“Doctors” with no oath
Looking to make a profit
Will descend on those
Who want their own choice
Tik toks and others
Will film “do it yourself” clips
And prey off the clicks
Of desperate girls
Boys without knowledge and
Men with few consequences
Will not be party
To the new shadows
Haunting the world of women
Trying to make sense
Of a life in upheaval
Is like trying to
Hear a conversation between ants
You can see them, sure
See that they’re conversating
Their little antennae move
And they hustle forward with purpose
But what they said?
It’s non-sensical.
Problems are like this too
They appear, but don’t make sense
And decisions must be rushed toward
with all the purpose
of an ant on a mission
but none of the understanding.
It’s never enough
You can work – or stay at home
You can have game nights
And family dinner
You can take an interest
Or give them some space
But no matter what
To a teenager…
It’s never enough
Sitting on my shelf
Is an eclectic collection
Of various mugs
Chipped, bruised, and faded
Or beautiful and pristine
Squat and short, tall and lean
Representing a moment
A collection of past lives.
Past jobs, past people
Past holidays and vacations
The cups tell a story
In sips.
How do I begin?
You had to grow up too soon.
You were the strong one
The oldest kiddo
With the most responsibility
As you celebrate this day
I think that the hardest times
Are finally behind
Mild, summer evenings
Bring bubbles of joy and chaos
That float like pink clouds
Across dying grass
In a rush we talk over
One another
Not because we’re not listening
But because we’re trying
To steal extra minutes
From a waning day
Who’s jewel bright light filters through fluttering green leaves
“Hurry,” it whispers. “The day will soon sleep.”
So we spill our stories
Incomplete as the broken light
Their shards reflecting our smiles.
Art is political
You can’t convince me differently
Because at heart, art
Is an argument
Artists want you to feel or
Think or see one way
The picture is cropped
Colors are chosen carefully
Scenes are deleted
Yet, we are silent
When it comes to disaster
Art doesn’t pay well
And we’re scared to speak
When we should be scared
To stay silent.
The wake of horror
Brings with it calls for action
There’s a problem though.
Politicians don’t
Listen to the peoples will
….they’ve gerrymandered it
“Thoughts and prayers” we’ve heard.
For a decade now
Long ago they chose to favor
Guns over children.
So. Pressing forward seems…hard.
But it’s not.
Outrage is the start…but…
Vote local.
School Board
City council
County council
Fuck, make sure you know who the PTA President is.
These local yokels
Impact your life
And in the wake of horror
It’s the start of change.
(I hope)
Choices expand stress
The wait; the anticipation
The decision though
Pierces through the fear
Popping it like a balloon
The choice is made
And life can lift
Wind slinks on the ground
It’s unseasonably cold
May should be bright, warm
Full of buds and flowers
Not this bleak, cold, gray howler
Is it climate change?
Perhaps.
Or maybe the weather
Is a reflection of my own mood.
Hipstory 