Poetry Blogs (disdain)

My studies have given me a legacy of interest in many and wide-ranging social, moral and ethical fields and concerns, as well as the politics of power. This piece is a manifestation of that legacy.

"The world is splitting open at my feet like a ripe, juicy watermelon." Sylvia Plath.

On her gravestone: “Even amidst fierce flames, the golden lotus can be planted.” Wu Ch'Eng-En.

He...

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The moth, I disdain

It needn't cause me pain

Harmless it may be

With no venom to me

It flies into my face

No pattern, no grace

A pitiable creature

In purpose and feature

For I cannot detect

A trait to respect

The spider spins its yarn

Across a lofty barn

And the bee does strive

To provide for its hive

But the moth helps none

As Icarus to the sun

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Again, alive. No good. No good cursing your eyes their function. That your heart survived another night less luck, more, stubborn rebuke to the revisionist thread of airbrushed policy. Walk, when the whistle blows, as the shift changes from red to murder and gather us all around the dead bag, dog shit bats hanging in the sidings. Too much to see with closed eyes picking out the sighs of a crucifor...

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