When they let us back into the building
two days later,
it felt like visiting the library of Pompeii.
our world, frozen in a single
unthinkable moment

We all did it
Silently, and instinctively,
we recapped the borrowed pens,
recycled the scrap paper
and reshelved the stray novels
abandoned by our fleeing patrons

We dusted off tables
We checked the bookdrops
We scanned the public spaces
cross-referenced our gut reactions
with a checklist of trauma responses

We took note of the missing books
by the doors, where the blood was -
absence, often the most visible
evidence of tragedy
We took deep breaths
We pushed in chairs

We ******* loose ends
on our plans for next month
We sent emails to tell folks
their classes were cancelled for the week
We gathered
listened and talked
We comforted one another

We went on doing all the small,
important, invisible work we do -
through our grief,
through our fear,
through our trauma
- for the people

The Wolf, it hungered, while you stayed warm,
Bound to its pack, shaped by the storm,
Through frost and through famine,
The Wolf, it did suffer, while The Dog lay secure.

But when disaster did strike, stealing Dog's home,
She was left to the frost, forsaken, alone,
She wandered as prey, and trembled in fear,
Until one day, she saw naught but a pack,
Warm, safe numbers, a home-- one she lacked,
And so she found herself The Wolf,
Mercy, she asked, May I join your pack?

The Wolf, it snarled, when she begged for stay,
Herald The Dog who yearns for warmth!
When she had comfort when we had naught!
The Dog bowed her head, but she could not,
Explain to The Wolf what it owed her not.

The Dog, she wandered, searching for fire,
But the world was not warm as her home had once been.
So she carved her own pack,
Starved through the winter,
Charged into battle, unraveled by the years,
And so came to be, The Dog was assured,
That in her place, The Wolf endured.

Singing together

in a circle we pass on --


our breath wavily.

cursed gods,
don't make blessed humans
cursed devotion,
doesn't make a conscientious society
cursed patriotism,
doesn't make a great nation
cursed community, though,
does make a great solidarity
                    a great humanity
                    a mighty
                         revolutionary
                         collective consciousness
iff (if and only if)
         the cursed motherland
         blesses it's children
         drives wedges between
         the hostile oppressor
         and the devoted native

a cursed community,
   doesn't need a God
                      or a hero
   it needs devotion
               unto each other

your land will take care of you~

There’s thousands of words published
On this site
Ev’ry day
None of us are Shakespeare
As we’re all great
In our own ways

The “thumbs up”s and “heart”s aren’t a
Reflection
Of who you are
So, keep writing Hello Poetry!
And fill our small world
With more stars

I'd rather be with friends
than on the receiving end
of another certification
of my value in the tainted nation
fated to find its way back to masters
who offer no explanation
as to why they cast this draining paper
into a world that could be castless
if only we checked our own behaviour.

I'd rather be with friends
than working on a promised future
my abuser talking of a nuisance youth
and pointing fingers saying 'useless'
while they stuff us into suits
and boots that bare no resemblance
to the feet that marked our ascendance,
I seek not vengeance for the things we lost
I simply wish to reduce the cost
of being what we've become
cold and lost
and to continue what we've begun
to press on despite the cost and animosity
and all the atrocities
despite this we strive to build a world
that tempers its ferocity
and lets me be.

With friends.

I have found them, once or twice.
A search that lasts for all my life.
Sorrow comes from such small numbers.
But the finding happens more as I wander.

I have found them. They have spoken.
They are aliens, but not from space.
Solar silence they have broken.
Voice of sunshine, ray of hope in this darkened world.
To light a path, or a hurtful past. I climb my way out at last.

I have found them.
They surround when
I call out into the night.
When I am truthful, when I set right
the seating of my heart
the beating tears apart
a door that stood for all of time, the eternity of the past.
And now the cold is in
it's this thing, it's fast.
Like crystal lightening,
it's heightening my senses,
and numbing the frightening memories of past offences.

I have found them, my forlorn friends.
My fickle feelings.
Their weary voices, honest.
An echo still believing.
Together we talked, words held forever.
I have found them.
And never will they leave me.