Ah, what is the real,
But the inconvenient?
That which we must
change;
That we must reimagine.
Over and over
We repeat the process.
When we make it work,
We call it progress.
That’s the narrative
We shoehorn it into.
It’s how we make sense;
How we forge what is true.
But what does that mean:
When we say ‘to forge’?
It’s to smithy it;
Not to counterfeit it.
To shape it out of
The raw materials
That are what is real:
Inconvenient details.
If We Can Do It
Poetry: Emotion and Description
Poetry without rhyme--
Like reason without
logic--
Might work for a time.
It works with emotion--
Or vivid description--
To sustain its motion.
The movement of the
soul--
Poking and prodding the
mind--
Are good poetry’s goal.
All the better for it,
If it can do what is
needed
And not have to rhyme it.
But how far can it go--
Emotion and description--
Before mind and soul slow?
Get worn out.
Get found out.
Without…
That old prescription
That singles it out…
From prose...
The Sun Comes Out
The sun came out again:
All the smiles on the
streets.
So did the scowls and
frowns
Of depression and defeats.
The clouds haven’t
lifted;
It’s the masks that
have gone.
What joy: all the faces
And emotions to look
upon.
Have you READ A’s Ethics?
One of the patriarchs
Of the patriarchy
Was all for cultural
Relativity.
But in the way back
then--
Struggling to survive--
They judged. Because
some died,
While others would thrive.
Though it was relative,
It still had to answer
To a goal and values.
To fail: a cancer.
To have equity…
Or equality,
Was a luxury.
And our decadence?
Idealistic.
With such arrogance!
Oh, so hubristic!
