Meditations on a Theme (Haiku II) - Reading

it reads:
A song rising up
But without rhythm or rhyme
What story is this?

What The Watchman Asks

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
The voices rising, can you hear them call
Do they call for your equality
Or for glory and perpetuity
Too late -- for they are at the wall.


Meditations on a Theme (Haiku I): Reading

it reads:
In autumn light breeze
Afternoon reading is free
On Sundays, at least.

The Pieces

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
I see you sitting on the sloping lawn
The light plays soft, a book is in your hand
Though we struggle to fit, we too are our land
Then in the middle distance, a train carries on.


The Text

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
It's a mess of letters suggesting sound
But looking at each page, I cannot find
A single word to bring a song to mind
Small wonder poetry cannot be found.


Meditations on a Theme (Haiku III): Flight

it reads:
The great rush of sound
And then we jump, feather light
Into the unseen.

The 113th Congress

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
When at last all but a few
Have given up fighting, when it's hard
That kodachrome light, falls on the yard
Reminds us that the day is not new
The only odds left are the long odds - yes
But aren't the pitched battles always the best?

And the sun is neither at our backs
Did we ask for the spears' to be in our face
Was this really the path we did embrace
Truth holds true all prediction lacks
They will take and take until no more
Is left to rob, and the hands are sore

From taking, eating each mans sustenance
While still hungering, hunger making him free
Free from the sin of gluttony
But envy hides paces behind his glance
And when his lids droop, full of hours
From the door it steals, and then devours.

Feet of Earth

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
To those, hoping in their aluminum god
That dream can never die, that never lived
No, until by the net of heaven each is sieved
That green is the horse of Death, is not odd.


Medidations on a Theme (Haiku II) - Flight

it reads:
From wing to wing, bright
The stained-glass light on feathers
Eclipsing the sun.

The Wish

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
The dream, whose wish is but a breath
But the flower that bears the seed dies
The winter comes; the seed falls and dries
Under earth crushed, but born finally in death.



it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
We look to desolation now and wonder
How we forgot that hubris kills
Was it someone else's or own wills
What again was the spell we were under?



it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
Whose child are we - who will we become
A claim can be made before the judge
Need anyone guess who carries the grudge
But Solomon sleeps, as the blade comes down.


Meditation on a Theme (Haiku I) - Flight

it reads:
When song fails the heart
In evening, electric light
The poem returns.

The Lofty

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
Even the clouds, hanging low with rain
Seem vague, in a dank blue-gray haze
The tower, taller than would amaze
Clefts them, but does it see the sun again?


The Knob

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
We long gone return so suddenly
As in autumn the north wind repairs
Hesitant, we slowly climb the stairs
And face the door that leads to History.


The Orator Considers Mercy and Judgment

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
Now I'm finally done with it all
Forgiving every arrogant poet
Thinking that he just might know what
The truth is, and so thusly call
Such important truths to mind
And then in history they must find
To treat the center-most event
The axis of each brightling star
As some if Gallilean Carpenter
Blathering weakly on was spent
And that the most immortal Paul
Was some Pharisee miscreant?
Who speak glibly of the Universal
Of Art and Beauty and Community
But then, blinkered fail to see
That such were truly God and gods
Walking among us as mortal men
What would that demand of them?
I'm not for long bets on such odds
For youth is freedom and tyranny;
And Romantics die so far less free
Than the meek who built each Roman wall
Can we expect a decent talk on Kin
From those so uncontrolled within
Seek a way to have no control at all?
Do the stars now move at their every word
Was their song something never heard
Did their paltry books stack half as high
Did their blood at last make things divine
Could they even draw an unfaltering line
Or must we pity and must we sigh
Because they wore that deathly pall -- ?
No, for I am done with it all.