MERCY FOR THE YOUNG

A boy lies near death in a hospital bed.

Who cries for him?

Who shares his pain?

A city celebrates, people cheer.

The pain of human suffering is lost

on the psyche of Boston.

I am sickened as I see

their joy

At his demise.

A child of 19,

What could he know

of his actions?

What  could he see in broad perspective

of the complexity of the world,

of the weight of guilty that he might carry

one day when maturity came 

and memory gushed with the screams of his victims?

I cry for you Jahar.

I feel your pain.

I absolve you of your crime.

Many have sinned
each in our own way.

*Days after the Boston bombings in April 2013
the youngest of the two brothers involved was
hunted down and taken prisoner after being
barraged by gunfire while hiding in a boat.

DEFINITIONS FOR A POET

Mitochondria: 

hope of converting the energy of verse

to sustenance the nucleus of society may use. 

Sophism:

Not the implement of deceit that it has come to represent,

Rather the Art of successful living

it came to mean in 5th Century philosophy--

or a nod to the Greek.

Onomatopoeia:

Fluidity of utterance, flowing o’er a reader’s ears,

A tete-a-tete in a sidewalk cafe

where we shall echo life’s variances,

Murmuring into each other’s ears, 

The Abrakadabra that brings hope to life.

Syrian Family

They live in caves,

The dust of their ancestors

filling their lungs,

covering each day 

with alms from the past.

When will we 

join them?

They must have thought

as bombs exploded

around them.

When will this dust

mingle with our own?

*In Syria, people are digging out

ancient graves in the hillsides and

living in therm. Safer to live underground.

March 2013

THOUGHTS ON THE POLIS (with a nod to Lyn Hejinian)

Eudaimonia rushed

to the gathering

before me,

Tresses flowing,

rainbow colored bird

on her shoulder.

Children gathered

round her skirt --

little hands reaching

toward the fragile bird.

I snuck in,

unseen,

unheard,

unnoticed 

by the guests.

Laughter,

frivolity escaped

from tiny lips.

They basked,

drinking in Eudaimonia’s

essence.

I thirst behind their chorus.

*Eudaimonia is ancient Greek. It literally

 means “to be with a demon;” one “who accompanies

 each woman throughout... life, who is her distinct

identity, but appears and is visible only to others.”

AND THE HEAVENS WEPT

On the wind,

no Children’s voices 

rang, nor sang, 

that Funeral Day

as the deluge whipped

Relentless 

And The Heavens wept,

Repentance

Perhaps to cleanse.

Perhaps to rage.

“Where are the children’s voices?”

the Heavens seemed to grieve.

We need their high pitched

chortle,

we need, we need, we need

We need those children

with us.

We grieve so we may live.

We need solace

in our hearts,

we need laughter on the wind.

On Dec. 14, 2012, a lone gunman shot

and killed 20 children and 6 adults at

Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown.

Torrential rains marked the back to back

funerals of two 6-year-old girls.

A MEMORY OF SANDY HOOK

Cockle shells,

Urn of dark blue hughes,

streaks of sky blue as rain

‘gainst the night sky.

Letters of gold script

carrying your name:

Gracie.

I was there 

when your parents

said “good bye,”

when mourners

gathered by the hundreds,

hearts aching

at your tragic loss.

I wear the purple

wrist band

that bears your name:

Gracie.

You are with me as I

“Practice Aloha,”

as the band requests.

SHE SLEW NOT GOLIATH

The Star of David

sparkled in the snow globe,

Reminding her of the day

she almost bought grape jelly.

Spread on thick,

his accounts of life

gave richness to the day,

Like the jelly,

she almost bought for him

to spread on thick

on peanut butter

sandwiches --

Both would have given

sustenance

to a relationship

still forming.

Hesitant,

she left the globe

on the shelf,

the possibilities

still ajar.