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


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



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