A Moral Theory of Biscuits

On 2020051320200513 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

Upon this day, in Nineteen-Eight,
She came forth to some small acclaim,
Within a people tinged with shame
But whose regard for tribe was very great —

No, she would not be second-class,
Nor bathe in some subservience
To customs made of little sense
Nor what to her was meaningless, or crass,

So burst she, in Depression years,
Upon a world unready; she, undimmed
By what was darkly thought, the headlines skimmed
And full of courage made from hope and fears

She traversed through the morass of an age
So thick with unseen barriers and grime,
That strength itself became a sort of crime
With punishment its sure and common wage —

But how? We only see by light of truth,
And maybe all that’s left is blood, and flour,
And vestiges of passion, killed by power
In stories small, invisible to youth.

untidy, uncontrollable

On 2020051220200506 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

life, untidy, uncontrollable:

a city sitting cross-legged on the bed of a lurching truck

a shadow being chased by the sun

the same air processed by the same mechanism in wildly divergent people

a plate of eggs and toast, when you ordered a pizza

voices cutting across, but never breaking through

Onlooker

On 2020051120200510 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

It’s said to be better
To be a participant —
More glorious, and honorable —
Unless
You are not built that way.

Some are made to be reflective,
Refractory,
Mirrors of what they see:
Nearby, but always outside —

For those, for us,
There are times and things and people,
And the feelings
Assayed to convey

We may not see the onlooker,
But their eyes and heart

See us

captains of the pursuit of celebration

On 2020051020200509 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

he is not who you think he was
(the pinky wants another ring)
the dolor of the troller who
lives circumspect and anxious

(here there’s a thing that we saw once.
or maybe twice. my memory’s vague)
you read the history of the plague,
and realize the ways they’re us,

but sadly, rank is given to
the loudest unrepentants,
who chase the party where it’s not
eschewing clause, or sentence —

she feels the dark is closing in
(would melatonin help, he thinks?)
now spins the wheel of random fate
(by this time, though, it’s far and late)

Screedshot (v2)

On 2020050920200505 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

to warn people

so tribal,
They’d rather crash friends
Than see everyone safe

who I actually am,
I see talking over and across

smugness mixed
rhetorical points
never actually engage
Safe Balkanized
no one who disagrees

often despise either,
As practiced by others.
uniformity
And conformity

I’m not the lighthouse
dimmed years ago,
Neither do I know the safest ways —
But there’s good
Far better

I’ve seen

like me
your own life,
not cut out to manage
All

respect limitations

Respect others

That’s Not How It Works

On 2020050820200508 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems4 Comments

He sees a girl he likes.
He wants to own her heart,
or body, really —

It’s all there in his mind.
The steps, the dance, the conquest
(well, ideally)

But that’s not how it works.
His model is too static:
When two people are there,
Variance is quite dramatic,

And it’s dehumanizing, seeing
Others as mere things,
When love’s about connecting.
Yes — connecting —

He sees a girl he wants.
And if she sees a boy,
that she wants, too,

Then that’s the way it works.
If not, there’s really nothing he
should even try

to do

stirring puddles

On 2020050520200505 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

stirring puddles,
feelings running, slopping,
anger lost hiding
in the slanting pour of
too much all too much
always

never
too few way too few
in the paltry drip of
passion left empty
loving nothing, once more
puddle gazing

the matter rest

On 2020050420200504 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

Slightly, the tree sways.
Carefully arranged books and new blankets
Stand beside the watcher, the explainer,
Who, in turn, dreams of a valley
(Where hopes sleep kissed and roots drink deep)

Unlike the bright bay,
Where flounder and cobia
Flash through glints between skis

Such wasted potential —
To be so much and to barely be —

Out here, in the valley,
There is an infinity to what I have not been,
Unlike the bright bay
And perhaps it’s best to let the matter rest

{ p r e c i o u s }

On 2020050320200502 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

in gentle makings,
small, meticulous, precious,
breathes the whisper of a caress

No Talent for Certainty

Tag: Abstractions

A Moral Theory of Biscuits

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untidy, uncontrollable

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Onlooker

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captains of the pursuit of celebration

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Screedshot (v2)

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That’s Not How It Works

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stirring puddles

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the matter rest

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{ p r e c i o u s }

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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To share is human:

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