Third World

Arrows on water
free fall,
knocking into sienna clay of
drought filled wells,
peace, drowned in easy breaths
suffocated from arid vapor,
a first world war
waged with third world casualties.



I declare a prohibition, to
ban the way we contest change,
dry up currently whetted appetites
that hunger for war, conflicting,
pedestrian ideas and ideals
promoting each other’s assumed lesser.

Backlash burns silently
smoldering, tears blind those
already living without sight, mixing
tears mix with the heat of untouched friction of words
rubbing-together, concocting a chemical cleanse
aggravating all the senses.


If I was cut from a different cloth
a silk that could bend but not break,
finely woven with hand-me-down threads
actively aging, blended colors and adorned
by frayed ends breathing off small strands
of personality distinguishing my
quilted spirits from one another,
perhaps cloth covers would be
a relief before a means to disappear
unevenly, from the world.


One fluid motion
tiny Promethean gift
a small beginning.

Unwanted Zephyr’s
flickering wisps in hot air
survives, with more might.
Yet then, falls sparkling
end and start, inflamed souls rise
hand too, nothing is safe.
Quickly out of hand
onto double string.
Lighting dark faces
glowing, brightly, lou of love;
pale shadows cast black.
Irrational fire
decidedly lonesome waste
war has no winners.

Oak Leaves

Gracefully falling towards Earth
lifeless itself,
having long since passed but still
exhuming only beauty in its descent
stopping momentarily,
on a breeze to spin
providing aesthetic meter to
the obligatory monotonous sound of all
Oak leaves as they crunch quietly,
finally touching the ground.