“True Enough, the Politicians Sigh”
True enough, the politicians sigh, elections foil
Attempts to rectify the situation leaving choices
Fit for fools and all solutions moot, their voices
Shrill, and rarely if at all do waters yield and boil
At temperatures that formerly marked
The limits of glory’s shores. Even as we speak the seas
Have rushed the gates where now the rivers bleed,
And Arctic glaciers once so permanent, so parked
Reveal the reason for which Greenland was sired
And in the time of ancient Viking sagas so aptly named.
Nothing’s new that was not there before the present maimed
And mauled, reframed, and rearranged, frayed and admired
Its tasteless tableaux in conspicuous waste
to the end that no one breathes
A word who is not cursed or blessed while all the azure planet grieves.
Posted in Arctic glaciers, Bigotry, Caesar, Competition, Greenland, Iceland, Masks, Media, News Media, Poetry, Politicians, Politics, Pride, Promises, Sagas, Sea, Tableaus, Vikings
Tagged Delusion, Double Sonnet, Ecology, Economics, End Times, Illusion, Lyric Poetry, poetry, Politics, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife, Tragic Flaw
…just a little nostalgia… In my mind’s eye, occasionally, I travel back to the last school in which I taught for so many years…my old room, Room 461…and…used my key―coded red―to take a look…. The room belongs to someone else now, but the class…they are still who they were when I left them…and I’m exactly who I was when the time came to leave the lion’s den for the last time; something about alergies and cats….
“The Key Is Coded Red”
The key is coded red, the lock submits,
The door is opened with the slightest turn;
And while the keys are dangling, a lightning burn
On fingers where the knuckle hits
The doorjamb, there because the knob’s
Still too close to the frame and nicks’re
Inevitable once a week. Nothing’s changed. The flicker
Of morning lights―in winter, more like blobs
Of dawn―to make the classroom bright, and there they are!
The chairs atop the desks to aid the man
Who sweeps at night and empties all the cans:
Now I set me down to teach with last night’s marks,
And there and then, and once again I think it’s time I looked
For something more in this than merely facing lions armed with books.
Posted in Age, Aging, Apostrophes, Classroom nostalgia, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Nostalgia, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tableaus, Teacher, Teachers, Teaching
Tagged Aging, Emotion, Lyric Poetry, Relationships, Sonnet, Sonnets