February Poem #18

…to mourning doves

dawn breaks in mourning
the haunting sound of doves’ cry
on this fairest of mornings
bright sun in the sky
a new day awaits, spread your wings, fly


February Poem #17

…to dust

dead bits of shed skin
mite droppings, dander, and hair
remnants of life, layered thin,
adrift in the air…
death falls like a veil everywhere


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 17 February 2019

Most reasonable people would agree that fulfilling an ill-advised campaign promise is not a national emergency. Most people. But that is where we find ourselves on this perfectly timed overcast day. In a state of emergency. Meanwhile our president celebrates his self-proclaimed victory at his southern shore resort, surrounded by a cadre of adoring synchophants and wealthy wannabes. No doubt, they are feasting on beautiful chocolate cake and swilling flutes of cheap champagne. Because, well, because that’s what a great world leader does in the throws of a national emergency. Feeling safe yet? If you do, you’re not paying attention.

“I could do the wall over a longer period of time. I didn’t need to do this, but I’d rather do it much faster.” (Actual quote. You can’t make this stuff up.)

Let’s consider the word emergency. Webster defines it as an unforeseen combination of circumstances or the resulting state that calls for immediate action or an urgent need for assistance or relief. Cambridge says it is a dangerous or serious situation, such as an accident, that happens suddenly or unexpectedly and needs immediate action.

“I’d rather do it faster,” doesn’t pass muster. But in donnie’s small mind, losing does. Losing trumps everything and must be avoided at any expense.

There was another mass shooting while trump boasted his win. Five people died, with even more wounded. Barely any mention of this was reported by the talking heads. The president’s fabricated emergency and the fate of criminals a heartbeat from the president took precedence.

We’re losing our minds. We’re losing our hearts. Worst of all, we’re losing our soul. I’m not sure we can claim that any of our troubles are a true emergency anymore…the slaughter of innocents by gun wielding lunatics, caging vulnerable children at our southern border, climate change (sea levels rising, storms increasing in intensity, wildfires, floods, earthquakes), ballooning debt, the rise of hate, misogyny, and prejudice, the opioid/drug crisis, crumbling infrastructure, shattered relationships with international allies, the assault on natural resources for corporate gain, trickle down misery, shall I go on? Do I really need to go on? I could, you know. Our troubles are endless. In fact, the doomsday clock hovers at 2 minutes to oblivion. But they are ongoing. Certainly there is urgency in resolving them. But can any of us say we are surprised? Every day we ignore any one of these issues, the closer we are to accepting them as normal.

It’s hard to see the light at the end of this tunnel. But we will get past this. We will. Or we won’t. And we will have only ourselves to blame. We could change this downward spiral. Or we could eat cake, our eyes glued to strobing flat screens, and give ourselves over to the inevitable. It’s exhausting to care. Emergencies are exaggerated until they lose their power to alarm us. Who am I to care when rewriting definitions, and history, for that matter, is the most expedient means of winning for a man who believes winning is all that matters.

His days are numbered, by indictment or by the reaper. I need to remember this when I start feeling overwhelmed by his faux emergencies. And I need to stop taking every declaration and tweet of a madman so seriously. But I also know that the minute I stop being appalled, I might as well find a dark corner and eat cake.

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 17 September 2019

tender shoots break ground in afterglow
in my dreams, never waking
troubles fill the wind
good for neither, needs a redesign
at first it was kinda fun
since, well, ever since before
trembling, for hints that we are worthy
elites will live the lives we have dreamt
bitter dark or sweet,
leave the past behind, i should,
when it comes together…magical


A ReVerse poem 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.

February Poetry #16

…to poetry

so much more than rhyme,
metered feet and syllables
muse inspired moments in time
jumbled thoughts, scribbles
when it comes together…magical


February Poem #15

Well, I noticed that I completely lost my mind yesterday regarding the format of my fancy invented poetry form, the horatiodet, and missed the mark. I suppose I could blame it on a chocolate high, but after perusing the other offerings this month it seems I’ve missed it a few times! Apparently the horatiodet is harder to pull off than it looks! In yesterday’s case, the final line should have rhymed with the previous line, not the first. As a reminder, the horatiodet is a 5-line mini ode with a syllable count of 5-7-7-5-9 and a rhyme scheme of ababb (not ababa). At any rate, my mistake did not seem to diminish the effectiveness of the poem. But time to get back on track, no looking back, no regrets…

…to amended regrets

if i could i would

forgive myself, my mistakes,

leave the past behind, i should,

but stalled in the wake

of regret there are amends to make


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