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Poems

Traveler Jun 2013
I hear the weeping of a motherless child
My conscience is clear, my awareness defiled
Global warming, melting icecaps, disappearing bees
All these different threats of our accelerating entropy
By the recklessness of our desires our species is driven
We ignore matter of fact, and scientific proof given

Green behind the shadow, peace behind the fist
Greed behind the reason for the evidence we dismiss
So allow yourselves to experience this uneasiness of mind,
The dread that holds us fast, cause it's our species on the line...
Traveler Tim
06-2019
The bees are coming back so perhaps we've nothing to dread over.
a 'good' poem crumbles in your mouth. it doesn't
tell you, chiding, "this is how i should taste" -
instead decomposes into the loam of ages.
no single flavour is the same
to every person.

a 'good' poem forces open the jaw,
climbing in. it begs no hospitality -
it needs none. and as it clambers on your tongue
(trying to avoid incisors), only taste
keeps you chewing, rolling gobs of words over molars,
wondering when before you've felt them
without knowing.

sustaining life sustains a string of
otherwise insubstantial little letters no better
than ideograms, clicks and chirps
all ones and zeros, really.
we embroider and tack up that
which our minds give meaning to.