Lights at the end of the Tunnel

I wonder if you had been frightened staring down the barrelĀ of a dark tunnel

Now and again, I sneak a peak to where you have gone

I grance and wonder

had the bleak scope made an impact

Did you understand where you stood

had those faint and painful smiles been a matter of what we have always done?

Lying there with your god and your rosaries had there been relief or repentence?

Tunnels have a way of squeezing out the memories

Memories, so long over looked.

In the end of your travels could you stop worrying about that which has not happened yet?

I thought like you…I had been raised to

Not once did the light at the end of the tunnel open up to anything new

Glancing up and around, and threw, as you did, could there ever be all that you wanted to do

These Were the Days

these were the days

a walk through the park to find school

where you did not look like me and that was cool

when a cross is what you wore

how being poor meant you want…needed…more

hatred was a myth and true love was not a choice of sides

living in a rural community came with a deep sense of pride

Nixon had been a joke

our leaders were encourage to enhance hope

these were the days where my peers had a right to be wrong

when constriction left quickly but humbly asked to belong

all eyes were open to all colors

there were three channels and nothing on

these were the days when information did not make me cry

where believing had not left me wondering a collective why

when violence had not been given a side

No photo description available.

Masks

Goddess…

Grant me the serenity to change the things I cannot change

The courage to change the things I can

And, the wisdom to know the difference

https://www.cdc.gov/

Americans are increasingly adopting the use of cloth face masks to slow the spread of COVID-19, and the latest science may convince even more to do so.

Rhetoric

Crevices surround my veins…there is no glory here

Such as the rust from falling leaves

I would use my words

I recognize my words

My words do not recognize me

This inner rhetoric can be severe hanging like a web in the wind

Now and again, I am but a stranger with spindled oaky hands

remembering what is left of this land

Something is Coming Toward Us – Alli Warren

Flaunting in the atrium, ostentatious at the gates
I saw a shooting star thru a window on Alcatraz Ave
& cladding struck up against those who demand
We stomach the stick and tend the commode
They’re selling trees in the paint store! trees in the paint store
Datebook chips in the soft skin of our wrists
On NBC, CNN, and NPR broken windows are weeping
We’ll have 35 apples and shrieking in the thickets
Aloft in the air golden and golden the dial among the mounds
So much is stunted in understanding of what a light can be
They storm the scrimmage line and clear-cut bran and germ
We want the petal unto itself, the unalterable vessel
The arc end of the precipice grows 1.9% annually
What was popular music like before the crisis?