The Blowing Sand

The zenith of late summer is lush
with the completion of rebirth.
A faint odour of decline seeps
from the rich soil, meanders
through the innocent leaves,
warns them of impending change.

The sea gathers itself in swirls
and rain floods the land.
Winds bend compliant trees
and scatters our stiff ignorance.
The rich earth cycles through us
like odours through the leaves.

We know these things and bend
like those compliant trees,
feel free as leaves that know
next summer's certainty, know
the soil will give its sun-rich life
as seasons come and seasons go.

Grains of sand are dry and sharp.
They gather in an arid wind, ride
the thermal currents of discontent
along barren landscapes,
fall where there are no seasons,
no promise of renewal.

The sand and sea-born rain are far
apart, imprisoned in their seasons.
A sudden storm, blown from the sea,
can press the sand so it cannot rise,
but the dry wind of discontent will
blow against our stiff ignorance.

Politics As Entertainment
........For our time in history

The pundits and their polls
are like weathermen whose job
does not depend on being right.
Local evidence as global doom
is a distraction clipped from
every wagging tongue and stuffed
between commercial reality.

Mendacity mingles smoothly
with medieval righteousness
and Caesar declares that peace
is an imperative, that he has time
and will save his loyal legions
for another unnamed distraction.
The pundits revel in the mud.

Johnny goes to school and shows
his ID at the door then learns
that creation has more than one story.
Meanwhile, the TV debates
are not about the latest hi-tech
fantasy war game that Johnny plays
instead of doing his homework.