A Return

An uphill struggle on uneven ground
Familiar, but out of reach recollection
Ideas that have no place or soil
To be strange in a stranger land

The forgiveness of novelty value
Paying the dues of lost time
The temerity of escape and change
But the welcome of failure

A return to homeostasis
With the untrusted eyes of an outsider
The pointlessness of make work
Does not reduce the struggle or achievement

“You can never return home”
A mantra for those building Babel
Toil and creation, motive and myth
The hill has still to be climbed and overcome

One doesn’t traffic in redemption

Summer Rain

Rain
Rain
Rain

The whisper on the lips of desert dwellers
A sky blue black bruised like a threat in a bar
The side street flooding showing how few blocked drains we are from disaster

Flood channels become rivers
Rather than arteries of action movie tropes
The detritus of fragile growth
Slick the roads with vegetation mash

Thankful for the water
Like the believers of old
A temporary reprieve from the inevitable
Like the relief from the heat

What the rest of the world takes for granted
Is viewed through eyes of disaster tourism
The city the butt of jokes
And apocalyptic memes

Roofs built for sun, leak
A sunshine playground floods
Water in the sports book and on the casino floor
Instagram worthy amusement at the misfortune of the profitable

Tomorrow, the sky and sun will return
But for tonight the smell of clean
Cold experience and damp
Transportation to another world

For a day.

Living in Shadow

There are lots of rules
He tells me what to do
And when
I don’t always remember
Or listen
Distraction and excitement

He loves me, I think
I love him, and not just for the omnipotence
Our routine and stability
What’s not to love?
Of course there are disappointments

And there is anger
But I am always forgiven
Perhaps a sign of control
Of trying to understand all the words
Trying to understand the world

Yet, I yearn for adventure
The secure and safe kind
The kind I can retreat from at will
Faux risk and bravado

But he knows best
My emotions and desires get the better of me
We are not known for our self control
A road to self destruction
Trust, up to a point
As much trust as I can muster

Bland food and bland days
Sleep and keeping myself amused
There are times I am not a priority
And I get that
I understand my privileges
Although I don’t always like the state of affairs

His need and vulnerabilities can be unnerving
I can’t fill all the gaps in a life
From the shadows
But I can defend the home from all enemies
both foreign and domestic
Or give it my best shot

He is my human
This one is mine.

A Number

Elasticity
Cause for celebration
Cause for regret
Change
The child I am
The child I was
The betrayal of the body
Non reflective of mind
The betrayal of the mind
Fear
Forward stumbling of numbers
Perspective
Recollection
Predilection
Reconciliation
Acceptance
We all die
Time
Passage and gone by
The mile marker years
Childhoods end
Virginity
Drinking age
The geographical
Crisis of early middle age
Marriage
Betrayal
Divorce
Move
Move again
Home
The loss of youth reflected in the faces of the young
The missed
The regrets
The mistakes
The bridges burned
Moments of focus and pedestal
Forks in the road
Blades of decision
An irrevocable cut
Blood under fingernails
Measure
Landmark
Imprint
Motion
Commotion
To settle
To compromise
Old
Age is but a number
Except to those experiencing it
Acceptance
Rage
A fate understood
The present informs the past
An unreliable narrator
Memory
Horror
The weight of the wait

With Sorrow We Dissent

A country that fails its people
A court with no black robes – only red and blue ones
A tale of Handmaids
Less rights than that of a rotting corpse
Or a gun

A clock setback 50 years
A leap along the road to theocracy
Never about life
Only ever about control
And division

Humans control their own reproduction
Woman are not livestock
Or incubators
A place as second class citizens is not an aspiration
No blame for crawling into bed to forget about this day

However empathy, responsibility, and strength
I see every woman taking the knee during the national anthem
A nation that targets its citizenry does not deserve to be worshiped
The snowflakes warn that winter is coming
With sorrow we dissent.

The Offering

I carry my burden
My belief for those who came before
Those who give freedom through bondage
I come to sacrifice

We crawl on our bellies
Willingly to give blood to stones
Call me zealot, call me monster
My faith has a foundation of innocents

Who are you to criticize?
My god is a vengeful god
And my beliefs only need be acceptable to me
Rage, rage against the dying if you must

The cruelty of an altar of souls
I am absolved from damnation
A damnation I may deserve
But my thoughts and prayers are all

While I watch those around me eat themselves
Gordian knots of hand wringing and impotence
I remain a humble servant
With velvet rope predilections

And so my atonement is of others to give
The blood of those most dear
The pain of my belief and righteousness
A burden that grows heavier with every loss

But I, of the exceptional and chosen
My choice is my eucharist
My god is my absolution
You are my penance – the price I am prepared to pay.

