StarPoet Newsletter Vol. XI, No. XLIV

The god of the hymnbook,
The god of the Qur'an and the Bible,
The one we prayed to
When our childhood pets died,
The one who takes sides
When all the world is at war,
That god does not believe
In poets or democracies, or answer
Any of the really hard questions.

A poet, of course, looks for answers,
Searches through the heart and cranny
For the meanings of the universe,
And, if all roads lead to some god,
Investigates the signposts
For signs of human tampering:
God may well be in his heaven
But the poet lives on a planet
Orbiting around her sun.

The fun never stops in the something for everyone universe,
A thousand channels to gambol about a smorgasboard
Of high definition diversion dispensers,
Each twitterfication becomes a world of its own,
More real than the planet it is broadly cast upon.
Content has replaced substance, style substitutes for both,
Good and bad are an endangered species,
Originality is a pastiche of googled popularity,
What passes for intellectual discussion manifests itself
In viral videos and attacks from the pack dog collective.
All the world divides into chick flick and guy films,
Big trucks drive up icy mountain roads,
Ghosts seem more prevalent than God or physics,
Modernization is a backdrop for billboards and advertisements,
Judgement is uncool, cultural fascism rules.
The multi-dimensioned universe is homogenized and flavorless,
A Big Easy composed of all and everything,
Signify nothing but the crude celebrity of the moment.

No one has written these words
For almost three thousand years,
Scattered as they were,
Part and parchment,
In time and dusty library.

I speak because she must,
Because I can,
A daughter of the Mediterranean
Unsprung again
To walk the transient coastline
Of the cyber island.

An aging street gang of construction workers,
Wearing the bright yellow hardhat colors
Of the Pentagon Renovation crew,
Passes me in the corridor, all the while
Talking about past glories and the work
That lies ahead of them this week.

They glance my way, check me out:
I am far too old for the younger crew
But the grizzled leader's eyes suggest
I would do just fine if we hooked up
At Rivera's after work some night.

Translate the directions
From the ancient Saurian
(Know a good translator,
Perhaps  a gay one
The Army has released);
Take a handful of molecules,
A teaspoonful of DNA,
Add some water,
A pinch of sunlight,
Carbon, oxygen, and mix;
Wait a few million years
Until the babies sprout,
Feed them well then
Harvest when they're grown,
But watch out for their teeth.

I have not been molested,
I have never been raped,
I have no suppressed memories
That have suddenly become unsuppressed;
There is no pop-psy box
That neatly encloses my psyche,
I am not a nameless statistic
For some expert to massage.

I have no leaders
I have not agreed to,
No sainted guides
Who would save my beleagured soul;
I have no alibies,
No self-serving explanations,
No requests for money
Or promises of salvation.

I am  a woman free to choose
Both course and destiny,
And that is just enough
To make me quite happy.

All of us live, more or less,
Running on borrowed time,
The gas gauge is barely above refill,
The size of the tank is unknown;
Any moment our engine may sputter,
Miss a beat, and coast to a dead stop
On the shoulder.

We are a loverly machine,
But one who was designed
Without guarantee or warranty,
The original equipment manufacturer
Could care less if we run
Fifty thousand miles or ten;
It's not his problem, it's not his care,
We serve his purposes until the end,
Born, Bred, and dead.

Pumpkins, werewolves,
Vampires and princesses,
A thousand little monsters
Dressed up like Lady GaGa.

Fundamental religions
Worrying about the devil,
Pedophiles barely
In control of their doors.

Candy, spare change,
Trick or treat magic,
The Eve of All Saints
And childhood fantasy.

A brother, once lost, now dying,
The family coming together at a memorial
He would have loudly objected to
If he still had a voice in such things.
Decades of separation and accusation,
Multiple extended battles and subrosa operations,
Conducted against a background of honor and obligations,
Paterfamilias and child fallen victim to the fires of ancient wars.
A crippled girl struggling to regain control of her body,
A younger brother unable to live with the bloody memories of his tour,
Blends with family commitment to overthrowing oppressors
No matter where they appear, no matter how powerful they are,
And a dedication to country, old and new, grown unfashionable
In a modern world of absolute certanties and religious political passions
-- All the pieces now come together upon the death of the oldest brother:
If only Maude were only alive to preside over the wake.

The estranged common nexus,
Time draws back to the molten center
Where memory still burns and pain runs deep
Across our carefully constructed borderlines
To the bright singularity where the universe changed.

The continuum has come full stop,
Looping the moment, then and now,
Until the world reshatters and we must rebuild
Piece by piece, shard by splintered shard,
Into the bleak reality we now find ourselves.