It is rare, but occasionally I am driven to bursts of poetry. It has been a few years, but tonight, while killing time in a hotel room in Austin while on a business trip, thinking about all that has happened to our nation the last seven years and what this next election means... I was driven to write the following. For me, writing poetry is a bit like sneezing... its an involuntary action that is over with quickly and I'm not usually happy with the results. Nevertheless, here it is in its raw, unrevised form over the flip. Feedback is always welcome.
No More
(A poem about November)
A silent cell
with concrete floor
a huddled shape
a living sore
behind a locked
and unmarked door
a broken man
gasps 'no more'
An edifice
of greed and guilt
brick by brick
the wall was built
in zones of green
while the willing wilt
they laugh while at
our windmills we tilt
A rising chorus
a rising wave
soldiers come home
to the street
or the grave
the towers brought low
but he's safe in his cave
our soldiers slip way
'no more' we rave.
A mighty rumble
shakes the ground
the edifice
comes crashing down
the wave the wave
overpowering sound
sweeps it away
no brick to be found
Torture and lies
and greed and war
blood of the young
and pain of the poor
swept all away
washed away on the shore
by our coming wave
our cries of 'no more!'
- T D Phetteplace
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