Poetry

Stone storm raging
Under the glacier,
Spouts of fire
Explode its ice

As house-size
Fragments shoot
And spatter and fall
Like grains of rice.

A great grey column
Of dust and ashes
Spreads and shreds
Through the atmosphere,

Grounding us
By the hundreds of thousands,
Awed to a trance
As the ashes fall:

So it isn’t our planet
After all.

Teetering shaking time thrash
Shadows of wills, vacillate
Ended seconds, fates instantiate
Grieves ginormous, desperate
Time-scape clatter, clink, crash
Mind-scraped, sunk, separate

Atop hills high, esoteric plateau
Mazdah flaming minions, histrionic
Mankind of toil, folly, synchronic
Heroic quantum Yen plenitudes
Misery affliction, radical irradiations
Pointless prayers, mystical gratitudes….


Of Chernobyl, of Fukushima
Of men suited, armed, themed
Of lives reamed, labyrinth schemed
Of names in vain vanes of shamed

Working in the war machine
turning out some more.
Working in the war machine,
what a daily bore.
Wearing my collar’d badge,
indicates my feudal rank and clan,
as
I Grind em up & grind em out,
put them in the proper box.
File staple mutilate,
working late til ate.

Working in the war machine
Turning out some more.
I do my job most every day,
a wage slave for the take home pay.
Lookin, for who is next
my hunting eye to spy
and hand off to the next, too
Stay @ home or die?

Working in the war machine

Off in a world of her her own
She was startled by the touch
On her shoulder, She could tell
….the touch of a man.
A man she thought, would
Stay with you, not leave through
Thick and thin, be there for good
And the ugly, that’s what a man was,
What a man did, and more.
All this in a microsecond of thought.
She looked up, an oblique look of recognition.

He was standing staring there,facing her
Back. How lovely she had become.
He wanted to say something. He reached out to touch her.
The hand rested on the top of her,