Posted on June 25, 2013April 15, 2021 To My Journalism Students: On the Subject of Truth Revamped repost She walked along the moon-lit shore And said her name was Truth She fell from lips of every bore Uncomfortable in hearts uncouth Her mistake was simply looking back To gather facts from the root But Gaining hard from tail of the pack Greed fought to neutralize truth Dressed in cloth so tailored and fine He put his minions just so Greed flashed his smile oh quite divine Promising power and gold Pledging power from uncommon seed Promises to evil flows Liquid influence; oh sweet mead The returns unchecked – grows Did greed succeed – making Truth moot? I for one won’t abide His forcible rend by nail and tooth Believing Truth is forced to hide I believe she’s on some inland street Barren of youth and sound Where life is sold to make ends meet Truth, not easily found Not in the burbs? Maybe in town Hiding in campaign lore Alley dirty, slogans all ‘round By what was a General Store I see her Dress in tatters, no sun-lit shore Can Truth hold strength to greed? Slipped the lips of too many bores Liberty, country called as creed “*How strange is the lot of … mortals” Each life, a single sojourn Dragging Truth through hideous portals Awaiting their gold – in return Where’s the country to shelter Truth? To wait Her patient assay Who sees Her rape as vile, uncouth? Beautiful mouths; adorned decay Oh for the day when Truth will rein… But truth’s always been a tool To tease and dig the lie’s huge skein Speaking power to those in rule Truth will remain abused and lost If we fail to sow her seed Grab our shovels and dirt be tossed Upon the grave of greed 0.000000 0.000000 Share this:ShareFacebookWhatsAppEmailRedditLike this:Like Loading...
Posted on June 23, 2013April 15, 2021 FULL MOON IN CANCER My upper deck yields the timeless, touchable orb Back home and sleepy I see nothing of my worries on its face My misery must be bending somewhere Kneeling, in the black gaps provided by the arbor vitae trees, in full supplication before this sweet full vanilla moon I can hear life, at the sound of my screen door closing, A darting, scattering to A lightless safety Hiding the heads of bunnies bumping together In consternation caused by The impenetrable garden fence Bunnies don’t understand the science of immutability With a lexicon fueled by the tender leaves of lettuce They barter their bodies for change Leaving me in brief study of Lorca Living life in quiet desire, burning With its greatest punishment A body in service to fear Selling remnants of material existence, but Unlike the garden-bunnies, hiding in Shadows of shame in incompleteness – Smiling from the arms of flesh 0.000000 0.000000 Share this:ShareFacebookWhatsAppEmailRedditLike this:Like Loading...