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We, the People

Endless Road

On display, for all the world to see.

Scribed in blood upon the stretched flesh

of the oppressed. Freely given,

though seldom recognized.

 

Children flock to see me in bright yellow busses.

Foreigners muse over me as a novel concept,

with noses held high. Enemies gnaw at me from

within, like plague-ridden rats.

 

Still, I remain.

Battered, yet unbroken.

Perfect? Not even close.

Timeless? No, but living.

 

Slowly dying of neglect.

Watching the blood of innocents flood our streets

as I wait patiently for a transfusion.

A firm hand, the quill awaits.

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Dissonance

In concentric rows they sit,

stand, and display their wildfire

red or tsunami blue plumage

strutting and posing, posturing, like so many

magnificent birds

in heat.

 

“Look at me!” “Look at me!” They beg

through veneered smiles. Professing truths

with fork-ed tongues.

Forming committees to form

committees. Planning meetings to plan

meetings. Conducting hearings

about the hearings. All-the-while, throwing

shade with sideways glances

as they stamp

out Progress.

 

The Earth spins, the seasons pass,

crops and wars come

and go

like ant-hill dictators.

Currency, their Commander,

Personal Gain,

their Objective.

 

The Five Hundred and Thirty-Eight—

this is their Thermopylae.

A Spartan, each they see,

beholding the mirror.

The paper piles high

in the wake

of Battle.

 

Behold the great deeds.

Proclaim the accomplishments.

Praise the mighty as they

trample

each

other.

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Election Jazz: The Reds and the Blues

Who is to blame for the mess we are in?
Hatred, Strife, Economics, Spin.
Maybe we ourselves hold blame!
Closed-mindedness, zero-sum games.
Perhaps the issue should instead be,
“What does it take to set us free
From fear and doubt and dishonesty?”

Once again America Plebiscites-
In folksy language, we fuss and fight.
Back and forth the political tug-of-war,
No one really wins when everyone is sore.
For “election have consequences” still holds true-
Though political spoils of war make us raw and bruised,
And to our chagrin no election is ever through!

The loser gets ready for shifting political winds,
And the strategy for the next election already begins.
Though the winner seems happy, on closer inspection,
They are already fundraising for their re-election.
The electorate only has itself to blame,
Selecting the same old people for the same old game,
This outcome has become the object of shame.

With empty promises that we continue to buy,
Politicians are incentivized to lie.
We the people keep stuffing the box
For the candidate promising us the fattest ox
With voters on the take, bad fiscal policy begins
As democracy’s life approaches its ends
Didn’t we ramble, with the Saints Marching in?

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Tribes

Gate to Seoul

The World is full of tribes
Some come riding in on horseback with a sickle sword and a compound bow
Others sit in the halls of governance and plot the destruction of their foe at the ballot box
Some cluster in cloisters under the tallest of white steeples or golden domes
Still others fight as talking heads on syndicated airwaves
The tribe never leaves us- cannot leave us
We are the tribes, and we are many

The world is full of tribes
As the Arab proverb goes
“Me against my brother
Me and my brother against my cousin
These three against our village
Our village against the world”

The world is full of tribes
The concept brings us together as community
The concept tears us apart as outsiders
We do horrendous things to our fellow humans
In the name of our tribe
For the good of the tribe we make sacrifices
For the good of the tribe we sacrifice others

The world is full of tribes
They define us
They defile us
They mobilize us
They paralyze us
In the end all they are is us

Perhaps one day, when we sail the celestial seas,
We will see how small and weak the tribes are
And how strong the individual can be
Perhaps one day we will see the end of internecine tribal wars
Perhaps one day we will see that there is only one tribe
Humanity bleeding the same blood
In the same house
On the same cosmic ark
Hurling, spinning through the void

Until the Worlds are full of tribes