Well, I nearly thought this wouldn’t happen. I looked over all of my poems and thought to myself: “god damn, these are all crap.”
So I wrote a post about how I would be postponing my poetry post for a week. Just to give myself more time to figure out what I wanted to do, what I wanted to share.
Still, I went to bed feeling pretty poor. Like every bit of my sensibilities as a poet had decayed to an irreparable point.
This was folly. One, because I knew I had written some stanzas in February that I thought were worth some time refining. And two, because in between all the poems I thought were crap, there were some worth looking at again.
So that’s what these two poems kind of remind me of: two ways of looking at a situation. It’s a lesson we’re all going to need to remember as the world continues to look more and more grim. Just know that in the end, every great tree needs fertile soil.
In other words, everything great in this world needed a lot of shit to get it there. We’re just fertilizing the next age.
Thank you to my Patreon subscribers, including Jenny, Michael, Roshi, Zero and Phil for being such patient and supportive persons. Your support makes this enterprise possible and for that I am eternally grateful. If you would like to join our awesome group of Casual Ramblers, click on the button below! Patrons receive exclusive access to quarterly short stories, and early access to my monthly poetry and photography posts.
Triggered
Like a bullet from a gun without control
Screaming through the flesh without guess
From heads talking, never feeling, list’ning
Why cash registers clang louder than a blast
Or cheque books cut deep along fingertips
Shuffling through pages gilded—arts, laws
Sciences, medicine—all obeying language
Held dear yet poisons water, toxins earth,
Acids air, makes us love what crushes ear,
Mortgages the future for a present no one
Wants to even pay for.
Inauguration Day Has Come
The lantern tells the wick
The grass exhales the sun
The belfry over silence
Will once again be rung
Take this gift from window,
From rod, from staff, from flame
Spin along a lawn wrought
In dewdrops and cinder stains
Every butterfly becomes
A caterpillar in the end,
Learning how to climb
Before they can descend
Fear not the slip nor the fall,
This is not an original sin
You have been here once
And so you will be again
The Casual Ramble 