The bird rests upon ideas
Her wings closed
She is like a Buddha
Carrying the world
In her feathers
Warm and round
Relentlessly dense
Questioning
Motion thought
Direction
Solitary in thought
Becoming
Separate
Wing to eye
Split in motion
And sight
Floating in particles
Of neverness
And always
Her eyes find
Closed wings
And hide
In feathered
Silence
Broken Chair
Karen Melander-Magoon
Broken
chair
Antique
Two
hundred years
Accommodating
Sitting
people
Broken
Awaiting
Glue
or epoxy
Perhaps
to mend
A
once perfect body
Two
thousand people
In
Baga town Nigeria
Broken
Dead
Thirteen
thousand
And
counting
Killed
by Boco Haram
For
reading
For
learning
We
cry
Black
lives matter
Thirteen
thousand
Black
lives killed
In
Nigeria
In
Paris
We
cry
Je
suis Charlie
We
march
For
lives of journalists
And
Jews
While
Palestinians
Twenty-thousand
Palestinians
Are
murdered by
Our
own armies
Broken
lives
We
break daily
Je
suis Charlie
I
am free press
I
am education
I
am broken lives
Waiting
for super glue
That
will never mend
My
bodies
In
Baga
In
Chibok
Je
suis Nigere
I
am Nigerian
Another
broken black life
I
am one of
Four
hundred school girls
One
of
Thirteen
thousand more
Broken
people
Remaining
in graves
Or
strewn upon the street
Or
raped in jungles
Of
Nigeria
Or
anywhere
Colonialism
Has
left wounds
To
be infested with hate
Broken
lives
Victims
of victims
Of
colonial violence
Victims
of victims
Of
false flag operations
In
Algeria
Six
monks are beheaded
To
justify civil war
To
justify
200,000
broken people
Murdered
people
Who
cannot be mended
Whose
deaths bear
Seeds
of violence
For
generations to come
Whose
deaths arm
Extremists
Or
counterfeit extremists
Spurring
a world towards
Breaking
more lives
I
am an old chair
I
was beautiful once
I
endured two hundred years
Of
people sitting on my
Polished
surface
Once
created by a great artisan
With
love
And
understanding
I
am broken
I
am China
I
am Africa
I
am Palestine
I
am Syria
I
am Lebanon
I
am now
Only
a broken
Vestige
of colonialism
I
may be mended
Once
again
But
one day
I
will burn
To
ash
The
burning ash
That
lights
A
revolution
Butterfly
The butterfly was blue
Like blue silk
Lighter
She flew
Unaware of flying
Simply
Being
A butterfly
Flying
At the Academy of
Sciences, SF
The children are more interesting
Than the frogs and snakes
Camouflaged
In their glass cages
They find the hidden reptiles
To satisfy their companions
The four year old boy
Wants to stay
Standing next to the tops of trees
He asks his father
Why he may not stay
And leave mother
Where she is
He would rather
Wait for the butterflies
The quotidian (4 27 15)
The quotidian
The daily
The walk downstairs
Get the paper
Smell coffee
Two thousand people
Dying in Nepal
From the tremors
Of the earth’s belly
Gradually, slowly
Assaulted by a sliding
Indian continent
Children crying
Monks crushed
Under the debris of
Thousand year old temples
Funeral marches
Ceremonies
Are not possible
When death overwhelms
The earth becomes
The quotidian
Of ages
She the mother
Rolls over slowly
Turns again
And sighs
I walk back
Up the stairs
And drink
My coffee
My Coat is Red
My coat is red
Not for Communism
Not for anything
My daughter found the coat
For me
On a rack
At Goodwill
It is bright
And warm
A little too big
Like my thoughts
A little boy
Throws a stone at a tank
In Israel
And becomes a music teacher
Is there sense in that?
