Slated invocation

Oh steely sky, you do not care

that I need rain today.

Did I miss the vote?

I don't count; I have no say

-either way-

only stoics wear grey

every day

and call it Fair. 

Sword fight

Maybe it was miscommunication
I did not like the surgeon
he smelled my repugnance-
I could tell
he did not like me either
his contempt was visible-
he showed it well.

I admit-
I didn't understand-
why he chose his profession
And he would not comprehend
my craft,  the art of confession
his speaking in tongues
jargon of gibberish
made my vivacious vernacular
sound smoothly spectacular

our inept oral interchange,
vacuous verbal exchange,
was an outer-species communication
comprehension lost in each others translation

I know
I should probably apologize
for stepping on his big toes
but that is the least of his woes
when a patient is just as wise
(and says so)

I suppose
I should concede
we are seldom both in dire need
And,
I confess, we do the same thing
I guess, rip people's guts out
trying to save their life...
I use a pen,
he prefers the knife.



Image by David Teniers the Younger [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, a malicious surgeon extracting stones from a grima.

Threadbare Thingamajig

My container shows utility,
this for that;
hold this, carry me
like so and so-
Judging, by every day use
where I am thin
I am most transparent
all that you see through me
resists certain obscurity
You can clearly see
the stiff armored patches,
plates stacked precariously
porcelain worn and torn by utensils
in an empty cupboard.
I have no spares for repairs,
no double duty reinforcements
to protect and deflect the pointed
poisoned arrows aimed
at my limited capacity
for containing my
ultimate futility
I guess-
I don't know how this thing works.


Image By Sarah777 (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, described as a device for dunking scholars (a.k.a. Thingy Dunker). 

I can see why you thought

I was gone
transformed into the shapes of shadows
of a dancing butterfly against the fence slats
of a vampire bat who changed his shift
or the wolf spider watching the broken winged crow
these were once me on the dark side of noon.

I was here-then there's was none
no empty room in the granulated chute of light
for this forsaken passive body
to occupy or entertain
I remain one
you cannot see, the undertow of echo
Your assumptions have found me
displaced.


Image By Ministry of Information Photo Division Photographer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Two Folding Positions

Just So-situate

shocking compliment in awe

I juxtapose So-

Image from Tumblr by Alan Garcia 

About It: Up Side Down

                     Know Nothing

                 

              Shows You

        

      Into –It-

  

Reading too much

Image By Muybridge, Eadweard, 1830-1904 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Why we bother to bother with Why (a deepity)

Because we are here now

facing each other,

listening to the music

we are submissive-or brave

Because we stand up and speak aloud

to show another view,

we abort our own conception

by consent-or dissent

Because we fret and dodge regret

ruts are dead set, circuits carry currents

direct, a dexterity of pre-determined design

connected by linear contact-or experience

Because stasis ensures us

and the foreseen guarantees us

safety in numbers, with all the fish in the sea

our place is secured in parsimony

Because Things don’t change, instead We rearrange

our conception, our perception-a deception

based on learned History, founded on prophesy

we perverse possibility-or reverse responsibility

Because the incentive is steep

Regret is shallow

Because the chances are scarce

Retribution is the final reward. 

Image of cover publication "The Masses", c. 1916 By E. Higgins [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Poem inscribed on bottom left corner reads:
Revolution
Anyone can write Revolution-Revolution
is written
By pale young men with the new conven-
tional mind;
Though it causes, indeed, no such havoc 'mid
humankind
As Samson's did when the Philistines were 
smitten.

It is easy to preach-Revolution-Revolution
in pink reviews,
Or flourish a Phrygian cap from the top of a 
steeple;
But if ever it came to an uprising of the people,
How many pale poets would stand in the leaders 
shoes?
-William Rose Benet