April 23, 2015

#NaPoWriMo 2015 no.24

Edward Hopper, 'Early Sunday Morning' 1930 ©









America, as the weekend approaches, this poet knows...


the questions :

some meant to keep us occupied
most meant for us to learn by
a few meant to never stop being asked 
and ones all the rest were meant to become 
the more inane, time consuming and dumb...

as we progress more technologically precise
we narrow-mindedly slew inequity
with justifiable greed(s)
the ones we sneak from ourselves 
the ones we pinch from higher powers 
the ones we savor with our lower powers 
the ones we ask
of our systems 
of living
and the ones 
we whisper 
trying to be
selfish and selfless 
when silent
and begging 
an absolution 
of some kind 
tawdry or taut
on some level
something
we can define 
by culture, legacy
sacred houses 
and systemic deaths...

access and opportunity
maybe the semblances 
of a haunted humble
or compassion left behind
for the archivist...

special events 
composed with sentiment,  
nostalgia and theatrical 
gifted accidental chance
must squeeze, ease pain 
into a question or two...

seed the rain, forests and torrents 
we've always sought knowledge 
and reasons, motivations and what 
inspires us when in and out of control 
this is why certain times we hug while drunk
glued to rituals of some kind

questions questions questions questions
questions questions questions
questions questions
questions

I am dodger lodger heft 
beneath stolen weighted bereft 
most of my emotional feeling is
mesmerized by the evening news...

I seem to want to know how 
is this excessive consumption 
going to maintain its status-quo...

no thank you is the refrain
it keeps on raining explaining 
global warming as water taking charge
who is to blame, everyone today
the Earth, Moon and Sun too
this is succinct and just to say...

no story, these days 
is worth pictures 
without toil and blood 
at the base of monoliths
scraped skies architecturally 
smart, business wise...

a world that becomes 
wards and wardens
kids getting high 
on getting over someone else 
passing the leverage along...

another day another week another peek  
somewhere they plant a flag seeking
to make rules, setting the schools 
on fire with institutionalized young minds 
pushing agendas, pushing time 
to do list listing spilt spent compassion 
black market exhale varieties 
guilt sold in balloons 
at festivals for five dollars still
just in case you are ever caught
having a good time 
despite how bleak 
the future seems...

here, currently at my old dirty laptop
dog food lid finger key stroking mirror and porthole
all the wholly socially networked between(s) have...

every answer 
I've ever sought
and though 
great divine algorithms
would rather 
I lather myself 
in illusions 
and monotone flat-lines...

I might just short circuit 
and grift any singularity 
I can find so that I might not
became fraught with divisions 
so it can be known that the insides 
of my own heart and mind
were not denied entry into heaven 
for any lack of effort or device...

killing fields 
I've imagined
became plainly evident 
sponsors of sublime fear 
amassing modus operandi 
coming to eat my understanding
at the commercial breaks...

we are a one pill culture 
strung out on hazy vague vignettes
Huxley's eugenically spell cleansing
of a now makes you 
a larger swallowed easy...

sometimes the (satellite/cable/tv/internet)'s 
crippling metronomic 
arrested developments
are interfered with 
by the weather 

its daily afflictive
adulthood can  
breach my core
simple poem 
of pleasure 
and joy...

but heavy wind 
and weather 
are white noise 
and pixels 
little saviors
they make
my heart fill 
as a child might 
pocket a soul 
and minds-eye...

eager and anticipatingly
ready to let go 
of any need 
to know anything
in order to just play 
for awhile 
in the quiet 
of an early 
Sunday morning...

before a great river's city
gets too busy with
constant motion 
eyes and ears
forgetting the nose
has always been 
king of the senses...

we imagine, we 
ourselves, were up all night 
as well, stories to tell 
we pretend 
we just got back 
from church 
and are
still begging 
for some hairy dogs 
for our mojo back 
as we roam and rule 
our neighborhood's 
fleeting peaceful kingdoms 
we promised to be good...


EJR ©

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