A lily hangs limply
In a vase on a table
Recalling mortality
Knowing she would have bloomed
Longer in the garden
Uncut
Yet bringing delight
As a cut flower
Where is the sense
In red
In cut lilies
And little boys
Throwing stones at tanks
Whose drivers
Have taken their homes
Their farms
Their hopes
Imprisoned them
For throwing rocks
And stolen their childhood
My coat is red
My thoughts are dark
And yet
A lily blooms
Outside my window
Earthquakes
There are more earthquakes
Everywhere corporations fracture the earth
Force-feeding the earth with chemicals
Forcing water into her mouth
Water that drills into her very bones
And dispels itself in polluted waste
Millennia of terrestrial infrastructure
Crushed with the boots of corporations
Companies oligarchies banks tyrants
Birds fly over the earth
Their brilliant songs
And feathered grace
Flies over rigs and drills
Flies over once pristine waters
Seeking resting places
In disappearing trees and native growth
Seeking the breasts of mother earth
Fecund breasts of hills and mountains
Offering generous nurturing
From fruited plains
Offering clean rains
And unpolluted waters
Birds fly into flying machines
Into turbines airplanes windows
Seeking
The disappearing
Home
Of their ancestors
Children and
Pillows
Pillows lie upon the couch
Hiding a white bear
The window behind is bright
With morning light
Voices call from the streets
Children’s voices
Speaking English Spanish Chinese
On their way to school
On their way to life
On their way
To the other end of the earth
On their way
To a thousand dimensions
Of beauty fear hope distress
Children opening like flowers
Into this bright day
Contain more wisdom
And more sunshine
Than all the galaxies
Combined
For they are buds
Of infinity
They are
Children
A Tiny Cloud
A tiny cloud
All fluff
Hangs in the sky
Like the sky’s own private
Pomeranian
Or fluffy Siberian cat
All fluff
Puff of cloud
Wandering the sky
Tree Leaves
The tree leaves beneath my window
Glisten in the sun like jewels
Yet so much more beautiful
In their fragile splendor
Than the glisten of hard diamonds
Dug from the earth by human chattel
Coveted for reasons more of greed
Than beauty
The trees hang their glistening leaves
In random disarray
Unafraid of losing a bit of glitter
As the sun moves away
Or the earth turns just enough
So shadows hide the glory
Of jewels in the rough
Two
She sits upon the sand
Gazing seriously
Gazing on the azure blue
Gazing imperviously
She can’t be more than two
And sand
And sea
And sky
Envelope her smallness
As she sits
In the palm of her earth mother
Looking calmly
Through the cracks
Of nature’s fingers
Walls
Walls rise and fall
With families
With children
Playing in sand
Walls separate
Or join
Eliminate
Embrace
Walls cut like knives
Through gardens and lives
Keep children from schools
Are the weapons of fools
Destroy or annoy
Cause wars
Close doors
Walls we can climb
To pass the time
Of day
Where we play
Ovid’s Pyramos
And Thisbe
Who think of a chink
And scheme Shakespeare’s dream
To find love through the wall
Where empires may fall
On the slippery base
Of the scheme of the theme
Of a phantom of wall
That isn’t a wall
At all
Walking Through
Waves
Walking through waves
Walking through mirrors
Of water
Layers of reflections
Swimming ideas
Fish
Still alone unknown
Lost in schools of thought
Blue carriers of gills
Conversions of oxygen
Walking through mirrors
From nowhere to nowhere
Turtles swim and surface
Breathing
Air
Fish rest on the other side
Of the mirror
Breathing
Water
As air
Becomes bubbles
Of
Thought
Sandtown, Home of
Freddie Gray
Sandtown
In Baltimore
Abandoned houses
Littered streets
High rates of lead poisoning
Among children
Children who have no Little League
Children who play
Or try to play
In the streets
Before cops pick them up
For playing in the streets
Children who grow into
Freddie Gray
Old enough to be thrown
Into the back of a police wagon
To lie in handcuffs
And shackles
With no seat belt
For what cops call
A “rough ride
A penny ride, a nickel ride
A cowboy ride
Common practice
For cops needing
A little entertainment
Police car lynching
Of young black men
Riding in police vans
Freddie Gray
Broken spine
Murdered
By police
The protectors of the people
Given the common rough treatment
Thousands of others have been given
For the crime
Of walking on the streets
Of Sandtown
Baltimore
And running from police
Knowing the police
Can murder
Citizens
Like Freddie Gray
Can lynch
Citizens
Like Freddie Gray
With a simple
“Rough ride”
In the back
Of a police van
A solitary Bird
A solitary bird
Flies against the grey blue
Cloudless sky
Gazing downwards
What does she see
Of importance?
