I Make My Way
These times, indeed,
have tried my soul.
With lightening speed,
I’ve lost control
Of all that mattered
in the past—
It drifts, now scattered,
in a vast,
Uncharted realm.
Uncertainty
Is at the helm
and where I’ll be,
No one can say.
No prophecy
To chart my way.
No star to see
On which to fix,
to navigate
The River Styx.
Revelation
by Mike Bryant
The spring was of sand,
The summer is mud.
The planned fall of man,
The winter of blood
Will blow us away.
As destiny’s here
So hate will hold sway.
This year is of fear.
Then spring follows on
As always, it does.
God’s love will dawn
As in Eden it was.
Not All, But Some
While still a child I learned this social rule:
For me, there’d be no consequence at all
If I should fight or misbehave at school.
My parents’ reputation took the fall.
Then, as a youth, when I would vandalize,
My parents had to pony up the cost.
And who would the case workers criticize?
Not me—my parents were the ones who lost.
In college demonstrations which defied
All logic, law, and common sense,
“Oppressors” would be vilified.
For us, “free speech” was always our defense.
Today, I riot, throw a brick and burn
And loot a store and know from precedent
That media and Democrats will turn
Their eyes from me and blame the President.
So, hop aboard the train of anarchy
And if, by chance, you’re ever put in jail,
Flat out deny responsibility
And someone else will gladly post your bail.
I curse this so-called land of liberty,
Which lets me riot with impunity;
Where those who break the law get off scot-free;
And everybody’s to be blamed but me.
Joe, the last four lines are ones on which I’ll likely meditate all day; really gripping! Thanks,
Leo
Thanks, Leo.
I didn’t know they were coming.
I thought it was going to be another current events kind of thing and was pleasantly surprised when it turned out otherwise.
I was even going to continue writing, and am happy that I caught myself.
Joe,
That’s the fun of writing, isn’t it? When the creative process leads you to a place you hadn’t even dreamed of until it shows up on othe page.
The final stanza in “Revelation” is even more uplifting because of the gloomy lines that precede it. I’ll think of “Not All, but Some” whenever I watch videos of Antifa or BLM. 3 good poems.
Three very good poems. Joe and James have showcased the human anger and frustration whilst Mike has framed the hopeless spiritual aspect – with redemption so beautifully restored in his final lines. Good grief gentlemen!
The first two poems were compact and to the point. Joe, as with the Styx, so with the Jordan. We all have to cross one or the other, but not too soon, I hope. And Mike, I love the does/was rhyme; I’ve used it at least once myself. Those who say that English is rhyme-poor compared to some other languages miss the point: if rhymes are too easy to come by, then they are less effective. How peculiar that a present-tense verb should rhyme with a past-tense verb.
The third poem of course illustrates that a poem’s narrator is generally not the author of the poem — unless, James I have completely misjudged your character. The narrator is a pathetic creep, so I’m not quite sure, in the last stanza, why he curses the land that allows him to indulge his egoistic whims.
Irony, C.B. Irony.
It’s what anarchists do (bring a curse upon a country) and it’s what we do (let them do it).
All three admirably wrought poems tap into the mood of the moment with passion, insight, beauty, creativity and bravery. Thank you, gentlemen.