Poetry

August 15, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

By

Don Krieger

 

 

Groundswell

 

 

He’s sick, narcissistic, dangerous.

She’s smart, caring, qualified.

 

His supporters only see our frenzy,

not her steady work ethic, her battle scars, her goodness.

We only hear his baiting,

not her driving ambition,

her side glance bargains,

her cynical vote for war.

 

Why are there 50 million of them bent on destruction

and 55 million of us,

elites without a clue but the polls and our fear,

and all of us reading papers without news,

but the school yard taunts of our best and brightest,

the TV schedule for Usain Bolt’s heats,

the mugging of a white haired superman by beggars,

and the latest murders.

 

How much are we missing, forgetting, ignoring?

How did we come to this

and how can we do something different

whoever wins or loses?

What is there in this world to stop the madness?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

President Trump

 

 

Decades have passed

since we jailed our Japanese,

tried our authors,

built fall out shelters,

learned that our children could mix

and thrive.

 

The world is turning.

I wake terrified as I did as a child.

But now I understand

the trucks at the curb,

men breaking through the door and scouring the house,

and many at a time just disappearing.

 

The Times shows mobs screaming death at our President,

swearing in unison at their darling leader’s mad lies,

and the numbers, 10’s of millions.

How can I not remember our mothers over the ages,

slaves to Babylon,

toys to our blond masters,

and even now to their own husbands?

 

The world has turned.

We with true freedom,

though wounded and afraid,

in those good decades

we could have made a lasting difference.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don Krieger

I have built satellites, worked in the operating room, been in a cult, …

I earn my living as part of a group which is trying to understand and treat head injury.

In my poetry and short blog pieces, I want to express ideas with unambiguous clarity and intensity.

I willingly sacrifice rhyme and meter, art, cleverness, elegance, and beauty for these.

1 Comment

  1. Martinforoz August 15, at 17:00

    Dear Done, Based on your bio, you can sacrifice rhyme as you said for your purposes. However, if you sacrifice art, cleverness, elegance and beauty, how then, there remains any poetry?! As I understand, what you published in Tuck magazine is poetry!

    Reply

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