"For they that carried us away captive required of us a song and they that wasted

us required of us mirth,saying sing us one of the songs of Zion"
Psalm 137:3 (KJV)

We kiss the sole of history
and sing an ode to the cast-iron "no return""conduit
as we bethink junctures of old -

The hand of despotism decreed;
lives were to be crushed,here in the dungeon
Our own betrayed us with a Judas kiss
and handed us over to the canines of the masters

Conservative Christian fundamentalism
I know good people who hold these beliefs
they are blind to fatal flaws of thought
I tear my hair,
face sinks to my hands
despair

Corporations
are anti human
anti planet
and support only profit.

The facts are clear
CEO’s salaries,
corporate incomes
rise rise rise
as the people get poorer

I spied a Sylph upon a lily leaf
and watched her sail- a Captain on the sea.
She dared at speed the knife edge of the coral reef.
She fought the squall with laughter cold and free.

A lotus bloom her banner, spider’s in her lines,
their weavers by the dozen were her crew.
Her emerald gaze was sharper than the flashing tines
of Neptune’s triple scepter sea steel blue.

Predatory
-
dim-milled eyes raked filled with flies
there's no guile for death to prize
one open cog is broken
bosses' golden log token
gotta hire by next friday
just a wasted holiday
-
what's-her-name was pretty good
but now she is gone I should
go to her funeral-NAH
body in a box, too raw
ya never know what she did
in May little katydid
-
My arms around her tightened
her shallow breath so frightened
my hands tapped her youth away

When comes the spring, the flowers blush
with every color artists brush,
they call the bees and flies with wing,
the flowers blush when comes the spring.

The pollens pass with peaceful breeze,
then fly away and land in ease,
to start a life in numbers-mass
with peaceful breeze, the pollens pass.

The cycle goes once and again.
More flowers bloom to blaze the plain.
The incense's rich, it feeds the nose
once and again the cycle goes.

dream awake
the doorframe waits
smudged with drifts
collisions in passage
rudderless

a lamp burns
and a fossil television
eye beams

scrapes and bruises
bumps and cuts
while a cold fuscia
morning crouches
at the window

The steam ghosts
rising from gas vent
populations
across tar and brick

"my debt is thick"

glitter stare like trinket
bottles and coffee table
scene stained touch

nice little town you've got here

...too fucking nice!

something's off
hinky
wrong

a league of live large liars,
deep under glossy lawyered cover-ups,
splashing white picket defences
with thick slick ivy veiling elocution

chambers of societies,
(those good ol' boys of legend),
siccing macho maddened
barrel bottom mercenaries
on any, and all, interlopers
of their Private America

a dreamtown
van winkled
refusing to come of age

Of hearts and unicorns,
and fancy clad ladies.

It's all for a game of "Pick and Play",
Under a canopy of crows and rainbows.

Little bells beat in the storm,
and chime like reversed death-knells

calling you from the grave of living,
to the endless promenade,
hand in hand,
under the scrutiny of friends and family.

Of tear drops and split throats,
or worse, of broken hearts and limbs,

your kisses taste like chloroquine,
they're very hard to swallow.

It's not as hot beneath the shade
of these old sentinel trees.
And cooler than out in the glade
where blazing sun defeats the breeze.

Yet these are hardly virgin woods.
too many hints of old farm days,
A silent silo stands and broods
where dairy cattle used to graze.

Low terraces still run the hill
from back when cotton ruled the land.
I guess the farmers lost their will
then left their empty house to stand.