Here, and over here -
The fortunate sons

Those who made it home
To fields and hills of native tongue
In the soil their people toiled
- They listen quietly when we come


There, and over there -
Beneath crossed lines too many

Still - they man the trenches
Along the Marne and Somme
Below the woods of Belleau
And the forest of Argonne

No sonnets in a foreign language
Rendered where they languish -
The distant rest far and away
In a cold November grave


We should remember
Here and there
The old lie -

And the young.

r ~ 11/11/14

i still straddle the fence on this
immigration reform manifesto

i see both sides of the story

it's good to have the grandfather clause
for the immigrants in my bloodstream

- the scrappy scots-irish-ingles-welsh
in me - but too late for the cherokee

behind the old fences of history.

r ~ 11/9/14

i see a fire in the sky above the pines
on the side of the house
this early morning

and on the front
the water is burning -
burning

i used to go to work in the dark
before the time changed - affirming
and conforming

the radio man recites last night's results -
a new day has dawned
- it will be long and disconcerting

there is a fire in the sky above the pines -
and on the front
the water is burning

- burning.

r ~ 11/5/14

discordant qualities
- a layered beauty
worn casually

- a complicated
pretty lady -

i paint her black
lace *******
- i praise her
on her knees.

r ~ 10/24/14