Changes

What else should we change?

Now that the cries of the drowned

Have been drowned out by drones..

Well, we could lower the age

At which children are obligated

To kill each other..

We ban it in Africa

But the way we kill and maim

Is much more civilized

And so, if more are mobilized

The aggressor will finally learn its lies.

What else should we change?

Well, the insistence on change?

Before we are flushed down

For a few pieces of change.

Warrior

I fight
With my little eye

Something beginning with

I

Charades

It's like a rehearsal

Where each emotion
Is waiting to come on
At the right time;
And each motion
Has significance beyond life.

"To everything, there is a season,

And a time to every purpose under heaven."

Organ Donor

Things fall apart
In the blink of an eye
That gleaming white 
Your bone or mine

Meat on bone like
Soup pork of peasants 
Hiding cartilage in dark forest

Your place or mine

Knife cuts apart then
Faff with words like AI
Matches like for like
Your words not mine

Fire must continue
Man's rod of spray fire
While you flee or advance
You stepped on a mine.

Lost In Translation

 "Shock," Bess said, "Neck-shockers, Aliyah."

Heart

Sacred corner of heart
Where Master makes His home
Lets Spirit freely roam
Take captive so's to free
Monsters 'fore they would flee.

That corner yield no more
Like flag struck with its pole
Like landing on a shore
Don't let go of what's free
Take us to victory.

Tundra

Sticks and stones had brought your bones
To this edge of the tundra
Where the river flows into ice
And trees like stakes they turn to horror

Herded into hard labour
While nomads were left to live
Tending their reindeer, only next door
Could speak of hard working bliss.

A world away, the trees felled for the

Suburbs of swimming pool dreams,
Or maybe an inbuilt sauna;

Others left,
For dreams they left;
No stove in bathhouse by long rail line
Samovar could be exchanged

For the long line comfort of shops,
Full of cereals;
Corn starch fullness -- oh my goodness;
And speech was always

Freely bought and sold,
Not packaged in 5 year plans of old.
But you stayed, a part of you always stayed

In that bone freezing cold tundra
You were saved from escaping
You returned in those gaping
Trains to quietly assume

The quiet life
On the other end of the empire.
We never spoke a word --
By that time, another train,

Never one minute late, took you.
Yet I too, carry a piece of 
The tundra within me.

Shapes for Change

The square, triangle, and circle met

By the forest among sprites they wed
By the river their promise kept
But then came concrete -- and they wept.

.

Concrete said "change" -- and it came
It whispered "forever" in vain
Since that forever was like
Plastic, battered by rain:

Nature may have laid waste
To the hubris of bad taste
Not claimed by later ages
But the memory remained,

Albeit in powdered form,
Of towers and their hamlets torn.
Unlike stone and clay --

To replace, or excavate --

Concrete lives in nasty limbo.

.

So shapes that had once met
In the mystery of the forest
And had resolved, through people's minds
To inspire, and to remind

Why we've all been sent here
From an alien land of ideals
Were now cornered in the brutal
Century of modernity:

That's why they wept!

 .

There will be light;
It will all be chewed up.
Given their singular plight,
Nature and people *will* overcome --

But for now, there is blight.

It's Nothing

I can't talk about anything
So I'll tell you about everything:

The way I try to grab at all
While afraid I'll lose it all,

The way it may seem to go well
But what will be no one can tell,

The way I don't know what's the way
And afraid it will all wash away,

The way I search where exit is
Yet I feel that I should quit;

Resilience is the new buzzword
But for me it sounds absurd;

Foolhardy, or desperate:
Could be words that better fit;

Good intentions? Yeah, I guess,
But I'm burning less and less;

I can't even get one night's rest
To clear my head, then stay abreast

Of all that is required of me
To keep running machinery;

But where the ship sails, where to look:
Winds change faster than they should;

Some say just enjoy the ride
But with so many by my side,

Where we will find land --
Keeps me awake at night.

Aliens in Rochester

In metal carriages we ride
Down the aisle

With solitude as our bride;

By rivers not yet divorced

From nature yet preserved

Like pedestrians reserved

They always look, and always

Look the other way.

What makes a city livable,

I wonder.

Extended Metaphor

Flying is like death. Once you've got your ticket you're just going through the motions. You think you're special but there's plenty waiting along for their turn. You think it should be dramatic but you look into their faces, sunk in, like they've done this before, many many times over, each in their own special way. That discreet, small gin at the duty free: maybe go back for another one. He stares back at you, as if to say, "I was someone once, don't look at me like that!" And then, to himself, "I still have it, I still have the money to fly!" You scurry forth, into the arms of a gleaming booth, conspirational, a modern day Illuminati. "Would you like a free Mastercard"? Life's temptations never stop, right up to the last moment. But once you have your boarding card, the options gradually narrow. On your last call, you have to go and board that plane.

Death is like flying. You' ve given over control to powers greater than I and you feel slightly giddy and excited about it all. Like maybe a carpenter's going to pop by any second and he actually has a sense of humour. "Sorry about the scary business of dying, my Mom loves a bit of drama," he would say, frowning when you give that blank stare like you didn't know it was Mary running the show all along. You're worried Mary will enter next and she'll judge you for something you did, but no, she's fixing the gate with Peter as a group of lawyers recently barged in and craftily, insurance doesn't cover the damage. Back to reality -- there's excitement, like the first time you land on a new continent and everything's different yet everything's the same. There's no hand luggage, you yourself are your own baggage and the scales, well... how was your diet, did you feed on every word that came from the mouth of the One? That will lighten the load. 21g the weight of the soul? Nonsense. There's a 20kg limit, just like the good carriers on Earth, but there's plenty baggage to offload before you get through. Feelings of spite for those who spoke behind your back. Feelings of shame for things other people did or didn't do. And most importantly, shame over tbe words you said or perhaps should have said. Forgiving yourself and forgiving God for the creature you have become, or would have liked to be. Forgiving yourself for the life you so wanted to save, the life looking back at you, on your smartphone, looking like your younger self, full of naive hopes and fears --  but he wasn't yours to save. Letting go of that shame, letting go of that anger. Letting go of debts. Your own debts. Giving over control. To the one who Was, Is, and Will Be, Forever More. Saying thanks to Him for the pains, the earache, the passengers next to you elbowing you across the stomach and clapping with everyone when the pilot lands down with a thud. Suddenly you want to shake everyone's hand, like you learned at Mass, but the Peace you longed for, the Peace that surpasses all understanding is already here, it was always there, you just needed to become small enough to see. For in a plane you are one of many, you're not the one deciding on the course, but it can take you every which way, as long as it's forward. Forever forward.