Poetry

sidewalk art – A poem and more

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remember when walking with bare feet meant to be moved
not by their ire but by the slow cool rhythm of life’s drum,
beat by beat we cherished the softness of the newly born
– until now – now the sound of pitter pat drowns in
the color of rage and the ice of blades and hearts pay rent
only for a little while until they lay out their broken life like
some caulk art exhibition drawn not by the inner child
but by the blue men who come to take them home
draped in the white of saints but not in the light
of their brotherly love

©KMcGee-2019

I don’t know why everyone seems so angry all the time – so much negativity – so much unnecessary drama – so much hate – such disrespect for the rule of law – common decency is scarce – boundaries have not only been moved but are being completely eradicated – truth is subjective – reality is subjective – loyalty is an outdated concept – wisdom is trumped by opinion – experience by untested ideas. Everyday life is like an episode of survivor island. The desire for marriage and family is losing it’s foothold. What the hell is going on!? Doesn’t anyone see what we’re losing – what we have lost? Maybe this happens with every new generation. Maybe not. I can’t speak for the past, or even for the future, I can only speak to what I see right now. But I can tell you this – it sure makes us old folks want to unplug and leave this mess to those who are creating it.

I find myself spending less time communing and more time seeking the peace acquired in solitude and with people I can trust. I find my inspiration waning and the desire to bring awareness to social issues less important.

In this new fight to be “different” we’ve lost our connection to one another. Everything and nothing has become some new flash in the pan cause. Really important things are overlooked while the most ridiculous things garner so much of the spotlight. Violent gangs are everywhere. Babies are killing babies. Addiction and homelessness is not something to be treated or even ashamed of but the newest forms of victim mentality and self employment. And NO none of this is normal healthy behavior! Or at least it didn’t used to be.

I understand that there is a lot of social engineering going on, but I don’t think we’ve hired the A students – just the spoiled ones that stomp their feet until they get what they want. We’re headed in the wrong direction – reminds me of A Clockwork Orange.

Anyway -love you all – wish things were better – take care – and good luck!

Vanity in Refrain

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If only eyes could see this life In ways

they understood, then strife and hate would be

decay – our lives could change for good – and by

our choice we’d spare our lives this searing path

toward pain, and cool it from the burning fire

that makes our souls crave fame. If only we

could tame desire what pleasure would we feel?

What joy would come from emptiness; and loss

of mass appeal? Yes, somewhere in our quest

for more a hope of light remains: one day

our kind will live no more and then we will refrain.

 

KMcGee – 2019

 

 

 

Strangled by the Moon

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I peer into the dark milky sky and
wonder why the moon can swallow the stars,
but I can’t swallow my fears. Tomorrow
the sun will rise and you, beside me, will
rise like mourning thunder shaking my bones
and leading me, tail drawn between my legs,

into my corner of despair, where time,
endless as the angst I bare, strangles life
from all who live, recycling their breath
as if it were nothing more than fuel to
feed it’s engine of death. Why, Lord when I
try to form the sound of terror do you

lace my mouth, drawing my lips together
as if they were battle boots on empty
fields? How can they hear me, your angels of
hope, when they’re hidden behind the moon and
I, mute with anxiety, no longer
raise my eyes in search of their compassion.

©KMcGee – 2019

Remains of a Stone Forest

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We have too much in common

You and I: Within my hand

your cold decay remains frozen,

forever looking backward,

your stone pillar petrified

silicone dioxide and

I , like Lot’s bride stuck again.

Maybe we like it this way;

safe and secure from further

transformation, terrified

that the stone within our hearts

may give way to something weak,

beating again only to

fail once more. Yes, we have much

in common, You and I, you

a stone cold fragment of

the past, and I equally

petrified.

 

KMcGee – 2018

 

For the Challenge: Mindfulness and Poetry

polis kirkos

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There in the center
ring of three
stands the best
of Jumbo’s progeny
Ah, these days of
family friendly fun
when the bear is caged
and the wild ass runs
and clowns
you’re cleverest of all
Take care that none
from tightropes fall

KMcGee – 2018

dVerse Challenge: Circus

This is a very condensed version of a longer poem, but I tend toward brevity for the challenges since everyone has so much to read.

What is an Acceptable Poem?

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POETS, PLEASE READ THIS!  – Literary censorship.  Are you inside the circle?

I received the link to this article via email. I hope everyone takes the time to read it. The article speaks for itself. I have nothing to add.

From the article

“In what world do poets have to ask permission to create verse about others?”

Source:   https://quillette.com/2018/09/09/when-censorship-is-crowdsourced/

 

A Harlot in Her Desert

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She’s just a shell – bleached white –
with honey hair and sandblasted
antiquity – rank with defense
carved upon her crust like the banks
of an abandoned riverbed –
her eyes – crystalized retention
of blue briny moans and gull cries
carried away long ago by
beating wings to a place of dried bones
and scorpion tails – a place where
hope widows like the red hourglass that
spins its dishonest web – flashing
her diamonds proudly as they slither
and slide on her armored skin
which leads only to the fang or
rattle – there – without the endless sea
to float her sorrow – she becomes
a pillar unto herself –
petrified by the terror of
unhurried mummification
– imploding slowly as drop by
drop the aqueous of life
slowly recedes – sucked dry by the
harshness of her environment
she becomes her own desert with
no oasis to tease her mind.

©KMcGee – 2018