while people mourn the sick and dead trump proclaims ‘we’re rounding the turn’ there’s no end to the lies he churns he fills his sycophants with dread ‘it’s all a hoax, trust me instead… masks? wear them or not…you choose stop testing, silence the fake news!’ we’ll all soon have a choice to make we have a voice in what’s at stake this time we can’t afford to lose
clouds drench the hollow blooms of opaque gray matter obscure perception
I see red when I hear their slow sad voices repeating the lies of a fool who secretly hates them; their hearts poisoned by darkness. It is of no use trying to save them for they are long gone…I must look away, smile, and melt into blue.
It is autumn. The trees are turning, letting go. I should let go too. After a lifetime of clinging to expectations, you would think I’d have learned a thing or two. About letting go. About not holding on for too long, way past the point of no return. It’s a hazard of course, of optimism, of wishful thinking.
A dozen of more leaves drift from the treetops, settling softly on the damp ground as I imagine myself turning, turning. No amount of angst will change what is. Time to let go. Time to ride the wind instead of leaning into it full-faced, stubborn, unmoved. I wish you peace and health and love.
Sunday’s ReVerse – 25 October 2020
aflame in red, amber, gold,
listen to the wind and chill
there is no calm, no eye
I keep forgetting to breathe
barely forming waves, the air
this life is not for the feigned of heart
but half of us are wide awake
wintering beneath the dust
A ReVerse poem (a practice I started many years ago) is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week…or in this case, the past few weeks.
weeds burst into seed wintering beneath the dust first to bloom come spring
what does it say about our soul when half of us subscribe to hate ‘twas apathy led to this fate spiraling down this rabbit hole inhabited by greedy trolls who prey upon us while we sleep and fill our heads with lies and tweets but half of us are wide awake we’ll right what’s wrong, for all our sake, that day when love takes to the streets
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