounds
There lives the past
That I have made
That ink and pulp
Have yet to save

The Prettiest of Ponds

The frightened pheasant flutters
Flying in a burst
Startled by the panting fox
Who came to quench her thirst

The female fox is furrowed
Shorter are her days
Lacking will and drive to hunt
On eggs and fruit she’ll graze

A fearful fish feels furtive
Peering at the shore
His gills grow still and silent
For he’s met a fox before

The frog floats on a flower
Singing strong and proud
From time to time he nabs a bug
From the thick and buzzing cloud

The flys all flit and fumble
Done in by graceless genes
You could say they move swift
Though more akin to a careen

The flourishing fans of ferns
Reach widely with their fronds
They add their rich green hues
To this, the prettiest of ponds

Pretty Flowers

I’m not sure how I got here
It happened just that quickly
I never broke a single bone
I wasn’t even sickly

But there I was just standing
Beside a road I knew
And suddenly my lights went out
And up above I flew

I yelled for help to hoarseness
But no one seemed to hear
So I thought instead I’ll fly for help
But I can’t be long I fear

I floated to the druggist
And screamed “Call 911!”
But he flipped the page of his magazine
And slowly, softly hummed

I then flew to that petrol man
And found him selling lotto
I yelled “Please get help right away!”
But the sad sac was just blotto

Finally it dawned on me
The ER was just yonder
So I flew as fast as one could fly
‘Could I be heard there?’ I pondered

To my luck there was a lady
With a bandage on her toe
She turned and looked right at me
Saying “It’s too late you know”

“Please tell someone I’m out there
Oh the buzzards and the crows!
If they arrive before the fuzz
Then the driver’s mind could go”


“Alright Alright.” she said annoyed
And called up dear John Law
I thanked the woman’s kindness
And flew back to shock and awe

The police had me surrounded
A blue tarp thrown upon me
A simple stretcher worked for most
For me they’d need an army

A dark plastic container
To hold the scattered pieces
Alas the fauna found me
And turned me into feces

My flights had seemed so swift
But apparently took hours
Not very much was left
But it would grow pretty flowers

Flags of Failure

Hearken all to the rageful voices
of those who sit on self made thrones
those made afraid of boogeymen
those molded into desparate clones
Now they stomp and gnash with guns and hoods
and convince themselves they're brave
Blind to the shadows that are cast
When their Flags of Failure wave

Poems for a Bad Day full of Bad people

First a Haiku:

An enlightened mind
Seeks ways to conquer its foes
Softly with kindness

Now onto the poems:

Just as day is ending
Each one of us begins
Reliving cringful moments
Kicking ourselves in

So this is my day
How could it be worse
I'll not dwell upon it
Tempting its thirst

Finding yourself
Ugly within
Can be healed with service
Kindness can win

Clever kinds of people
Universally understand
Not to sacrifice their sleep
To the obstinant and bland

Truth be told
What can we be
Attacking only
Tyranny

The Wise Crone

Her old and grizzled graces
Hold up amongst the faces
That pass her in their races
For what they see as freedom

To her they are all wandering
As she sits calmly pondering
The true joys they are squandering
For she knows they cannot see them

She knows regret as revelation
Forgiveness as a true salvation
And suspension of one’s expectations
Can grow such endless joy

Still green is grass as well as money
With one as vinegar and one as honey
And some may find her answer funny
But she knows want tends to cloy

So she walks on uninhibited
With a smile life once prohibited
And a regalness exhibited
By the looseness of her spine

For those who actually notice
In this world so out of focus
She floats much like the lotus
And is equally divine