ANXIETY, A POEM

by Writer from the Margin on September 30, 2016

In need of a foothold, Anxiety, fidgety,
drops to our feet, pecking the ground nervously. 
The earth trembles, the invisible clouds
cover the sun. Anxiety, wide winged, once
gnawed at the immortal liver of a god,
relentless; but our anxiety resembles
no other life forms. It’s not an eagle, noble;
nor are we gods, impoverished. Anxiety’s a child,
the homunculus in each of us, without content,
but never content, restless, in need of perch, preferring
the seed of even the smallest discontent to peace.

 

RUBBER BOOTS, PART I

August 25, 2016
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We are busy building things. We upend something old to build something new and the transition area is called the construction site. What better place to look for evidence of our habits.

To begin…

AT DUSK, A POEM

July 16, 2016

Always around this time, July, the fireflies or lighting bugs begin drifting through the evening space flaring up ever so gently. It’s festive, yet quiet. A mystery, still, that an organism so small can be seen from so far. They bring down the stars in the universe to settle for a time in the intimate night air we walk through, the cosmos brought down to a size more familiar.

To begin…

THE BOTTLE AND THE BROOM

July 3, 2016
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This will be the first in the series, The Evidence of Human Activity. Homo sapiens is a remarkable species, leaving evidence of its passing wherever it goes. In the days before plastic, to find evidence of our ancestors was special, the burial flowers at Shanidar, the tessera in the basilica at Aqueleia, the arrow heads and pewter ware in Jamestown. Now it is rare not to see someone’s remains wherever we go, our pastime tossed from windows of passing car, our newspapers and candy wrappers, our see-through sandwich bags, Styrofoam cups, plastic straws. . . But George Carlin was right, Earth doesn’t give a hoot about our plastic whirlpools in the mid Pacific. It’s the same effluvium of both cosmic and tellurian sources. But it’s our esthetic that hurts, the understanding that we must see ourselves in the evidence of our endless consumption, our souls in a trash can speculorum.

To begin…

LA PRIMAVERA

June 22, 2016
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Summer arrived yesterday. The full flush of dark green now prevails. A month ago it was different. Even the evergreens feel the tidal shifts loosing old needles, dabbing the face with green rouge.

To begin…

THE INNOCENCE, A POEM

June 8, 2016

The struggle between good and evil continues, and the definition of each depends on what we believe. The Writer creeps back toward the beginning, the beginning of individual time, to find the original optimism that gave him the desire to step into the here and now.

To begin…

IN THE MIRROR, A POEM

April 30, 2016

The pain and suffering throughout the world is showing no signs of letting up. The individual can’t stem the tide of a humanity gone mad. But the individual can make personal choices. To either stoke the fires of greedy hatred or feed those within reach through love. Only the brave choose love.

To begin…