Trees perhaps
And microscopic insects
Shimmying through her space
Caught in the embrace of wind
She climbs higher
Until the trees and bugs
Are less important
Than low flying airplanes
Whirring propellers
Or lower down
Wind turbines
Of destruction
Unnatural harbingers
Of the other
Beckoning through blades
To solitary birds
Caught up
In the wind
The Spaniel
The spaniel burrows deeply
In fall leaves
Brown green gold yellow
Moist and smelling
Of earth and rain
Covering dog fur
In a blanket
Fashioned by
The wind
The Cedar
The cedar blows and bows
Whispering of generations
The Sunset Spoke
The sunset spoke to me last night
Whispering very softly in the wind
Golden arms brushed my shoulders
Blushing cheeks warmed my face
Rosy clouds filled the sky
Lifting me far away
Helping me
Forget
Making me
Remember
There
is No Comedy
There is no comedy
Jesus walks
Gandhi walks
Crowds crush them
The homeless make their beds
On cardboard
In the streets of Greece
With all the refugees of
Syria
Escaping western wars
They sleep next to the
crowds
Crushing the prophets
Jesus walks on the waters
Of the beautiful
Mediterranean Sea
Over the sinking boats
Of immigrants
He reaches his hands out
For the drowning refugees
They become the nameless
Smuggled families
In closed vans
Suffocating
While
Two small children
Dance
Upon the water
Brushing the hands
Of Jesus
With
Broken dandelions
As the sun sets
Spilling gold
Across the sea
August Spins Away
August spins away
With the last sunset
Pale, ghostly, veiled
Mourning her summer days
Treading softly as she greets
The barely waning moon
Shrouded in silk
August spins away
Into September’s memory
Unaware of her own absence
Discrete in recollection
Gathering souvenirs of summer
Sandy shells
Warm embraces under southern
constellations
Bright smiles fading
Whispered secrets
Finding hidden alcoves
In the heart of yesteryear
August spins away
To join July and June
In summer dreams
Wrapped now in
Falling leaves
Gifted to
Autumn’s wind
And winter’s
Rain
Barbed Wire and Refugees
Barbed wire on the Hungarian border
Barbed wire at Calais
Spikes to repel humanity
Who fail to drown at sea
Barbed wire
Where refugees must pass
As they flee war
Children running from war
Children screaming for their parents
Another child drowns yesterday
He lies in his father’s arms
His photo on the cover of the Wall Street
Journal
We start wars
We create enemies
We bomb villages and cities
But we do not rescue
The mass of humanity
Suffering from those wars
Germany stands alone
Recognizing its own laws
Demanding justice for the abused
Asylum for the persecuted
Japan refuses to assist in war
Obeying its own laws
Of peace after fighting
A terrible war
We Yankees
Have created refugees
From our own wars
We should send our armies
To save the victims of war
To save the children from drowning
To keep families together
To protect the huddled masses
We have created
With our wars
A lone child
Deserves
Life
Without
War
Deserves
Compassion
Wars taught us
To practice
Wars made us
Forget
Train
Train passes green turning yellow
Trees shoot fountains of red
Leaves whisper words we do not hear
Hanging mute in dark space
Yellow notes wishing to cadence
To fall on earth’s breast
To sink to disappear
Passing peopled windows
Crinkled starfish
Swimming in dry rainforests
Gasp a last yellow
Grasp a lost mellow
Chord of renunciation
Forgotten springtimes
Sing in broken phrases
Birdsong crickets chatter
Squirrels race silently
Against time and the train
It is dark
Sunset was just an idea
A knowledge of west
A bright sun
Then mere cold blue
Forest silhouettes
Like dancing skeletons
Of tree
Momentary glance
Of distant valley
Hirsute hills of forest
Mountain caps
Hiding secrets
Under crowns
Of red earth
Now dark
One with squirrels
Opaque yellow hands
And red fire
Lost in night
Forgotten
Whistling train
Oblivious
To the stars
That light
Its journey
Morning in the
City
Birds fly beyond windows
Venetian blinds rattle
Small slits allow a glimpse of wing
Shadows mark their path
Energetic beating of feathered muscle
Up down how many times
Is the life span wing beat of a gull?
How much space to be owned in fight?
