If you need a case
To demonstrated the wisdom
Of separation
Of religion from the state
Ashraf Fayadh serves quite well.
No one should face death
For daring to speak their mind!
What truth do they fear?
Pete Seger’s Version–
“Die Gedanken Sind Frei”
In the east, again,
Sabre rattling echoes
Across Marmara.
Is this just more posturing
Or prelude to still more war?
Oh! That flame,
pulsing, beating,
marking time,
rising, falling
calling his name,
shouting, screaming,
chanting rhyme,
howling, yowling,
feverish pain,
living, dying,
one in the same.
Post-prandial snooze
over washes the conscious.
How to drive homeward
while fighting off this fatigue
remains a minor mystery.
Frosted leas and crystal meadows,
Naked trees and misted hollows
Greet the eyes this winter dawn.
And for the ears, an equal greeting
Crunching leaves, snow geese honking
Chittering squirrels, Peckers tonking.
The frigid bite of wind on skin,
The icy sting of wind-born flake,
These tactile gifts keep us awake.
Tangy wood smoke greets the nose
And the musk of dampened trees
Linger on within our clothes
Even though they make us sneeze.
All winter’s gifts, we welcome these.
Amistad returns
Only thirty five survive
Mutiny at sea
After running in place
for what seems like an age,
can’t I just lessen the pace
and scribble a word on this page?
Why must there always be work,
some urgently pressing demand,
a duty too vital to shirk
requiring my guiding hand?
Surely I will find some way
to invite my pen out to play
even if ending the day
I struggle for something to say!
In fact, it seems I’ve found time
to doodle this trivial rhyme.
Round, she rises, white
Illuminating the night
Reflecting daylight
When the door is closed,
What better to batter with
Than a smoked turkey?
When one feels compelled
To shout in the wilderness
At least they can rest assured
Silently felled trees will hear.
Matt and I wrote this collaborative piece. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did writing it.
As our world here, once again
quakes in apoplectic fits,
I can’t but worry, wonder when
me or mine will take a hit
yet fear can hold no place in me
as anger stews and flays
this red drop’s bliss can free my mind
if only for today
Would that we could gather ’round
some table with a Beaujolais
and drink and talk until we’ve found
some common ground, a better way
Trade swords for words, guffaw for tears
less a dream than sunny night
still my heart hopes and yearns for more
than sullen readings of last rites
We owe it to ourselves, at least,
to take the risk, to risk the pain,
to dream together, for lasting peace.
We’ve naught to lose, and much to gain.
Written by Matthew and Andy
© 2015 This Mortal Flesh
I had the extreme pleasure of…
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Poet Laureate
Torch passes to Tennysen
From William Wordsworth
New Basilica!
After thirteen hundred years,
Saint Peter’s replaced!
Unseen forces sculpt
Washboard sands and tattered skies
And carve furrows in our lives
~
Yet let’s not despair
For though the shaping’s painful
Unseen forces can repair.
Aroil in Pain 