Claiming peace of mind in ‘any’ place
such silly presumptive prattle
Sure, in cities blessed by luck or grace
be they Stockholm or Seattle
Quite another kettle of fish, uh
if in Gaza or Mogandishu?
It’s still Sweden, yes SwEDEN
Clearly too powerful a pastiche
of the stolid Kingdom of Sweden
to persuade itself to unleash
from seeing itself as an Eden:
Where was that Swedish predilection
for well ingrained circumspection
when joined NATO without election
in untoward genuflection?
Swedish deliberations may seem esoteric
to the surrounding, less advanced, world barbaric
Partir c’est mourir un peu
Written after just returning from a visit to my country of birth
From a privileged voyage
over distance, in senescence
amidst confounding buoyage
sliding back in to quiescence
Took from fantasy’s cup a sip
now back from yet another trip
Frantically cleaning as the world keeps careening
When the times feel overweening
we are promptly convening
us powerless, start house cleaning
Way to make sense, find meaning?
But to scrub off of common surface grime
way easier than power elite’s slime
Bounces his heart’s ballet
He’s dreaming of her green eyes
the ways she’s lovable
in sobriety’s kind highs:
Alluring, huggable
She’s the vivacious bouquet
that bounces his heart’s ballet
Two decades later: Bush2 is The One!
A puzzling precedent
when the Elites coalesce
round a past President
and craftily reassess:
Ain’t Bush2, the Iraq war criminal,
well on way on his own road liminal?
+)
liminality = (Latin līmen: a threshold) is the quality of ambiguity that occurs in the middle stage of a rite of passage, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status but have not yet begun the transition to the status they will hold when the rite is complete
Came across yet another trigger, while small still brought rigor
Noticed someone stared
looking mighty unkind
stressed me that it dared
left me feeling maligned
Neighbor’s small dog’s nostrils flared
got me triggered, re-traumatized
with its rice-sized-shaped teeth bared
behooved me getting authorized:
to reclaim my fair share of trauma
indulge my symptoms in high drama!
Sensed by the soul, not known by the brain
Am edging close to my life’s rim
blurred in opaque sketchiness
am hobbling on aging’s path dim
cobbled with much pettiness
That which lies beyond the mundane
sensed by the soul, knows not the brain
Fruitless, fruitful
Fruitless try mess with life’s mystery
humans like trees must shed their ‘leaves’
thus we’re are already history
For now rarely freed from life’s peeves
Although fruitful trying live with compassion
which gives Life meaning, be it out of fashion
%) Converse or asperse?
Must not spout in staccato
if we truly converse
but to flow like calypso
never try to coerce
Has ‘dialog’ by now gotten so corrupted
that we just compete to speak uninterrupted?