Angles…

I am at all angles–

Acutely distressed

By those in the “right”

When clearly,

They are being obtuse.

To what degree 

Must I speak

To be plainly heard?

Turning circles,

Those round-a-bout hurdles,

Is just as frustrating

As miscalculations

And ill-derived math.

This type of revolution 

Was not the revelation I sought.

Revelation

–C. Green

Though Distant…

Dig you a trench,

And bury your brothers in war.

Decimate climates of peace;

Call every innocent, whore.

Wage every day

What your ravenous soul craves,

And watch fools become martyrs,

Kings crowned from jesters and knaves.

Squander their time,

Should our children survive.

Sell their inheritance and health

Before they’re of mind…

To know what you have taken.

Beware, the rustling

Of defiant stares.

The whisper of leaves

Grows louder than bombs in the air.

Do you hear it?

Though distant,

It is the sound of elections

With inflections of hope.

–C. Green

Distant

Give Me a Reprieve

Give me a reprieve

From the depths of extremes.

Death is too great a price…

Render payment as children bleed?

What belief would take so deep a cut,

Wreak chaos from concert, turn lyrics to loss?

What landlord would consign

His tenants to grave and shallow plots?

Not mine, not mine.

I cannot sign this contract.

C. Green

Reprieve

(Acts of terrorism weigh heavily on our collective minds, again… Manchester. Let us teach our children empathy. Educate, not indoctrinate, the masses so that citizens grow into adulthood knowing how to articulate disagreements and philosophical arguments through rational communication… not violent outbursts and displays of disregard for life.)

I Ache…

I ache.
This fever sits in the marrow,
Claims space between bones–
Even ligaments lament.

I ache.
Every breath a labor,
My ribs protest
The abuse of inhalation.

I ache.
To the very core,
Weary of beating
Because heart’s blood burns.

I ache…
What ailment plagues
Such that this symptom
Never subsides?
-C. Green

Symptom

I Love Me. I Love Me Not.

I love me. 

I love me not.

I accept what I’ve been given

And covet what they have got.

I internalize

The kindest lies–

Compliments, sentiments–

Compromise and despise.

Take my shattered mirror;

Fuse its broken glass.

Collect discarded pieces;

Throw them all into the trash.

Another petal, 
Another day…

Picked to bear some meaning

When I have none to say.

I love me.

I love me not.

I accept what I’ve been given

And covet what they have got.

-C. Green

Acceptance

What Name Did They Give…

What name did they give…

To the child,

Not the screaming babe newly born,

But the one wearing skin so like your own?

Beautiful, biased, backhanded, brave?

Complex and colored,

There’s much in a name.

What did your mother call you?

Naive… Knave… Knowing… Nuisance… Ingenue…Serious… Silent…Shy… 

(And other words filled with hurt, hate or pride.)

There are so many

Labels. Laments. Curses. Slurs. 

Titles. Traps.

Bestowed and hurled.

First, middle and last.

What name did they give…

To the child,

Not the infant of blood and bone,

But the one wearing skin so unlike your own?

-C. Green

Label

A Day After…

Who understands

Waging war on whims,

Westerly winds blowing offense

Across the tides;

Easterly winds decide which child cries

And which child dies?

Death by incendiary suicide.

Not I.

A day after…

And many years more,

The towers that fell

Stand not of stone,

But something insubstantial

And stronger still.

Is there meaning in that light?

Yes; I’d like to pray,

Perhaps, a peace of mind.

It rests there,

Along with whims and sins,

All those thoughts

Attributed to religions.

A vision of divinity,

Beheld by a multitude of eyes

Among the masses,

Fractured along humanity

(Because, surely, there is no God

Among rivers and dogs).

Sacrilegious, selfish, scared,

Splintered thoughts…

Who commands them?

Who understands insanity…

The day after?

–C. Green

 

Queen

She cries at night,

But do tears really matter

When they’re done by day?

There’s nothing to dry

But sobs inside–

A thousand fears allay.

The horrors that are,

They plague the hours.

What could have been,

Punishes and persists,

Echos and insists

The sacrifice of sleep.

An anxious mind–

Never silent–hides/thrives

In the dark, the morbid,

The cryptic release

Of solitary poetry.

There, disasters thwarted.

–C. Green

*Queen, 1991… I was eleven and learned of HIV–among many things that year–and just as I was discovering his music, Freddie Mercury died… why am I listening to Queen the day before school starts? Because music persists, lyrics capture moments, and I’m beginning a new year teaching music to children…*