good poems

There Will Be a Day

There will be a day when you can’t sing.
There will be a day when you can’t dance.
You have your whole future ahead of you.
Do it while you can.
Don’t wait until it’s too late.

The cliches landed on her head with
No effect. She had made up her mind.
It was him or nothing.
True love would prevail and nourish them.
If times got tough, they always had each other.

She walked through the doorway and into the
Remainder of her life. Expectations high,
Realities ambiguous. With her, the object of
Her affection and the promise that
All would be well.

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Anesthetized

Hardened heart – unwhole –
Hoarding all his stuff,
The kid in the sandbox who won’t
Share his toys,
Hunkering down —
Frowning uncutely,
All the other kids
Uncomfortable.

Grows up,
No change – same story.
Lack of introspection
Cultivating circle of harshness,
Advancing suffering.
Bully in a suit,
Lifeless face,
Anesthetized eyes.

Sole Objective

Under the pretense of
Tradition,
They support and perpetuate
The subjugation of
Vulnerable people,
Power being the sole objective,
Not any made-up story of
Adhering to long-standing custom,
Disgraceful lust for
Domination and superiority.

One Day

One day she decided to do
Something different and sing
Her own song. One day he decided
To do something different and
Write his own story.
The world smiled.

Great Equalizer

Dismantle
Great equalizer,
Critically wound the
Promise of opportunity,
Regardless of station.
Under the guise of
Reform, merit, competition,
Eviscerate it,
Weaken its foundation
Piece by piece.
Democracy deflated,
Increasing divide,
Advantaged versus unprivileged.
Self-perpetuating inferno,
Burgeoning underclass.

Home

A small child dreams of the day
She’ll have a home of her own;
A room without others in it;
Food to calm her hunger for
More than a few hours; a
School to attend for at least
A month; friends she can
Play with for a long while.

Experience clouding her face.
Etched by one heartbreak after another.
In an imposing, cavernous enclosure,
A stolid old man stands up;
Condemns her kind;
Retires to an opulent office,
Lunch, home.

I Love Myself

I meant it when I said I love myself and
A procession of people walked all over me.
I believed it when I said I love myself and
Was mired in strife and broken relationships.
I professed to love myself with conviction and
Was sentence to repeat what I knew.
Locked away inside, me.

Pity the Executives

Pity the executives,
So many problems all at once,
Horrible hiring woes,
We can’t find trained people,
Can’t hire anyone else,
Won’t cut into record profits.
Sluggish economy lurches unsteadily,
Gilded few sip champagne
On the Riviera,
Let a few more employees go,
Gather all the chips
With sleazy smiles.
Reeking piles of money fondled
In open defiance of
Working stiffs,
Keep that back limber,
No health care for you
Part-timer,
A country going under
Plutocratic thumbs.

Motor

Silence envelopes, inviting reflection.
Peaceful, placid, pleasurable.
Letting go of the insistent bustle and activity.
Quietly pondering nothing in particular.
Comforting thoughts drifting into sleep.
Assaulted by the burst of a motor.