21h r
Wk kortas

There were
children, sweethearts
shared Moscows, Odessas;
I told myself Ready, aim but
not fire.

The death of Stanislav Petrov, who has a pretty fair claim to saving the whole damn world, was announced recently.  He deserves far better than this.
 21h r
Wk kortas

Well, the maps were quite ghastly, you know;
We’d assumed the Frogs would have a pleasure cruise,
All baguettes and brioche, up the straits.
We’d no idea the Turks had dug in as they did,
As the spooks and their charts
Revealed sheer cliffs,
Harmless as Dover.
Nor did we fare much better on dry land,
The topographical atlases we had in the field
Might have been compiled by Mercator himself.
The Turks fought quite well;
One gives them a measure of credit for that, one supposes.
Frankly, we’d have been better served
If we’d just waited for the de rigueur internecine slaughter,
What with the ease they’d hacked each other to bits
Over some ancient family squabble or inconsequential tribal matter
(Can you imagine civilized peoples
Fighting to the death over such trivia?)
I suppose such cruelty and boorishness
Should have not been surprising.
They wouldn’t take prisoners, you know;
Just shot our boys willy-nilly,
With no regard whatsoever to honor or military convention,
Though it should have been no surprise
That the swarthy bastards would not play by the rules.

 21h r
Wk kortas

There is, I admit, no small attraction in the possession
Of the wand--but invariably that becomes obsession,
For magic bewitches all it touches, and woe to the man
Who, having discerned its methods and secrets, believes he can
Employ it yet stay unfettered and unscathed, without effect,
(As if the mere claim of enchantment would not make one suspect
Both the man and his motives), all sweet fruit without bitter rind.
Such men may find the verdict of peers and gods to be unkind,
(There exists no single point in time we fail to comprehend
That no simple act of wizardry postpones our mortal end)
For who among us remains impervious to Nature’s whims
Or time’s ravages--our concentration wanes, the eyesight dims,
Our hands shake, every bit as unsteady as our convictions.
So we carry on, with our exceptions and contradictions
Expertly hidden, in the hopes that, at least for a short while,
We can offset, through the employment of parlor tricks and guile,
The diminution of our gifts, fading of our faculties.
So, as we reach our denouement, what have our abilities
Brought us in the end, save the knowledge that our reputations,
No matter how great, serve as no match for our limitations?

 21h r
Emily B
tired
 21h r
Emily B

Spent the afternoon
In bed
On my regular
Scheduled
Day off.

Kept dreaming
That people
Were trying to
Kill me.

My folks
Are saying
I don't look good.

Maybe tomorrow
Will be better

 21h r
Vicki
seeds
 21h r
Vicki

history
takes final
revenge,
whether
written
or by
oral legend.
there is nothing
more powerful
than truth,
nothing
more pure
to slake
the deepest
thirst
for knowledge
in karmic,
spiritual
search.
the truth
will always win,
no matter
how ugly
the stories are,
no matter
how far
the layers
of lies go to hide
the seeds
of precious
revelation.
we survive
when we elevate
our minds
to accept
the truth as it is.
we survive,
yet we repeat
the same
mistakes
when we know
the difference.
so far
we are alive.
so far
so many have died.
i want the truth
passed on
to my daughter,
now that i have
separated
myself
from
the numbness
that comes
with allowing
lies to dominate.
i'm grown
tired and time
stands still
before me. the
truth is in
my poetry.

all i know
and learn
i sow
into poems
for her.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rijQG1zlp7s
 21h r
Melissa G

There are demons in your closet
It is obvious to me
You left the door wide open
Setting those bastards free

Anger lashed out first
With razor sharp claws
Shredding the unsuspecting
Without hesitation or pause

Beneath him is resentment
Forever locked up tight
Hidden within for years
Now more than ever, ready to fight

Betrayal weighs heavy
Taking up the most room
Can’t sweep it under the rug
There isn’t a big enough broom

Don’t disregard the guilt
Or forget about shame
These two big players
Are leaders of the game

Amidst the whirl wind of chaos
And the fury of rage
A broken heart exposed through fear
Makes its way to center stage

Vulnerability is waiting
She can keep your closet clean
Nourish you with love
Making those demons less mean

As the spotlight shifts its focus
There seems nowhere to hide
Will you crawl back into darkness?
Or simply swallow your pride?

10/10/17 For AJ and I. Perhaps a few can relate.
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