A Baltic atoll nigh
I am but a giant
as I've been both years
here yet develop
strep in tears despair
days that might
stay when I came to
love our being still
mystery now season
in newly gotten wiles
only there to impress
a red rover machine
and target afresh
dreamscape by canal.
While stone and flint my habitat
And paintings drawn our laminate
At waters edge by dawn I see
An atavistic human he
In robe and cloth I worship him
Despite my deadly human sin
At waters edge by morn I see
Repentant, somber human he
Through chain and mud my journey bound
A service to the king and crown
At waters edge by noon I see
The strength and will, of human he
Famine, fault and sorrow grows
A blackened drape of illness sows
At waters edge this time I see
A learned, almost human he
Brothers fall on Flanders Field,
That wound, still hurt, will never heal,
At waters edge by late I see
A catastrophic human he
By night we know our time is done,
Our lesson learned, our kingdom come
At waters edge this eve I see
The path of Human History
White sheets flutter...
they dance around the room
they whip and crack like storm-kissed sails
I cower in fear, my bed is empty save for pillows.
I rest my head
I'm nearly dead
I ache with dread
I crumble, like abandoned bread
and the table we set
is unwoven by time.
Splinters, like loose thread, pile up as do bones.
We are no longer held together by compassion,
we are butchered by sharp tongues and piercing glares,
for shame! We thought it was a funhouse, but we revel in slaughter.
White sheets flutter...
they wave like sleeping flags
they wave like quaking lands
then they settle and I hear the white sheets whisper
and the whispers haunt me
are they soaked by old lovers
tears like oceans raining into the sky
blood like rivers escaping the bed
bowels of deceit coughing up their secrets
let us drink all this vile bile and be drunken by horrors.
Is that the only way we can escape?
"What if our bed sheets were ghosts? What would they say?"
elders carry stories
of themselves foaming
at the mouth
like rabid dogs
like the language they spoke
Nuns with sharp rulers,
sharply ruled the catholic schools
No choice, but to
submit and Americanize
with cheeseburgers and denim
lonely tears for home
gentle breeze of pine and juniper trees
while forgotten brothers and sisters hang with
touchy pastors whose love for Christ
told them to be quiet.
Land's end indeed, as pounding seas
and craggy cliffs remind us still
that this the seat where Arthur ruled
and Celts survived with stoic will.
Scraped lives from harsh and windy moors,
and fought to fill their nets with fish.
Then mined for copper, tin and clay,
- survive with pride their only wish.
With sea surrounding on three sides,
small towns and coast all sights to see,
her folk surviving nature's whim
through long rebellious history.
Man and machine.
Intertwined, since the inception of the toothed gear.
Automata forged in times of cogs and pulleys.
Statues capable of movement, modeled after man.
Now the automata are robotic capable of more.
possibly even thought.
One day they may,
become our equals.
Or conversely, may become
the next step in human evolution.
Come strangers we sing a hopeful song
Welcoming you as brothers in good faith we belong
Come stranger for you are new to this land
And we its native children offer you helping hand
Come stranger let us teach you how to farm
So you can learn nature’s way keeping you safe from harm
Come stranger we bare you no ill will
Offer you our friendship as sincerely as we feel
You came stranger than we thought
Kind at first with gentle exploration
But once you found your way through
Our tiny tribal nation
You came hard and fast sweeping us aside
Murdering our families chasing us down
Until we could no longer resist the onslaught
And you would pretend that you forgot
Our kind and gentle ways
Calling us savage as you acted in savage ways
Killing us with false kindness blankets laced with disease
Greedily expanding and taking what you please
Come stranger here our mournful songs
For loss of tribe, family, and home where we belonged
We used to roam the plains we where once of peace
But in a couple hundred strokes you shredded us to pieces