Let us render clear,
The vital items
Of our lives,
Not the things of pleasure,
But those things without which
We may find ourselves expired,
Or at least severe impaired,
Beyond
Those things that are
The sustenance of life,
There is a list that can be made,
Food,
Water,
Air,
The last is mostly critical for its
Oxygen,
What if we were to lose
An equally critical component,
The oxygen of our life,
Not the O2,
That mixes with the nitrogen
We breathe,
But that very something that
Sustains our soul,
That very life line
That many of us must have.
True,
Some are more tightly
Interwoven with it than others,
For some it is
Like unto the umbilical cord,
As critical as that to which we cleaved
Within the womb,
Without it we wither.
What is it?
For some it is a place,
For some a drug,
For others
A person,
For all,
A vital element,
Defined only by us
As individuals - involuntarily,
The level of criticality unknown,
Until it is lost,
Whereby we are,
Perhaps for the first time,
Truly working without a net,
Or a sense of direction,
And we begin slow suffocation,
Not of the lungs,
But of a different kind,
A drowning of the mind and soul,
For,
Without that special oxygen,
Whatever,
Or whoever it may be,
That beacon,
Like unto a horizon reference,
We are slowly,
But surely,
Unmade.

God bless you,
(I think),
You kept the peace,
Mostly,
For forty-five years,
World wide peace,
Anyway,
You were our tool,
Your threat of white heat,
Kept us off the edge of
Madness,
With MAD,
We carried you everywhere,
In the air,
On the sea,
Under the sea,
Under ground,
Over land,
We protected you,
As we protected
Nothing else,
You were our magic
Touchstone of safety,
Our ultimate security blanket,
Whose security was
Unknown,
But
Whose safety might turn on us,
Vaporous,
In the flash of the
Moment,
Now you've become a *****,
Over bred,
Your power unwelcome,
Desired only by your
Fellow lepers,
Sorry,
But you're done,
Thanks,
(I think).


Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch

We salute you,
Gentlemen,
And Ladies,
God bless you,
(He clearly has)
We bless you,
We support you,
At par,
So far,
Lest you bring us all down,
(That was the threat,
Was it not?)
You are so
Wicked smart,
Except those few,
Who couldn't hold on,
For our gravy train,
To respond,
For those few,
We hope last year's bonus,
Will help you survive,
Your trip down the tubes,
(Sigh)
And for all,
We are led to believe,
That you're back on your feet,
And doing quite well,
We were glad to help out,
Your derivative pleasure,
Just makes our hearts soar,
And to help you to help
The economy heal,
We're taxing your janitors
More than your managers
'Cause we know you're the source
Of all job creation,
Within this great nation,
How do we know this?
Well,
We've been told this
Been told by some very fine folk,
Some folk whom you... own?
For sure there are doubters,
But we question their wisdom,
We don't even think that
They're being good citizens,
But there are some suspicions,
My well heeled good friends,
That what's good for you folk,
Might be just a bit toxic,
To those of us few,
Who compose,
That diminishing remnant,
Of what once we could call,
The vast middle class,
Today,
We ain't even,
Half vast.
Sad to say,
Now a few of us wonder,
If you're not quite our friends,
If you don't have our best int'rests
In your schemes and your ends,
All of those yachts,
They're critical – right?
We believe in you now,
To make every thing bright,
To bring our economy
Back from the dead,
To create all those jobs,
With that barely taxed bread,
So,
While we're eatin' those grits,
In this world that you've made,
With the pols that you've bought,
Just Remember my friends,
Rot infects not just wood,
But your hearts and your souls,
And the Fire Next Time
Might be more than a book
It might be unhappy folk,
With your ***** in their sights.

Comes the time
When work must end,
When games expire,
And the boundaries
Of social *******
Are set firm,
When shades are drawn,
Our heads can no longer
Remain upright,
We can at last retire
From all the sad
And unfulfilled
Anticipation of the day,
***** out the light,
At last be in
Firm equilibrium
With nature,
And lie alone,
In the ether,
With our thoughts unseen,
And there commune
With death,
Fence with sadness,
Joust with heartache,
Lay upon
That silent field of play,
All that we dare not
Set forth in daily life,
Hoping that before the dawn,
We may divest ourselves,
Of all the cares,
Impossible to take back
To the light.
For if we fail,
We'll carry this great burden
Back to the light,
The truth is that,
The darker forces,
Aren't beholden to us,
It's us beholden rather
To them,
And so they are to be
Respected,
Kept at arms length,
In the dark,
Not permitted out,
Lest our demons
Cross that boundary,
Where their presence
Will engender,
Fear and loathing,
Take control,
And drag us into
Endless grief.
And so,
It's in the dark,
Upon that silent,
Sightless grid,
We struggle with
Our demons,
Each and every one,
And never cry for help,
Lest we be forced to share
Our darkest parts with others.

The mighty
Breath of air
Roared past,
And,
In a stark moment,
A city of trees
Is no more,
It's just a broken
City,
Awaiting help
In stunned disbelief,
While a hundred
Chain saws,
Strip it bare
Of the wreckage
Of its beauty.
They were spared
The Presidential
Circus
For a week,
A week to
Take stock,
To look for dead,
To gather pictures,
Broken treasures,
But now they've got,
Their photo op,
They can plant
Their trees anew,
And if they live
Ninety years,
Well,
Ninety years more,
They'll see
Their city
Bloom anew,
It's a time,
To contemplate
Our limits,
Forget what
We have lost,
And give thanks,
For what we have,
Amen.

The hay will have to sit,
A few days more,
Too bad,
It was just dry,
Ready to bale,
The clouds that sat,
Just halfway down the mountain,
Are now down 'round the house,
They've turned the pasture into
A perfect picture-
A cottony smooth mist,
It makes you want to stop,
Just to look,
And stay quite a while,
Maybe watch the crows,
Before the sun burns it off.
We couldn't get this in August,
Just hard baked drought,
And doubts about the future.
Now a billion droplets
Breathe new life into
Every green thing,
We've escaped nature's worst
For another year.
The streams are swollen,
Again!
They're safe for trout ***.
In August,
We had to wonder,
Would those tiny rivulets
Come back?
Just when we had our
Deepest doubts,
The wand of nature
Said Yes,
The cycle was safe,
In her Faithful Breast.

A poetic of love in two parts

I

My love's beauty rests
Inside her,
Her heart and soul
Shine through,
They overwhelm
Whatever beauty
Might beholden
Upon her face.
Her mind itself
Calls out to all who
Know her,
Delighting those whose hearts
She touches,
No one can capture her,
But if you're patient
She may come to you,
And bring to you
Delight.


II

To be with her
Is like unto
A field of
Fresh flowers,
To hear her voice,
Makes it seem
Those flowers have
Given off a heavenly
Bouquet,
She can make an ord'n'ry day
Into a feast
For the mind and soul,
And so heal
The heart.


Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch

All rights reserved