In Elder Days

In the elder days
They abandoned better ways
And entered hell’s maze

No one entered in
To ask forgiveness for sin
To again begin

All good forsaking
Memories were left standing
And children weeping

In our own blind way
Do we do better today?
And what do we say?


Note: This poem is comprised of four haikus running along one theme . . . Hope you enjoy. Blessings to one and all!

What Do We Do With Our Days?

From morning to night our plight remains the same:
We hurry up to worry and scurry to fight and to bite
Over seemingly significant insignificants of this life 
We have been given to live instead of giving our self
To selfless ways in the rather few days we do exist,
But we persist in insisting on small details in retail,
Social media, movies and video games; it’s the same
And what a shame in living such a sham life
When the world is rife with pain and no gain
For so many of our brothers and sisters upon earth,
Place of our common birth, and what is it all worth?
Endless snickering and bickering over no-nothings?
. . .
And the rain falls as painful tears of God are shed
As we remain so much the same until we are dead,
Always encouraging the better way of life instead

Pages of Time: The Unseen Hand

An unseen hand turns the pages of time
And ages fly by but the sky still remains,
And does the range of humanity change?
Time, it seems, has been a poor teacher,
And history, too, an ill-sought preacher;
Thus the same lessons are taught
And oh-so very quickly forgotten
By unruly pupils who never do graduate
But so contemptuously self-congratulate
For achievements that grow cold
As their age grows old with time
As that unseen hand turns another page,
And for all our rage, we pass as shadows
Into the frightful blight of historic night,
But the sky still remains and gives rain
To wash away the stain of our humanity
. . .
An unseen hand turns the pages of time,
Page after page, age upon age upon age

Chains and Pain (and Pride)

Many chains and so much pain in the world,
And do we contribute our part for our gain?
Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters each one
Under the sun – one family in disharmony –
Surely there is a better way to brighter days
In the saying, ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself,’
Instead of braying on about who is straying,
Who’s staying and who’s not welcome at all!
Ultimately, you see, we rise and fall together
Despite our differences, however important;
After all, how really difficult is it to say,
‘I’m not going to shoot you or boot you?’
. . .
Many chains and so much pain in the world,
And do we contribute our part for our gain?

If Hatred Is All That Unifies You

If hatred is all that unifies you, then you will always have to hate to be unified;
Is this the kind of unity you desire? Unity completely devoid of love and peace?
And what happens when the object of your hatred changes or simply vanishes?
If hatred is all that’s unified you, you’ll have to find something else to hate,
Or what is worse, someone else to hate with no room left for true compassion,
No room for understanding, for bridge-building, for reasonable compromise . . .
Is this kind of unity an healthy unity? Unity centered upon feelings of hostility?

Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years upon years,
And now my life is filled with too many decades of time with too few left to me
To live in hatred and animosity, fear, paranoia, enmity, rancor and bitterness;
And this man is too old and tired to spend his precious time with those who do!
Even my ears grow weary of hearing the poison spewing out from such people!
Light, life ‘n love stand above all and are more than enough to take all my time,
So too there is truth ~ yes ~ but my choice is to stand upon truth in true peace.

Idiocracy

Some say that democracy is the best form of government,
And perhaps this form of governance should be the norm;
However, it can breed a storm from dorms to living rooms,
From kitchens to legislative halls that fall to self-interest;
And what happens, then, when government is truly an icon
Of the people governed, and becomes of cupboard of idiots?
When entertainers are pundits and tweets become so sweet
That they make daily news and kindle views from officials?
When pictures that should be trashed are brashly shown
In public buildings as art by the self-designated oh-so smart?
When unimportant issues call for tissue to wipe crying eyes?
When the rest of the world calls for the best, but the best
Are given a vest in lieu of the grave and are called to invest
In the circus as government becomes more like giant Argus?
What happens, I ask, when democracy becomes an idiocracy?
I say the Revolution is long over, and God Save the Queen!

Or . . .

kakistocracy

Profusion of Confusion

error-101406__340Profusion of confusion
In complete delusion
Fusion of fantasy and lies

Say ‘goodbye’ to reality
‘Hello’ to finality of truth

And the devil’s in his booth
Ready for ya, claw and tooth

One man tries to hug
Attacked by two thugs
And the rest just shrug

Up and off to riot
Destroy all quiet
Anger in the diet

Defiance
No compliance
Reliance on rage
Day after day
Page after page

And the sage is silenced
And the sage is silenced
And the sage is silenced

Under Canopy of Heaven

Under the canopy of sky
I dream of seamless days
And nights not corroded
By frightening thoughts
Brought to mind
By relentless responsibilities
And limitations . . .
I’d rather fly without hesitation
To some unknown destination
Of beautiful color
And nothing to bother
Where sisters and brothers
Are free to walk and talk
Without fear,
And old men drink their beer
And health and wealth
Are not uncommon
To folk like me,
Whoever they be . . .
Under the canopy of stars
I see afar some day in some land
Bands of women and men
With hands that give and help
And sands of time mean nothing
But something at which to wonder,
And blunders are excused
With laughter and smiles miles long,
And everyone knows that they belong . . .
Under the canopy of heaven
I leaven my dreams
With treasure troves of love
And arms wide open
That would never harm
Or sound an alarm
At someone in rags who carries old bags;
Oh no,
These arms would weave new clothing
And heave the old for new satchels
With all new within each,
And then these arms
Would make a place at the table
With no bill to pay for the meal . . .
Under the canopy of sky
I dream of seamless days
And nights, flowing one into the other,
Glowing with affection
And no infection of greed or hunger,
And no need for seeds of profit,
For all gain is to simply live life
To the fullest without unnecessary pain
Foisted upon one by another son
Of the same human race;
No, here there is no corruption
Of corporation,
But, rather, corporate cooperation
For the alleviation of suffering
And deprivation . . .
Yes, I do dream all my dreams
Under the great canopy above . . .

Dryers: Not So Normal Folk

Yes, there are good folk who can’t get on their feet,
Or who march to a unique beat with nothing sweet
To offer to placate and satiate the voracious appetite
Of the normal world into which they’ve been hurled,
While ordinary people live their very ordinary lives
In the ordinary way from dreary day to dreary day
All to stay satisfied without change and no dismay,
But some people live risqué on the speedway of life
While others are more passé like an old screenplay,
And still others are more Wednesday than Friday,
But all in all they don’t quite fit in with the in-crowd,
Whether they are loud or quiet, shut-in or shut-up;
Though how do you judge what is normal, anyway?
Are there formal rules? Does anyone have a clue?
Or is “normal” just the setting on the clothes dryer?