The Paradox of Ozymandias

He is known for being forgotten,
his kingdom swallowed by the sands –
what good can be the remembrance
of another cruel and wealthy man?

nowhere a hero

now here a hero is born or bred
to be caught and shot and skinned and bled
and reshaped from his hero’s form –
drained, smashed, altered, torn,
and held on high in loud new shape –
an empty shell for those who scrape
and stuff the corpse for any buyer;
an ideal for sale is an ideal liar.

Burnt Maps

There was a plan, once,
once there was a plan,
winding paths
through mountains, over streams,
to get us where we’re going –
there was a plan, once,
we all saw it,
etched the left-and-right
the north-and-west
into our eyes –
then burned the map
and trusted memory –
and along the way,
we all agreed
on every turn, every step,
yet somehow, somehow,
we are lost.

and they were dancing

before the war
and after the war,
with empty quivers
and empty stores –
first to bring survival,
and then,
because they survived –
they gathered and sang
and they were dancing
when fields burned,
and they were dancing
and dreaming
and forgetting.

Crack In The Axe

Do you counsel the axehead?
Look it in the eye,
oil the shoulder and
audit the cheek?

Do you
notice the crack,
and reforge the bit –
knowing it cheaper
to find another
in some school, some shop?

Do you know the axehead?
Or are you content
to swing it
’til it breaks?

Nothing New Created There

before your were born,
you were grown
from watermelon vines and
the flesh of beasts,
the fruits of the deeps,
you were formed
and nurtured,
from the grains of the soil,
from the soil itself –
how grand and impossible
these bodies,
on Earth since creation,
reassembling and devouring
all shapes,
all fleshes,
all skins.

Shakespeare, Elvis,
Socrates too,
Cao Cao,
the rest of the crew –
all had in common
some creeds, some beliefs,
they lived.
they died.
like us all,
it was brief.