Unsteady Seas

 

Cautious,

but steady,

on rollicking seas of distrust,

I try to steady my sea-legs

against the violent surf,

and raging upheaval

of the changing tides.

 

The horizon is coming

into view, the landscape

looks less craggy and alien

than it did before,

as there’s gentle ports and

safe passage when we go ashore,

to survey the land.

 

A nauseous sort of optimism

is starting to bubble in my

belly, as if, maybe, through all

these troubles and tribulations,

there will be peace on the land

and plenty restored to those

that are wanting.

 

The Captain made a course

correction, and the ship seems

to be righting, there’s less mutinous

looks on the faces of the crew,

less sailors looking for the

lifeboats.

Yet still, cautious eyes.

 

The ceaseless storms

are slowly breaking and

Sunlight is barely streaming through,

spangled light, dappling

across the still rough seas,

but a break nonetheless,

from the pitching and rolling.

 

The winds smoother and steady,

not rageful and hateful,

not tearing the sails from their ropes

and masts, an uncharacteristic

calm, but welcome,

till we make shore.

We’ll see if there’s treasure on the beach.

It's Always Been Here

 

I’m perplexed when people

say, “there’s no place for

violence in our politics,”.

Because I’ve seen that

to be wholly untrue.

 

American history is rife

with acts of political violence,

since we were founded.

All kinds of beatings and shootings,

fires and tragedies have been political.

 

We can certainly condemn

political violence,

but that doesn’t seem to make it

go away.

It’s still there.

 

War is merely politics

by another means,

so politics itself is

inherently violent and

combative.

 

Anytime you pit one

ideology against another,

there’s the possibility

of violence, it’s as common

as a cold.

 

In 1856, Preston Brooks of South Carolina

beat Senator Charles Sumner of Massachusetts,

with a cane on the Senate floor because he disagreed with

Mr. Sumner’s unflattering characterizations

and devotion to the anti-slavery movement.  

 

It was condemned

but nothing changed,

the Civil War still happened,

Lincoln was still assassinated

several years later.

 

Condemnation is clearly

not sufficient to calm the

already ragged nerves of the

populace. 

A new affirmation of Anti-violence

must be made.

 

Or at lease everyone

needs to calm the hell

down and look with rational

eyes on the serious problems

we’re facing and determine a

cooperative path forward.  

 

Political violence indeed,

has no place in our Democracy,

trouble is…

it’s already here, and has been,

for a long time.

 

 

Cynical Dreaming

 

This collective dreaming,

about a Country,

an idealistic eutopia of

Voltaire’s imagination,

are platitudes to

conceal the illusion

of choice.

 

Dreams,

are not real;

only reality is real,

or I used to think so,

anyway. Until things

became unreal.

 

I am not dreaming

about a country,

unified against tyranny,

or a country of underdogs,

yearning to breathe freely,

in one deep sigh.

 

I am dreaming of fires,

set by zealots, acolytes

of personality cults,

running through the streets,

exclaiming how they are

the truest of citizens and

they will have the blood of

those who are not.

 

I fear Kings, Dictators,

and Fanatics, whom I thought were

only puffs of nightmare dreams

in America, but now

I am afraid of the dreams

and get little sleep under the

blanket of freedom.

 

I dream differently.

Unsettled, tossing and

turning, in anxious,

Cold War sweats

of my youth.

Cynical of Dreaming.