Author Archives: Mike Falconer

After a career in the entertainment lighting business encompassing, sales, technical support, marketing, photography, and writing, I now manage and market veterinary hospitals.

Dreams on an Airplane

Pressure, Gravity, Acceleration
pushed deep into a cheap seat

Awareness, Fear, Acceptance
skimming through streets
bystanders scattering for cover

A Death Plane, Eyes Closed, Fait Accompli
walking through a well dressed funeral
a crowded side walk with sports memorabilia
seats reclining
punch line from a chapter

A Bombing Run, Machines Embracing, A Past Future

awake

splash of reality

return to equilibrium

but the haunting
the memories of absurdity
destined to linger
real in moments past

dreams on an airplane
unrestful ghosts of travel
recalling sleep to fill time
and occupying thoughts far beyond.

Image by Sofia Correa Acosta

Ships

To not be seen again
A tall ship of majesty and poise
A crows nest for unseen rings
Bonding with a discourse of the professional
And the personal
Listing together with what is undeniable
Or imaginary

But there it ends
And the darkness is what darkness does
Dreams and future promises
Not worth the paper they are not written on
Farewell to what never was
A mast disappearing over the horizon
An afternoon like the blackest of nights.

Image by Vicki Hamilton from Pixabay

Polite Dismissive Neutral

Not wanting the black hat
From a pit of the worst instincts
A stripping away of civility
Rage from the dark
Intoxication from bile and venom

Not wanting to be the bad guy
The gentle soul one pretends to
Left beaten and bleeding by the roadside
Violence of personality
Leading to the doubt of one’s ethical narrative

Not wanting the feature of rudeness
Chafing at rules and policies
Ego inflation and what one feels one deserves
Polite, dismissive, neutral
Jousting with the insincerity of over politeness

Not wanting to need reciprocity
The drive for vengeance on those less than deserving
Not exactly the innocent or blameless
But undeserving of spite and smite
And the out of control vitriol

Not wanting to hold onto the grudge
To rebuild over spans burned to ash
To let go, to forgive, to forget
A prayer to one’s better instincts
Treat as to be treated

Not wanting to be angry any more.

Image by Artie_Navarre from Pixabay

The In-Between

Trying too hard
To be what others want you to be
Rejection via email
And uncomfortable silence

Don’t push, don’t push
Change the narrative
Explore other expressions
But this is what I want

And so, to putter
To look for forward motion
While traveling in reverse
The in-between state

But when the lights are off
And the only things in thought
What only confesses to oneself
The unattainable goals of dreams

The secret heart of every poet
The quest for the great American poem
Cliché and rhyme
Of status and decline

However, the lands of angels and demons
Are not for wishes and horses
To work, to grind
A return to creation, any creation

There is value in process
In the body of work
Context equals understanding
Therefore, words are worlds

Explore as you will.

Dead Letters from the Apocalypse Society

Accuser of the brethren
What is here for me is what has gone before
From a time of desktop publishing
I absolve you of memory
But condemn myself to obsession

The slaughterhouse and the joy to burn
Dead letters from the apocalypse society
These are the peaks in the deluge
But there are those that drown in nostalgia
Maudlin, the fatigue of future past

Rage, putrefaction
Pain and the forgotten
The season of the dark
Dreams of end times
Love poems to loss

Hippos are more dangerous than lions
Old science fictions masquerading as progress
Tales of working-class dystopia
Lessons never learned from a lack of hope
I see you, yet I choose the ignorance of the times.

Farm Americana

A demographic vision of plans within plans
We of Farm Americana
Those who reject history and all that
Although we have learned subtlety

The planting of a crop
The harvesting of generations
A game of numbers and influence
A return to hegemony

Master, chattel, indenture, serf
Slavery is such an ugly word
Truth to behold
History is deeds not words

A consequence of meritocracy
The realization of lacking of a class
Opportunity and hope for all
But not for a base disadvantaged by those with pretensions to lead

And so to farm
To change the playing field of birth and death
Our stemming of the tide
A devising myth of our own creation

Nothing so crass as Atwood’s visions
At least not yet
But isn’t that the point?
Distraction and alternative truths for those who fail to scratch

This is a rooster call
There is no farm without complicity
The middle ground is no ground at all
It moves beneath feet that were never that steady

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.