Photo credit : © Ingalin | Dreamstime.com - Cathedral De Santiago, Antigua Guatemala
Out here, abandoned in the grass, A vintage filling station: Where many sat preoccupied By labor or vacation As fuel was pumped and windows washed Supporting life’s-won fruits To aid the modern family In nuclear pursuits. Out here, abandoned in the grass, And desolate to view, The end of every precious thing Once loved for … Continue reading "On An Old Filling Station"
So accustomed to noise are we, Our minds provide it In our rare moments of silence. When we cannot feel the world anymore, We attempt to become the world, A process fraught with anxiety, And rife with chaos. It is the silence we fear: Discovering only then What we truly believe the world to be, … Continue reading "Emptiness and Echoes"
“I’s” unknown, So many “they’s”, From untold places, Bygone days, In rooms for healing, Pass away: We know this. But we just With our contumely Carry on, We’re here —- What matters who is gone? We think It isn’t real, beyond, A faint remaining Crust An echo, an Enablement, A bill of life That’s elsewhere … Continue reading "On An Old Abandoned Hospital"
It’s easier to choose Without so many roads, It’s simpler to know With no key that decodes The many and the myriad Of things beyond our pall — But since we think we know, We never learn At all Photo credit : ID 53775206 Deyangeorgiev | Dreamstime.com
The evil people do Is manywheres at play; It hides in power suits, And seeks to rule the day, But time’s a referee And knows not foe or friend: So power has its day, But that day has Its end
Who is it that we were, And what was all that work? Our one-day someday dreams Are now met with a smirk These cabinets we used Are laughed at through the view That vanities are fine As long as they Are new
beauty, solace, wealth, and fame – these fight out a lethal game; greed and envy sanction hate, rich to poor, or wan to great. glamour, passion, toil, and lust: idols turned to ash and dust — beauty, solace, wealth, and fame: gain the wind, but lose your name Picture credit : Yung Chao Chen
Within the vineyard of her honeyed youth The red wine flows through long and draping vines; From sharpest grape it runs to sweetest tooth, Down where the soil and the sun combines To bring about a type of miracle. A marvel that she’s not thought on for years: A thing that’s not the least satirical, … Continue reading "Her Father’s Vineyard"