An Interlude of Logic

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barbarians at the door
their heads on backwards
gossiping with the dragonflies
they seem nice enough
ask me how I am today
but they already know
they are a little supercilious
I don’t trust them
and attempt to close the door
but the dragonflies hover
in the hinges
knowing I will not hurt them
the barbarians try to convince me
to join them on a walk
down the lane to see the fox
and to ask forgiveness
but the fault is not mine
the barbarians tell me
we are all at fault
and I can’t fault that logic
but I remain unconvinced
the barbarians screw their heads on
rightly and walk off
saying no matter
they will ask for forgiveness in my name
I watch them lumber off
the dragonflies become unhinged
and I want to follow
but I do not.

—————————

What if?

 

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what if
all the mirrors
shattered?
how would we know
who we are?

what if
no longer knowing
who we are
we get lost
in the streets
not understanding
a place called
home

what if
only those of us
with dogs
could be sure
we are someone
who knows how
to love
and be loved

what if
we knew only one
religion?
how long would it take
for judgments
to be served
cold

what if
the stars fell
at our feet
and pleaded
for compassion
would we kick them
in the arse?

Blue-Winged Birds

©Tarawinoa

©Tarawinoa

 

 

 

In these tired walls
blue-winged birds flutter
unceasing
in their lament
calling us to task
for deeds done
for words divined
for neglect and abandonment

A sapphire feather
tumbles
out the peephole
my breath moves it
to a safe place
calling into question
our duties to each other
how much guilt
do we bear

Double-winged dragonflies
never alight
but soar and plummet
stunt riders fearless
in a mindless pursuit
to mindfulness
misguided instinct
is all we have

When I listen to the blue-winged birds
I feel the heat
of this life
burn my insides
branding me
and to all the psychologists
who say it is pointless
I say fuck you

A long time ago I lost someone
when it happens again
as it will
the blue-winged birds
will turn scarlet with shame

——————–

Too Old

 

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He’s not my type
besides he has six girlfriends.

So which is it?
he’s not your type or
he has six girlfriends?

He doesn’t have six girlfriends
they’re only friends
you know, platonic.

Why do you say
he has six girlfriends
if he doesn’t, actually?

When you’re of a certain age
you look around
and you see things that aren’t there –
for you.

Like what?

Love.

Are you too old to be loved?

I am.

Do you never notice the deep purple hydrangeas,
the heads of your foes
bobbing at the window?

Do you not weep with mothers in wind-blown small towns
accepting delivery of flag-draped coffins?

Do you not rejoice when you wake to the harmony
of the songbirds at your windowsill on a summer morning?

Do you not shout and pound your fists on the floor
when you hear of a woman raped the next street over
or 10,000 miles away in a far off land?

I do all of that and more.

Then do not say to me you are too old.
Say to me the world is still young
shot full with promise.

Illogic

 

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barbarians at the door
their heads on backwards
gossiping with the dragonflies
they seem nice enough
ask me how I am today
but they already know
they are a little supercilious
I don’t trust them
and attempt to close the door
but the dragonflies hover
in the hinges
knowing I will not hurt them
the door stays open
the barbarians try to convince me
to join them on a walk
down the lane to see the fox
and to ask forgiveness
but the fault is not mine
the barbarians tell me
we are all at fault
and I can’t fault that logic
but I remain unconvinced
the barbarians screw their heads on
rightly and walk off
saying no matter
they will ask for forgiveness in my name
I watch them lumber off
then the dragonflies become unhinged
and I want to follow
but I do not.

 

 

Spectre

 

 

My backyard...

My backyard…

 

 

 

Nearly a month until summer,

and already a heat wave.

Ripples of warmth rise from the vineyard

like a mirage one sees in movies.

I imagine ghosts, spirits, spectres.

 

Twelve years I have lived among these vines.

Three pets lay buried, deep in the dust:

two cats and a much beloved dog.

I watch the wrinkles of air

and imagine the dry bones as a fine powder

rising heavenward, if there is a heaven

though I truly doubt there is.

 

If there is a heaven it is populated

by animals, and children, playing..

an adult free zone.

Not even a Mother Teresa deserves an

eternal reward, don’t you agree?

More likely we return to right all our wrongs.

 

Great clouds of dust rise in the hot breeze.

I can smell it. It smells like money.

Thin tendrils of springtime vines rise

heavenward, toward the sun.

They are rewarded for their adoration

with fat red grapes bursting with sugar.

 

Where once apple orchards thrived

rooting the soil, feeding children, now

Grapes ferment into dark bottles of money.

and the unfettered soil lifts and is borne

many miles into the spectre of a future

governed by the dry bones of sacrifice.

 

 

Otherwise

 

Fairgoers cheer for Sarah Palin Credit: Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

Fairgoers cheer for Sarah Palin
Credit: Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

 

 

The Age of Ignorance by Charles Simic

—————————–

Many otherwise intelligent people
are stupid.
What does that make them?
Idiot savants?
They might be good at their job,
might even be good at parenting,
might go out of their way to aid a stranger.

 
They are otherwise good people,
while lacking any understanding
of the greater picture of their own interests.
They proceed in their daily lives
believing what they are told
by unscrupulous sources, bent
on manipulation.

 
Otherwise intelligent people
care only that they are viewed
as nice
as helpful
as caring.
They are all of these things.
And they are stupid.

 
Otherwise caring people
believe the lies they are spoon fed.
The information age is a misnomer.
Piece of cake, easy-peasy to seek the truth.
But these otherwise nice people don’t do it.
Because they are nice.
They wouldn’t do anything or believe anything
that seems uncaring.

 
It is the only way to get through the drudgery
of their lives
believing they are happy, caring people.
Many otherwise lovely, friendly, charismatic
people – are stupid.
__________________________

 

The Age of Ignorance by Charles Simic