The soldier boys go blindly off to fight

A battle not of their choosing. The war

Of today’s fashion is a show of might

By coward suits with agendas set for

Their own ego or enrichment. They know

They cannot bleed, they cannot die. They send

Another’s precious young to maintain the flow

Of dollars to their deep pockets. The end

Of innocence for a nation comes when

People come to accept that youths must die

So power’s fortunes won’t. It is, again,

The tragedy of history. And why

We keep repeating this sickness, I can’t

Say, but my experience fuels this rant.

A yellow disc ascends in morning sky,

Illuminating earthbound waves. And sands

Glitter so brightly, sparkling crystals. High

Above the shore a sea bird searches, lands

And gathers hard-found sustenance, she must

Achieve another day of life. Her goal:

Survival of the progeny. They trust

And wait success, else lives become the toll

Of nature’s cruel, inevitable rush

Toward outcomes man is pow’rless to affect.

No wisdom, no technology can push

The march from natural change. But some reflect

On what our species does to block the road,

On arrogance, which is our moral load.

This begins a series I wrote to honor my long-time home, my beloved Miami Beach, Florida. It’s a wonderful, terrible, misunderstood place, and someday soon may disappear into the rising sea levels. South Beach, I miss you every day.

In darkest, deepest corners of the mind,

There live the memories that love imprints,

Tattooed in places only time can find,

Guarded by defenses. Only hints

At where the keys reside, how to unlock

The doors behind which precious rest is found

Can be deciphered. Will it take a shock?

A jarring moment? Flashing sights rewound

By newfound passion? What this moment brings:

A momentary purging of the soul,

A frightening new ability. He sings

A painful song, but pain unchains the whole.

It cannot change the past, but lust can light

A momentary flame that lasts a night.

So once again the blood runs deep and wide
As babies lay, strewn, ‘cross a cold, hard day
As evil once more wins. The nation cried
Buckets again, while leaders turned away,
Their words pretending empathy. The rage
Of a nation falls short on ears of stone
While mothers weep. Again. Theirs is a wage
Of ill-got treasure. How could we have known
That lies they tell themselves would become truth
To true believers seeking something real,
When real has disappeared. They offer proof
That only a fool will believe. They deal
In emotional blackmail. They just lie,
As grieving mothers watch their children die.

And now I wait. A verdict is to come.
I’ve done her wrong, she says. I dare not act,
And frozen by my love for her, I’m numb
And terrified. My only play is tact,
To be contrite, but not to appear weak
Of heart. It’s confidence I need to show.
I think I’ve done no wrong. She will not speak
Of what she thinks I am, She wants to know
Who uses words like that if not to hurt,
She says that love requires hearts be pure.
One cannot shed one’s feelings like a shirt,
And fall for other’s words meant to allure.
I heard a siren’s song and turned my head.
That turning’s now the consequence I dread.

 

She touches me in places that I thought
Were closed off from the light of day. But how
She penetrates the defenses I’ve fought
So hard to erect is mystery. Now
Am I vulnerable? Can she now touch
The heart I’ve so far managed to protect?
In my dark places, there can’t be too much
Left to guard, if with words she can affect
The way I see the world, the way I love,
The way I go through life, the way I care,
The way the world sees me. Alas, she wove
A web that caught me blindly unaware.
With mighty words she turned me on my heel.
This changes what I know, and what I feel.

We used to be a leader in the world.

A bright shining light the downtrodden would

Seek to emulate. When our flag unfurled

We swelled with pride. We acted as one should

When setting a marker for all to match,

As a kind and just nation. We were proud

To show the way, be the example. Watch

As we demonstrate a moral code. Loud,

Strong voices made the tyrants tremble then.

No longer do we hold that world view dear,

As those of tainted money–tainted men

Have abandoned principle. Now I fear

The world no longer sees us as that light,

But rather bullies spoiling for a fight.

I’m channeling a poet that I knew

When I was just a student learning how

To write and make verses rhyme. And a few

Of the lines I’ve written in this form now

Force the discipline needed to express

All the emotions built up in the years

Before I found the courage to address

The tight knot that lived inside. My heart hears

Now the words that spill from these old fingers,

And they ease the pain a bit. These sonnets

Driven by hard choice, like dust that lingers

Bright in the wake of a streaking comet,

Illuminate the sky long after, while

In the moment, the poems make me smile.

There can’t be any better place to be

Than MTMS eighth-period Health Class.

The students all work hard, so they can see

The result of their learning come to pass

As they grow older, moving on and up

To high school, where the courses that they take

Will challenge them and make them think. Their Cup

Of Knowledge will be fuller as they break

The bounds of what they think is possible

Now. But as time passes by they will learn

So many things they can’t imagine. Still,

Maturity will show them how to yearn

To reach greater heights of accomplishment.

The thirst for knowledge never is content.

A sea of green, a happy, chatting rail,

Swallows, hummingbirds, egrets, terns and gulls,

An ebbing tide reveals the muddy swale

That serves up sustenance for waders. Hulls

And shells, empty, litter the banks and flats,

The bubbling sulfurous ooze from which the grass

Emerges. Life-affirming, luscious mats,

Acres of green shelter broken by glass-

Smooth rivulets of backwater life blood,

The brackish water, host of life for all

Who inhabit this God-like place. It’s good

And plenty, clean, and still alive. The tall

Loblolly pines in the distance protect

This peaceful, flat wet scape that’s just perfect.