Fire cannot be contained,
The hard-eyed man was forcibly saying.
Violence his rants ordained,
Yet only on the weak was he preying.
To anger his words pertained,
The man with skin creased and hair graying.
With a voice that seemed so pained,
And false sincerity, as if he were praying.
The raging depths of his eyes were feigned,
His wit showing and his spit spraying.
He riled the crowd with skill as if trained,
Yet not with suits and ties, but with clothes fraying.
And then, for just a moment, he took on a new tone,
His voice hollow, letting out a soft moan,
Urgent, not asking but pleading,
As if he were bleeding, and bleeding.
Those Without Purpose
Clouds, take me.
Wrap me in your moist blanket, so warm, so cold,
Let me sink into your deep, dark depths.
Clouds, when lightning strikes,
Hold me tight,
As if you were dear mothers with their little babes.
Clouds, let me come with you.
When water is changed, when it loses its shape,
Let me change too, let me forget my being and just ride the air.
Clouds, some say
You are the patron of the storms, the bringer of Doom and Life,
But I know better – you are just here, there, floating…
The snow will weep, for it won’t keep,
The shovels are digging deep.
The salt is spread, and it will reap
Massive carnage to the weak.
The sun has come, the snow is done,
The battle the slush has won:
The great white sheet, once promising fun,
Has all but gone and now gives none.
Streets filled with crud, the city’s aflood,
With a mix of slush and mud;
The boot comes down, with a thud,
Leaving a print of dirty brown blood.
But suddenly, I’m filled with glee,
A marvel I think I see:
A little flower, quite telling to me
Of better times, soon to be.
You and I
Let’s take a walk, you and I.
Let’s meet up in the park near your house —
I’m old enough to take the subway by myself —
And let’s watch the pigeons and our shoes,
And then let’s laugh, uncomfortable but thrilled,
And maybe we’ll have both forgotten our phones (and watches)
And the sky will, perhaps, be wonderfully cloudy,
Expansive and limitless, open to all possibilities.
And then it’ll start to drizzle, our hair wet,
And it’ll be a Sunday – no, a Saturday –
Maybe next Saturday?
Children and Others
Did you know that the sky doesn’t always keep its distance?
Sometimes, the being above the clouds –
Yes, that one, with the millions of twinkling eyes and black skin –
It comes down, so it can see us better.
Almost like a curious child staring,
Making assumptions and then learning the other truth.