#unions
The evening stars were gone, replaced
by a spreading, ominous purple bruise of cloud.
When the wind rose, in sudden violent
crisscrossing gusts, everything went into motion.
White cabanas shook, like staked swans
flapping to fly, lavender bushes thrashed
their thorny arms as if in panic, umbrella pines
creaked and writhed like tethered balloons.
Lightning lit the winding, stony stairs, like ornamental
neon lights, as we’d run up the path from the beach.
Shockwaves of thunder accompanied the flashes
- there was no lag - the storm was there and upon us.
We were laughing and screaming, like children
chased through a dark Halloween funhouse.
The first, fat drops of rain popped behind us,
like a giant’s, arrhythmic, snapping fingers.
As we reached the open, French, louvered doors,
that led from our suite down to the shoreline,
we body-slammed them against the tempest.
And braced them fully closed with our backs, as if to vilify the
natural courses of wind and rain with an animal will to break in.
The lashing monsoon heralded our urgent, stormy union.
We were like the storm - insistent, wild and untamed.
All was revealed in that flashing, tempestuous darkness
as need, euphoria and lightning lit the naked night
.
.
A song for this:
Walk Between Raindrops by Donald Fagen
Hurricane Waters by Citizen Cope
Sep 7, 2024
Sep 7, 2024 at 9:58 AM UTC
I refuse to write anything brilliant today,
in support of the writers’ strike.
May 4, 2023
May 4, 2023 at 12:35 AM UTC
There’s a writers’ strike. Should you be writing today?
May 3, 2023
May 3, 2023 at 11:10 AM UTC
The algorithm we live in
has become the dumb
nightmare we’ve been given,
a constant flow of concessions,
sad contrivances to survive this
cog in the machine existence.
The fight seems pointless
with only minor bouts of resistance.
If history teaches us anything
it is only labor movements,
those unions that win men
woman and children
any real economic equality.
There won’t be any eulogy
for this lie we call democracy,
while men of prestige and property
have been constantly fighting
against those who bring the lightning
of enlightening insights about this fight.
Shrinking borders while expanding profits,
supporting fascists regimes,
whilst demolishing and reorganizing
governments that try socializing
their own country’s resources.
Our local war mongers
want to rehabilitate
the image that people hate
twist and change the slang,
rework and spin everything
over and over again
as the kings of what is truly Orwellian.
They are so close to destroying
the environment and
every human edifice,
every ounce of progress
in the name of
capitalistic measurements of success.
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 2:00 PM UTC
I've got the scars from countless paper cuts
and calluses from the pressure to write.
Maybe instead of letting my eyes shut,
I should just let it become the cool night.
Who says I need to rest my weary head?
When I could stay awake and ponder life,
on my shaky desk where my hands have bled.
Who says I shall become a foolish wife!
I don't spit on those who are now happy.
Their stories do not flow from my heart's dark.
I can't relate to feelings as sappy
as trees when we strike and peel back their bark.
Such unions made are blessings and curses.
Together we stress over the verses.
I bound my hands to my strange illusions.
I hope it brings far better conclusions.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 9:54 PM UTC