Daisies of Fukushima, borrowed from the interwebz
the grey men called and want their money
only it’s a phish scam from India
not that it’s much different
from the taxman in DC who penned the 2,600 page tax code
(more or less, and not
the 70,000 claimed by a certain right
wing think-tank) – but voluminous nonetheless
– their money, my time –
the premise of all sovereigns
but it wasn’t fear
of threatened jail time
that kept me on the phone
just the knowledge that I owe
according to the System.
but anyways, beware of anyone
who calls and threatens you
with prison or such nonsense
for past-due taxes
even though tax IS the way
they got Capone
because the IRS doesn’t call
and offer advice; they mail
or just show up
to remind you
July Get Listed prompt in the imaginary garden with real toads, inspired by the Beatles’ Taxman
I steal from those before me
draping words like thin wool
around the bony shoulders of belief,
casting them aside with scalding anger,
wrapping tighter in the chill of solitude,
paraphrasing when lazy
or googling when not.
Neil deGrasse Tyson says his philosophy is to learn
more about the world than he knew yesterday
and to lessen the suffering of others.
I’ll slip that in my pocket.
Some unknown giant noted that you are a ghost
driving a meat covered skeleton
made from stardust: what do you have to be scared of?
Dr. Michelle Thaller slyly smiled:
we are dead stars
looking back up at the sky.
But I wonder:
we came into this world bathed in meconium and blood,
naked but for love (if we were lucky)
and will let slip a final sigh
with not a single pocket sewn into our skin.
at dVerse, Brian Miller returns (pops in?) from sabbatical with a
4th anniversary prompt on philosophy.
Kingsnake eating a Rattlesnake, image (c) Patrick Briggs
eye-level with the counter, dust
– the rain of sloughed skin – accumulates
for we are all kin
to snakes even if they eschew our kinship
for who would claim that? not the air
gritted from our fumes
nor earth, emptied of her riches
to adorn our cracked (sur)faces
– no, only we claim
separation based on skin
Flash 55 Plus, in the imaginary garden with real toads, where Kerry reminds us to remember Dante y Dante
no infringement intended
did you hear?
mother was right:
thou shalt not hate
was missing from the old man’s list –
so we’ll hand this
to history’s ashes.
now, that fire in two hearts
regardless of plumbing flow
can stand, altared,
though standing alone is no guarantee –
but who am I
to stand in the way
when others are pulled
to give what they have?
exactly 60 for
Words Count with Mama Zen, in the imaginary garden with real toads.
Note: today, the US Supreme Court struck down laws prohibiting equal protection under the law – in this case, those against marriage equality. Justice Kennedy wrote the
majority decision, the final paragraph of which will be quoted for years to come. In their dissents, Justices Scalia and especially Justice Thomas resorted to some … curious … twists of ‘logic’.
no infringement intended
these are the pictures of hate
though I will not show them
since your hate differs from mine
as your love differs from mine.
but fear? picture
the same hue for everyone:
what flows inside
jaded skin remains red
as dusk on a hot day:
how our jagged breathing fights the air;
how our eyes scurry;
how we feel our minds narrowing
to a point, like a star imploding
under the weight of all it’s absorbed
until no longer can it support the light –
that’s the same color
beneath every skin.
so I ask you
to look at all the pictures of this:
I do not know
and you don’t know
so we don’t know
how it started
or if we can change how it ends
Fireblossom Friday: Picture This, in the imaginary garden with real toads.
offered to dVerse
Open Link Night 151, hosted by Mary
Note: yesterday, a racist terrorist murdered 9 people in a church in Charleston, South Carolina. The Confederate flag (a symbol of slavery) still waves,
full staff, over the State House. A state Senator was among the victims. In the US, traditionally the flag is lowered to half-staff during times of mourning.
nothing of your touch
not your silk lips
your petal fingertips
not your bubble laugh,
the curve of your half
hip against the counter,
your subtle saunter,
half hundred books – more –
sharing the shelf with Buddha
and his Mona Lisa mouth.
peonies last only so long
dear, but you –
you’re no flower
Flash 55, (minus the plus) in memory of the G-man, and sideways to Susie’s Floral Explosion prompt, in the imaginary garden with real toads
love, hesitant, is ever caught
not by her alone, or by him
when trepid feet are what they’ve got
and brightest ardor fades to dim.
where went the sun? here, in the shade
the light will dribble out. it goes
down the path like deer from a glade
leave the meadow behind and flows
in trickles, truth drying to lies
while pulsing hearts callous to stone
and their gripped love loosens and dies
like a rung bell fading its tone
or water wrung from blackened lawn –
hesitant love, we learn, is gone
Bout-Rimés Sunday challenge, in the imaginary garden with real toads