A Man of the People

A mask for fish and ponds
Nature of belonging and brand
Always the wronged and a glass half full
Leveraging the good will of strangers
The trail of the fallen, left behind

Selfies with a crowd of unknowns
Everyone’s best friend
A man of the people
Standing in the ruins of my failures
A reminder of what is not to be

Onwards like iron sulfide
Words are cheap and easy
Food for thought but not of sustenance
Bonds to be unbound
A con hidden by feature and fluff

Disappointment by courtesy
There is no we without me
No myth without belief
Manipulation is a retrospective
Viewed with the dispassion of outsider status

There are no coincidences
You owe me nothing other than disillusion
In spades I repay and endure
Angels are but demons though eyes of a beholder
Always a better option, except in the dark

I am but petty and vindictive
Loyalty and foresight are golden idolatry
Don’t ask for blessings that stink of comprise and cowardice
Measure what matters even when eyes are closed

The darkness is of my indulgence
A lack of probity
Masquerading as integrity
A moral compass bereft through a lens of familiarity
The devil smiles; wild, reckless, and self-indulgent.

I am for you to abandon
And likewise, I pick my poisons
We can agree to disagree except by logic
What one feels is still loss
However, we have each broached what can’t be undone

Finding What Touches Your Soul

What makes the difference between one day and the next?
There is more to life than work, even when there’s not
What can you be passionate about without being all consuming?
Finding what touches your soul

Passions are not about ability
They are about drive
They are about the motivation to create meaning
Work, of course, can always be a passion
But does passion pay the bills?
Should it ever need to?

We may delude ourselves into feeling that to have a successful career – we need to be passionate
That we need to be all invested
To the exclusion of all the else
To emulate the master of the universe with their latest autobiography
To do so risks their fate;
Their lives, their liberty, their reputation, the ultimate emptiness of their passions

Is accomplishment enough?
Making others miserable, or the exploitation of others, is not a passion to emulate
Or a very good excuse

An argument is to be made that careers are about compromise
About finding what works for circumstance
To not be passionate, does not begat a lack or concern
We can’t all be passionate about all that we do
All of the time

The expectation, is unrealistic
Regardless if we are talking about others or ourselves
Cut yourself a break
Don’t believe your own press
Or the Instagram posts of others

How does one find a passion?
How does a passion find you?
Will it be a picture of altruism and selflessness
Will it be pure creation or performance
A hobby, a pastime, a person, a pet
We define that passion as much as it will ultimately define us

And as if to surprise you, along comes that passion
That other interest
The thing that can put work and career into relief
And bring you the same

We often cannot see the label on the outside of our jar
A kind word, an insightful comment
Can hold a mirror up
And penetrate the fog of the overly familiar

For me, it is the gift that COVID gave
Introspection and a void to fill
For me it’s words, which some might call poetry
A word that causes as much discomfort in me as is probably does to you right now
Sorry it’s the only one that fits

An outlet for emotion and thought
An exploration of love, loss, life and death
And of course dogs, there are always dogs

The words that fit best are their own passion
Whether these are them
Is not for me to say
Only for me to believe in
Passions are for oneself

If others find value in them, so much the better.

A Fit of Pique

On lockdown orders we crawled into our houses
With our stacks of toilet paper and hand sanitizer
Our streaming TV and TikTok
And we died in there
Like badgers gassed in our burrows

When our ghosts emerged, they tried to imitate the world as it had been
To make things right and whole
But it was the shell of a world
And all the pretending would not fix what had been

The people could no longer talk to each other
What was effortless and simple
Was now difficult and complicated
Reason was gone
Replaced with with emotion and vitriol
A species at war with itself and the idea of civility

The longer we pretended, the more wrong it all felt
The more our world decayed and broke down around us
Longing for the good old days
When the days were not what had left
The dead have no momentum

And while there was nobody to eulogize the human race
The ghosts of lockdown went on with the pretense
Any excuse for emotion and connection
Even the bad, the negative, and the toxic

You never know what you’ve lost until it’s gone
This was never more true than for human beings
Not the death of a society but the death of society
A race too stupid to know that the end had come and gone

The putrefaction extended to truth and the sense of right and wrong
No need for justice when entertainment rules
Faces illuminated by the detritus from the websites of billionaires
Dreaming of walking in shopping malls like the Dawn of the Dead
A fit of pique inheriting the earth at the end of days

Agents of White Supremacy

The Agents of white supremacy
Not always the idiots with bed sheets over their heads
and holes for eyes
Not always the ones with swastikas on their arms
And tiki torches in their hands

Everyday normal people
With jobs, children, and even friends of color
Some like Disney, self-love, and confidence
Some like everything gold
And the adoration of those they can’t stand

The Agents of white supremacy in the house next door
The ones who make jokes in hushed tones
With furtive glances over shoulders
The Karen in the parking lot, having a bad day
The secretive text messages starting with “I’m not a racist”
And ending with the ever so subtle “white power”

The all lives matter counter slogan
Invalidating all meaning with spurious comparisons
And the support for state sponsored execution with “if they’d only comply”
Apportioning blame, and guilt, without any attempt at equivalency
The belief in lies peddled as entertainment

It is all the failure
The failure to acknowledge the problem
The inadequacy of words in a poem
Like the words of police chiefs and politicians
The words of old white guys
Too little, too late, and not often enough

Inspired by, and based on, a TikTok by @tizzyent