
“Abstract American Flag” by Naza
(Regarding Colin Kaepernick)
your ass on the bench
my ass in your face
you generalize
I personalize
don’t tell me
this ain’t
a great country
“Abstract American Flag” by Naza
(Regarding Colin Kaepernick)
your ass on the bench
my ass in your face
you generalize
I personalize
don’t tell me
this ain’t
a great country
“Human Stain #15” by Will Steacy
(Regarding the Baton Rouge assassinations of police)
blue burgundy blood
once the bright
crimson fluid of life
now a dark seeping
stain verging unto the
dead hue of rust
spreading over this
landscape of menace
disfiguring ethical facets
philosophers carved
from strong civilized bones
precious gems of republic
the functional stalwarts
of ordered society
modern centurions
serving protecting
become now
its violent victims
their innocent offal
unspeakable trophies
of rampaging hatred
the hallmark of monsters
descended from Cain
skulking in and among us
to furtively strike from
decayed intellectual barrens
where cowards have
ever found reason and root
to grow into assassins
Thin Blue Line Candle
The terrible events in Dallas have rendered me unable to write poetry these last few days. I am filled with anger and despair.
My son is a decorated police officer, a police academy instructor, an EMT, a former member of the Civil Air Patrol, and a United States Navy veteran.
He is a man born to a noble ethic who enthusiastically swore a somber duty to serve and protect his fellow citizens – ALL of them – regardless of race or creed or character.
My entire family shares the grief suffered by him and by all of his brothers-and-sisters-in-arms around the country, as a result of the cowardly acts of those utterly despicable Dallas assassins.
We pray that he stays ever alert – keeps safe – and remains undeterred from his mission. We are exceedingly proud of him – and deeply grateful for the service of everyone in uniform – all of whom are increasingly in harm’s way.
The American social fabric continues to shred against the sharp edges of malicious factions. And now, more than ever in tatters, appears unmendable.
green forest birdsong at sunrise
this is what greets me at morning
the love of a wonderful woman
this is what sweetens my days
fresh country air full of moonlight
this is what tucks me to sleep
but I live in a world with malignance
where it cannot be right
to enjoy any personal peace
where policemen and brave soldiers cry
in the face of indelible
terrible dark human stain
both lives matter
precisely because
of the truism
all lives matter
every band
on the spectrum
even when drawn
into tension
though differently
loved by the light
shines inherent with
moral equivalence
pity the fool
unwilling to see
all colors identical
down in the meat
in the pith neath
congenital tints
of the skin or the
dyemaster’s work
on the uniform
broadcloth of duty
“The Oyster My World, The Pearl My Insurrection”
Painting by Justin Watson
gangsters crowding the streets of the mind
malice dripping from ball-caps and tee-shirts
the fury of May drawn from violent holsters
rains down upon cities in mourning for ruined
respect at the hands of disturbing rash actions
by uniforms lost of their mission and moment
inciting the worst and the best of reactions
a frenzy of ethics unloosed in mad torrents
as neighbors and neighborhoods drown in
its consequence telltale of bad and good
wrong and right false and true no longer clear
indistinguishable as the blood from the tears
in the eyes of conflicted old poets confused
by emotion and reason left watching in pain
From my book Small Noise
Photo from Chapel of the Chimes
laid cold in his prime
the blue line of duty
abruptly erased
service drawn to an end
orphaned citizens
sensing their loss
feel impersonal grief
in the skirling of pipes
giving ritual dirge
rigid brethren in rows
of white glove salutes
left to contemplate
perils of fate in the
moan and the mourn
of the sorrowful noise
solemn song of tradition
reserved for this place
its gray gardens of stone
grim companions who
welcome their new
fallen brother-in-arms
hero husband a father
and son claimed by
ultimate destiny
called to the sacrifice
etched in the words
of his long ago oath
From my books Small Noise and Legacies (vol. 2)
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
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