Tag: Poetry

Hunting the Hunter

The vineyards stretch out for kilometers,
Hiding much more than bunches of wine grapes.
During the dusk of the day, a hunt occurs,
Filled with harrowing chases and escapes.
I participate with my camera,
Hoping to capture a single picture
Of my my prey which my whistles try to draw
Out from their hiding from this adventure.
When I se one perched on top of the crop,
I creep forward trying not to scare it,
But its head will turn around with a pop,
And on the night breeze, away it will flit.
I must forget about my recent scowl
If I wish to capture the evening owl.

What I Should Know

Should I turn my back to the setting sun,
Knowing that it will rise again tomorrow?
Should I raise my glass to what has begun,
Knowing that the decay has let it grow?
Should I take the grape vine under my feet,
Knowing that the crushing will make a wine?
Should I indulge in the well-prepared meat,
Knowing that it once came from a bovine?
Should I turn the record to the B-side,
Knowing that the other is over-played?
Should I listen as my father has cried,
Knowing that the love has started to fade?
Should I care that the earth keeps turning,
Knowing it is just another burning?

Colonialism

You have traveled halfway around the globe
To remove us from living in our homes.
You sit on your horses in purple robes,
And talk of your proud cities filled with domes,
Claiming that you’re the superior race
Because you have mastered a curved ceiling.
You remind us that we should know our place,
And give to support your profiteering.
You point your greedy hands to our mountains,
Expecting to find lost cities of gold.
We have told you we’ve never seen such wins,
And you reply that our lies are so bold.
It’s better to point you to this fiction
To leave alone our old habitation.

Politics in the Modern Age

No riots are happening in the streets,
And the world is not coming to an end.
All the land’s politicians are cheats,
And not one of them wants to be your friend.
They will tell you about the other side,
How their policy is the better choice,
But when their ideology has dies,
You will realize they’ve silenced your voice.
So they can change things in their own favor,
They only need you to push a button
To reinforce their awful behavior,
Claiming that they are the revolution.
The solution does not lie in their laws;
They are not the cure, no they are the cause.

The Final Meal

Should I regret the last meal I have here
Because it marks the end of vacation.
I will have to pack away all the cheer,
And the enjoyment of relaxation,
But I get to have a final moment
Where I can raise up my golden chalice,
Toasting to this meal in this restaurant
Off from Responsibility’s malice.
I will push away thoughts of tomorrow
For there is nothing I can do about it;
Instead, I will uncrease my furrowed brow,
And empty the pain from my stomach’s pit.
For I still have this short amount of time,
And my goal will be to make it sublime.

The Hot Springs

The water of the river rushes by,
And I sip off a frosty pisco sour,
Hearing the day telling me to comply
By not paying attention to the hour.
It is easy to do because I sit
In the warming comfort of the hot spring,
Taking away the way my muscles knit
Themselves into a tight stressful feeling.
But here I am safe within this valley,
Isolated from the problems outside,
A place where I am able to just be
And where I wish I could always reside.
I will place that idea behind me,
And just enjoy the moment to be free.

Life Finds a Way

On top of the world where the air is thin,
Life finds a way to struggle and blossom.
After hundreds of years trying to win,
It will take over pace when given some,
Crawling through the rocks a millimeter
A time, even though it may take a yea
For it and that long distance to occur.
Yet life cannot live an era of fear
If it wishes to not only survive,
But to show to those that it fights against,
That its truthful intentions are to thrive
With all of its payments fully expensed.
Life is always willing to find a way
As it fights for it on everyday.

Our Time in the Old City

There is no reason for us to quicken
Up the pace of the day we are living
For there is nothing that can be taken
When the moment is all about giving.
We’ve found ourselves in the heart of old town
With windy paths waiting to be explored.
If the choice is bad, we can go back down
To find one our memories will adore.
There are rest’rants with food to be eaten,
And mementoes chirping from the store fronts.
Though the many streets have been well beaten,
It feels like we’re the only one who hunts.
This day and this city belongs to us,
And where it takes us, I will put my trust.

Modern Debate

There is a time when we should be silent
Because it is no longe about discourse;
Instead how certain issues make us vent,
And we hope to be the challenging force.
But that does not mean that all will agree,
And might see things in a different way.
They know that they should let the matter be,
And not to add with their discordant bray.
Yet you continue to blow your trumpet
Because you want to be the one who’s right,
But the thing about this you do not get
By blowing, you’ve already lost the fight.
The true purpose of having a debate
Is to find compromise to make us great.

Morning Coffee

It’s a quiet morning cup of coffee,
Paired with catching up conversation
About how a loved-one’s soul was set free
From the bounds of this earthly detention.
Our words hang in the air over the steam,
Avoiding any hint of causing pain
While inside we begging just to scream
About the suffering that still remains.
Instead we will talk about the weather,
Or the current condition of the state,
But this will not help the wounds get better,
Or give us cause to avoid our known fate.
I’ll just curl up around my cup of joe,
Leaving all these feelings no place to go.