Well, are you?
Did the news startle you
That things are a mess.
Gaza's imploding,
Palestine's exploding,
The Middle East could use some help.
In the Communist countries,
There's an electronic curtain
Keeping people out.
Planes go strangely missing
Over unknown ground;
Others don't go missing,
They're eagerly missled down.
There's millions starving
All around;
Meaningful work is hard to find,
Self-worth is in decline.
Under the steeple
There's fewer people,
But that was another time.
My bills are stacking,
We're seriously lacking
A government we can trust.
By any account, our sorry world
Is rightly ****** right up.
If you're not ******,
Then you've missed
The news at six o'clock.

I love the number three
In all its numerology.
The universe,
Yes, every atom
Builds paragons,
With protons and
ons and ons...
Three illustrates our progression
As the sum of all before.
Our music finds accord
When three notes
Blend to chord.
Love and all we deem
Of worth,
Is here,
Third planet,
Earth,
Where life gives birth
To you and I and us,
Dependant on
Animal, ore and vegetation
To ensure regeneration.
We grew, grow and nurture
In past, present and future.
Our words, thoughts and deeds
Are civilization's seeds
For a wholesome, safe and peaceful life
With Faith, Hope and Charity.
My favourite three priorities:
Andrea, Maggie and Kathleen.
Now,
With the birth of Aine,
I'm in love with four.

You said, in exasperation:
     You know what I want!
Therein lies the problem
With our relationship.
I do.

Oh, it's possible,
Life on Mars;
But sure enough,
The immigrants
Will bring
Their old world ways
With borders and fences,
Politics and crime,
Poverty and religion.
Then,
Life on Mars
Won't seem so alien.

In the dark hour
Of your soul,
When midnight's mad
Memories
Flare, and hold
The storm
Massed on your pillow,
And your eyes
Are deeply sallow,
Rest.
Breathe in.
Our wrongs and rights
Fill the nights
With silhouettes
Of what might be,
What had been.
We know
Life's rack is
Laced with phantoms.
Awakened,
We embrace
The light,
And share the struggles
Of the night.

I'm raining,
Draining with flotsam,
Washing onward
To the gutter.

I'm decomposing,
Recomposting
On the truck
To the dump.

I'm recyclable,
Reuseable.
Re-fashion me
For a different life.

A cicada shell;
it sang itself
    utterly away.

First day of spring--
I keep thinking about
    the end of autumn.