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Sharon Talbot Feb 2020
We were born in the jungle,
Living in the shadows,
Clinging to our families
In the dark, under the trees.
Life was good then,
We had picked fruit from branches
And swung on them for joy.
And there was no greed
Or jealousy.
Over millions of years,
We lived in harmony,
Until the forest changed;
The garden shriveled and
Faded away as we watched.

Our lives were rearranged.
Some among us ventured out.
Giving to our sin: curiosity.
Down in the street
Canyons of concrete and steel
The powerful gather
Hors d’oeuvres are served,
Placating the hunger of the powerful,
This is never stated;
They will keep taking
As long as we allow it.
One day, some loner, a rebel
May emerge from the shadows,
Dark-clad, filled with inchoate rage*.
He will find like-minded souls
Who use the new inventions
To topple the oligarchs,
Empty their accounts
And give them to the world.
Chaos may follow,
But out of it a new humanity
Might arise.
My hope for a revolution, a redistribution of wealth. *NOTE: I realized after reading this a few times, that the "dark-clad" loner, "filled with inchoate rage", might be seen as a terrorist or religious extremist! NOT SO! I based him on the character Elliot Alderson, the brilliant and disaffected computer acker in "Mr. Robot", who successfully destroys a corrupt corporation, whose toxins killed his father and his best friend's mother. So, there's an element of revenge mixed in with ideological activism. My view is that IT is the only way to take down corrupt institutions. In the U.S., voting has been hijacked by the very rich and by other countries. Elliot also wants a redistribution of wealth, but without causing harm to anyone.
  Feb 2020 Sharon Talbot
Carlo C Gomez
the bantering of rain
the insinuation it might snow
the mirage of moonglade
the mountain drink
the desert thirst

everything
resolves with flowers

a withered realm
a crestfallen kingdom
their copper queen withdrawing
from the bitter harvest
in the spirit of Persephone

everything
dissolves into flowers
  Feb 2020 Sharon Talbot
Dr Peter Lim
Don't you ask
  what I am--just see
  my pierced skin
  my tattoos -that's me

  here's my manifesto
  it reads:  revolution
  bring down society
  it's but corruption

  my dad was a drunk
  mum was a songstress
  my wife eloped with my best friend
  I'm jobless--rightly you guess

  cigarettes I can't afford
  thrown-aways I pick
  I know from your look:
  ' that *** makes me sick!'
  Dec 2019 Sharon Talbot
Solaces
At the beginning again..
A vast beginning..
In all directions I go..

Lust light devils..
Dust wing angels..
Trust onto me...

Purple skies..
Make purple oceans..
One inch deep...

I walk the waters..
Ripples of time..
Waves of my foot steps..

White broken Statues..
Old Sentinals of the sky..
Broken apart in ethereal pieces..

Sleep walking rain..
Storm on my skin..
Mist of my soul...

Sunset skies..
Magenta dreams..
The journey toward the auras anew...
Beginnings
Sharon Talbot Dec 2019
Glance out a northern window
and Winter suddenly beckons,
just five days after Solstice,
begging me to think again
on my habitual dislike.
The marble-white stratus above
looks as soft as a woolen blanket
covering all the strange things
outside this world's sky.
A vacant calm descends.
And I am content to be quiet
as the scene outside,
Bucolic and static as
A winter scene by Brueghel.
I trace the bare branches that weave
all around, seeming to huddle
near closed and shuttered houses.
They emit a silent desire to be known,
uncovered, naked models to the season
and sharp as a line drawing.
All the stillness leads to reflection
on the world we forget in summer,
the hidden moles and groundhogs,
insects that no longer irritate,
allowing us to cease effort
and sit at the table in the sun,
eating stew and drinking mulled wine.
But those of us who are curious
walk in the snow, hearing sounds
we never noticed: the crush of crystals,
the crack of frozen branches.
Or when the snow falls,
there is a softening quiet,
a restful pause in the air
and we are entranced, standing to listen
without effort, to the soundless sound
of mind without thought,
of Winter.
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