as published online: Highland Park Poetry
Here comes Michael Phelps
through the water to wild yelps.
I’m jealous of his skill to swim.
For me, it’s straight back to the gym!
Take a look at Joe Biden,
the high road he’s sure been ridin’,
but pretty soon he’ll disappear
to V.P. heaven and a beer.
Of the Obamas I’ll take Michelle,
a tall and gorgeous bombshell.
Soon she’ll have to take backseat
to pretty daughters: admit defeat!
Have you heard of Elizabeth Warren
harping on good fiscal carin’?
For my money I like the mattress
to counteract the dollar stress.
Are You Abdullah?
Are you the father?
The father who carefully escapes
overland the dread, the torment,
threats, fire and bombs of Syria,
then gathers up your family again
with small bags of clothes
and biscuits, climbs aboard
a rubber raft heading
to the island of Kos, bound
in an armor of hope?
When high waves topple
the boat and the captain deserts,
do you steer until impossible?
Are you the father who watches
your wife float away,
your little boys struggle
for air, then vanish?
Are you the father who cries
as he picks up one beautiful son
washed up on the beach,
who wonders where the world is
as the ocean swallows his nation?
• Published on newversenews[dot]com, Sept. 4, 2015
• Awarded First Prize by Illinois State Poetry Society, Oct. 2015
I will be alive
when I am dead,
did you know that?
I will not be still
like a hard stone,
as roses do,
as robins do,
as the heart
as the mycelium
under the soil,
at a moment’s notice.