our daily information
defies all expectation

reporting in unnerving detail
how trains derail, tour buses fail
   to stay on roads without a rail
how terrorists attacked again
    when nobody expected them
what nonsense politicians spew
    unfortunately quite a few
how the economy keeps getting worse
    yet billionaires still fill their purse
pollution levels have ‘improved’
El Nino has the jet streams moved
millions of refugees are loose
    around the globe, few clothes, no shoes
armies and gangsters flex their muscles
cannot resist the deadly hustle

and for the icing on the cake
thousands of lives are now at stake
we learn  without too strong emotions
that a new virus was discovered
the waters of our rising oceans
     have by now covered
     a third of several island nation's land
no more idyllic beaches with white sand
    
all this mixed in
with those exciting human interest stories
about the latest dog show winners
some brilliant wunderkind beginners
major and minor worries
from  distant neighborhoods
commercials for the latest fads
and all the current healthy foods
self-advertising TV channel ads
who’s s great in sports
    and who of sorts

in short  
24/7 of much useless blather
that neither alters our lives
nor can we change its mostly dreary facts

yet we risk drowning  under this debris
    of cacophonic sound and image bites
unless we learn to
    set our marks
    clear our sights
    turn into info sharks
devouring just those bits
of almost hidden information
we can make sense of and digest
the clues to what is really going on
below the surface of our media-created ocean

it’s the commotions in the depths
    that teach us best
    give us a glimpse behind the curtains of stale words
    make us aware there’s little time for rest

about 250 years ago
young Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s tale of Werther’s
passionate unfulfilled love and ensuing suicide
triggered a wave of suicides across all Europe

the author was more than embarrassed  
it is reported he was actually quite shocked
by this effect of his romantic writ

from then on he avoided the portrayal
of hypersensitive romantic youths
    with their emotional entanglements
    and often fatal ends
and preferred dramas of the simpler sort

     like the eternal fight of good and evil
     the striving for almightiness and universal knowledge
     dilemmas of obedience and command
     et cetera

today, like then, young people
go through the stifling pains of unrequited love
and feel they hover at the brink of the abyss
    ready to jump

then, as today, young Werther’s suicide
is nothing but a waste of youthful life
that could have brought him many happy moments
had he allowed himself to stay alive

when we remember
what the times have been
that made us into what
    and who
    we are today
we travel deep into our past
to hear our mother’s voice
our father’s not so friendly gripes
when we fouled up a task he gave to  us

our friends, our teachers, our loves
whose interactions shaped
who we eventually have become  
while we believe that we have always been
     so independent and  autonomous

it may be worth a moment to reflect
     upon the influences
     we are inclined to casually neglect
and recognize the fact
     that we are always part
     of that great whole
     which we so desperately try
     to disavow for individuality

only to recognize a few years later
the minimal common denominator

life is a wonderful excursion into space and time
always surprising, turning on a dime,
leaving us puzzled well unto the end
always intent to look beyond
the next bend of the river …….

for those who come home full of doubts
that they are still the ones
who bring democracy to foreign lands
  
let it be said that their specific orders
should be followed   no guilt bestowed
on any of their bunch

they have sworn oaths and their allegiance
to do their duty as defined by politics

if you want to distribute blame
hit those who from their safe positions
in comfortable chairs

send soldiers to their death
     and have no clue
what devastation this can do

the art of poetry
    like any art
produces better work
when writers are not only
erudite but also smart

the lovers' painful state
upon loss or desertion
is voiced much more impressively
with less dramatic flourish
and more of the grate
that finishes the sword
at the old blacksmith's fire
where the hot flame of our desire
    thrown into water
with a defiant hiss
turns into deadly steel
ready to **** and ******
     friend or foe or lover
in our desperate search
     for exits from the mire

or take the unexpected loss
    of victory that seemed so close
    on a wild battlefield
when suddenly the hero's gallant steed
    falls victim to a hostile archers shot
and its proud rider is reduced to shout
"A kingdom for a horse!"
rather than holding a long monologue
    about the treachery of fate

in  short
less is oft' more
and lets the readers fill the empty spaces
with their own images and graces

I release you, my beautiful and terrible
fear. I release you. You were my beloved
and hated twin, but now, I don't know you
as myself. I release you with all the
pain I would know at the death of
my children.

You are not my blood anymore.

I give you back to the soldiers
who burned down my home, beheaded my children,
***** and sodomized my brothers and sisters.
I give you back to those who stole the
food from our plates when we were starving.

I release you, fear, because you hold
these scenes in front of me and I was born
with eyes that can never close.

I release you
I release you
I release you
I release you

I am not afraid to be angry.
I am not afraid to rejoice.
I am not afraid to be black.
I am not afraid to be white.
I am not afraid to be hungry.
I am not afraid to be full.
I am not afraid to be hated.
I am not afraid to be loved.

to be loved, to be loved, fear.

Oh, you have choked me, but I gave you the leash.
You have gutted me but I gave you the knife.
You have devoured me, but I laid myself across the fire.

I take myself back, fear.
You are not my shadow any longer.
I won't hold you in my hands.
You can't live in my eyes, my ears, my voice
my belly, or in my heart my heart
my heart my heart

But come here, fear
I am alive and you are so afraid of dying.