Short-sighted

En route
observe by taking in
filters
your immediate surroundings,
eyes touching face coverings,
nothing could effectively hide
what is done
inside
is being done by undoing,
by implementing more restrictions
moving
others to do the same.

We stay
inside,
like obedient house-pets
longing for fresh air
hanging our heads
out the window
we notice
how it smells
like something new.

Pacing ourselves
replaces racing toward the End where
no meetings will take place-
in person
there is less
to get, less we can do, less available, less security,
less was nevermore than just enough.

What goes around
in circles
gets smaller, our circles ellipse
until we end
up
with no points
of contact.

We leave the blanks
instead of filling our barrels with ammunition,
from six feet away
we look the same underneath
our personal protection,
mortal and our skin feels too thin.

We covered our bases
and dirt floors
until the rug unraveled
leaving the looming
predictions
dyed without a pattern.



Photograph credit: Ministry of Information Photo Division Photographer, 1941 in Public domain.

A Gentle Hand

Not speaking for other species,
a human being shall not deny
the power of touch, tact-tility.
As in a word, requires the
relinquishing of an invasion of space
for a sense of felicity, in kind

where seeming accidental, more so
gently, intentional, affixed upon
shoulder or thigh, put so adverbial or
propositional, it is
in earnest, rightly so,
it feels heavier than
the application of pressure
or happenstance.

This need to reach out
and grasp toward
this living moment,
or clutch the vibration
that is life, date-stamped
within our fleshy fingertips.
It is compulsatory

that we soon become
etched or embossed with entitlement,
as in adept for survival and
toward those celebrating this.
It was a touching thing it was said,
to feel mankind
using his hands wisely, for once
in this way.





Painting by John William Godward [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Marsupial Mavens

Ninety percent of All humanity
live North of the equator
I sit in California in the sun
at thirty-three degrees or so
it is sixty-six and blustery-
(May gray has not arrived)
I read the latest Poetry issue,
origami ideas sent on paper planes
just out from Australia-al-
though printed in Chicago-
we pro-prose a die-a-log
through belles lettres.

After reading up on down under
I wondered-This Issue-
why more pictures than poetry-
Not really-but all I see, in imagery are
Faces
posing for poetry
Is it the mirror effect; akin to the water,
that made the artists smiles up-side-down-
And those scowls, sneers, poor-trait(s),
of some smirks where the mysterious
pretends to con-de-ceive perceptions
about Aussie affability.

Mutually masterful,
silence at the end, asks
for reciprocation, promotion,
looking for-word-one way to say
likeness, not-like-us, writer-ly
soft and polished up, be-spectacled
and dis-taught by degrees-
A-B-original-not left out back
in voluminous r-evolution.



Feature image art by Peter Purves Smith, Kangaroo hunt c. 1938 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 

The predator on top of his prey

They became civilized
after many ages
and stages of refinement.
They wanted to live longer,
a race with no finish line.
They practiced,
they failed much, succeeded few.
They fought and resisted
they conceded and persisted.
They started
by removing death threats,
like hunger
and

exposure

They experimented
with potions and rhetoric.
They bottled magic
and peddled poisons,
to live
more
and they did.

They lived so long
they forgot their youth,
they jumped to the end,
decrepit at the start
with nothing to grow on.

They followed tradition,
it led them along.
Their bodies decay from security,
hearts get bored with emotion,
their mind aches,
blinded by the reflection.
They never should have lived
this long
this way-
which is why
they prey
on weakness
to make
go away
They
will
be done.
All men.




Image by Hans Holbein the Younger (1497/1498–1543) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

One Eyed Human-I-ty

I didn't do it,

it was not me.

I only take credit when

I see opportunity.

I slept, I wept,

I don't know what came over me.

I acted as anyone would,

I reacted, in the situation, as

I should.

I got an epiphany, and then

I got sick.

I had an opportunity, but-

I had a cold.

I warmed to the idea,

I was on fire-before-

I was in denial.

I took a chance, I stole a glance,

I found truth.

I healed and I grew.

I thought

I knew-

None of these things

I really do. 

Image By J. Parker Read Jr. Productions / Associated Producers, I Am Guilty [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons (1921).