Freedom is found In knowledge sought Connections imagined – New dawning era of thought Yet none speaks wisely Who claim to know all Pushing forth their opinions As to not seem so small Compensation calculation For indiscretions of past Look instead to the future Nothing Can Last
11 December 2020
There’s a light in the forest Beyond the break in the trees Where water flows gently Among the rustle of leaves. Pardon the intrusion Where humans should not be I’ll return to the shadows– Darkened path no one sees
9 December 2020
I hold space in the darkness Where someday I pray There will be light
8 December 2020
“Dans Macabre–” you say With a permanent pearly grin “It takes your breath away.” As your long limbs sway Stripped of their flesh Now immortal as stone With your clattering bones: Restless soul with no home.
Thank you for taking the time to read my poetry today! These originally appeared on my Twitteraccount.
We climb into the cloud forest– Sleepy trees draped in moss blankets Slumbering to bird song lullabies Dreaming of snow covered melodies Melting into symphonies of spring
Thank you for taking the time to read this post! It first appeared on Twitter here.
A new poem on Coffee House Writers makes reference to someplace I’m missing dearly right now: Aotearoa (New Zealand).
The Arahura River is a living, breathing thing with a soul unto itself.
It is also subject to some heartbreaking history of the colonial Gold Rush era. The Ngāi Tahu or Kāi Tahu iwi made a treaty with the British Crown that allowed resource mining, while still retaining iwi ownership and rights to the Arahura. These rights were ignored.
I’m lucky enough to have seen the majesty of the Arahura. It is very recent that amends began to be made. Please take a moment to visit Arahura Dreaming to learn more about the Arahura Pa and what you can do to support the iwi that make the country of Aotearoa (New Zealand) so great. If you visit, please do so with the utmost respect and treat Arahura with the same innate rights as any other human being would have.
This poem first appeared on Curenseaafter being written in 2007. I have made a few minor edits.
I chose this poem based on many thoughts coming up for me over my lifetime while living in the United States. I grew up in Virginia and found it strange that I could live next to a Holocaust survivor and then move to a town with an active KKK chapter other kids at the elementary school nonchalantly talked to me about their parents being members of. My parents explained what that meant when I asked. Same with the Neo-nazi rallies in Yorktown, Virginia – you know, that place where we apparently “won the Revolutionary War”. What’s so revolutionary about it anymore now that you allow those kinds of rallies there? But Virginia did. My parents felt powerless against it because the courts ruled in their favor on the grounds of Freedom Of Speech and Freedom Of Assembly and that was used to argue for social tolerance of intolerance. Now, here we are, being asked to tolerate violence against each other as that too becomes normalized.
A statue face from St. Mary’s cemetery Missoula, MT, photo by Lo Potter
A Lesson Never Learned
It came up through the floorboards, Zyklon B reaching forward through time Ripping at our throats, Forming itself around our nostrils condensing into blue ice, after being trapped in the cold of existence. This depressive state of humanity Seeming only to slumber in its death Released the gas upon itself, Using the world as its chamber Many can claim their innocence -besides- Innocence through ignorance is the best kind While dictators commence genocidal rampages Using ill-earned power to rape a people destroy their very creation of a God, And yet, for those who are suffering:
The strongest woman I (n)ever met sat crying at the grand opening of the Holocaust Museum She surveyed the surrounding young people Generations too young to remember or know what She Survived Walking through in awe of their own misunderstandings She looked back without a single failed memory Her arm exposed so everyone could see: the vining rose tattoo that grew out of the numbers that changed her life forever
Thank you for reading this poem today. The comments section is reserved for your thoughts. Moderating is only for preventing spam/trolls – I approve as quickly as possible and approval is only needed once to post without moderation on this website.