Now is forever
In beating pulse
Sweeping motion
Landed motion
Balancing on strung cables
Riding across an open side window
Soon empty of bird
Quivering slightly
In regret
Or anticipation
Now still and quiet wires
Slice across skies of blue
Below
Feathered eternity
Flying
A Dry Earth Waits
The clouds are heavy but do not weep
A giant’s cloak fills the sky
Etched with sunset jewels
The stars and planets still are hid
In velvet crevices
While spirits contemplate
The changes of the tides
A breeze speaks solemnly
Of warm winds winding through the valley
The hot breath of dragons
Burns through forests
Leaving flat land for storms
To wash them clean of life
Feathered whispers cling to shrubs
While chatters subside silently
Small animals shudder
As the giants of the jungle
Wander aimlessly
Through scorched paths
Seeking water
That slips over the rim of the earth
Into Hestia’s apron
Wrung at last
In sacred drops
To offer meager baptism
Over a parched
And empty font
Autumnal Rain
The window pane is blurred
With sudden drops
Skating across a vertical pond
Bounded by slats
Framing nature’s wetness
Broken clouds evaporate
Into white silk
Pillowing a city scene
Of homes and drying trees
Crisp leaves grip valiantly
On stiff limbs
Accepting damp rain
As we too
Cling tight to autumnal seasons
Accepting damp gifts
Accepting the last spooling of time
Evaporating slowly
Into memory
Babies and Words
Mothers nurture
Words and milk
Milk and words
Souls express
While pressing out
A universe of thought
Talk
Rock the baby
In treetops of verses
Wind blows gently
Through soft clouds
Pillowing
Billowing silk of song
Verses words Phrases
Garlands of gossip
Weave through
Echoes of merriment
Sorrow memory
Of other mothers
Universes left behind
Milk and honey
Green grow the rushes
Boats for baby
Floating in new ideas
Gazing skyward
Blinking again
At soft
Epiphanies
Outcry for Fayadh
You, Ashraf Fayadh
Saudi Arabia has condemned you
To death for renouncing Islam
You, Ashraf
You who love truth
You who renounce injustice
You who speak of the injustice
Done a refugee from Palestine
Who is exiled from his home
You who speak of all injustice
You who speak as a poet
Just as did Raif Badawi
Who was sentenced to 1000 lashes
For speaking truth
Just as did Ali Mohammad al Nimr
Who was sentenced to crucifixion
And beheading
For attending a peaceful protest
For democracy
By the same government
To whom we
We the United States
Pledge our friendship
Pledge our billions of dollars
In military aid
To seed and nurture extremists
Who do not love Islam
But love terror
To whom we send 100 billion dollars
In four years
For weapons and bombs
To kill human beings
And another 1.5 billion to kill more
After you Fayadh are condemned to death
We send arms and pledge friendship
To a country whose princes make a fortune
from drugs
While she continues to execute people for
drug possession
We, the United States,
We welcome this country
This country Saudi Arabia
To lead the UN Human Rights Panel
This same Saudi Arabia
Who tortures, imprisons and condemns poets
For speaking truth
She we embrace as our close ally
She whose citizens were 15 of the 19
pilots
Who blew up our twin towers on 9/11
And whose citizens we gave free passage
home that day
She who condemns a poet for apostasy
While she nurtures hatred and violence
While she speaks with many tongues
Of falsehood
And holds the hangman’s noose
Over the head of a poet
Fayadh, we know
Your country is not alone in her injustice
We all have bloodied hands
As long as injustice and war
Remain to fill the earth with hatred
But you Fayadh
You remain incorruptible
As a conduit of truth
Splashed in clean drops
Against the sword
Of tyranny
And oppression
May those drops
Swell into a torrent
A torrent to wash the world
Clean
Clean of falsehood
Clean of hatred
Clean of war
That she may be open
To the words
Of a poet
Normal
Southern California
San Bernardino
Shootings
Fourteen killed
Maybe more
Normal
Says the face
On the woman across from me
Riding the muni bus
Normal
Impassive
We have come to expect massacres
Of normal people
Kenya
Beirut
Paris
Nigeria
San Bernadino
Normal
Like sun and rain
Except the rain outside
Is unexpected
Dryness
Is normal
And massacres
Bleed into our hearts
Hearts gone numb
Hearts gone dry
With normalcy
Of pain
Zunar and Human
Rights (Dec. 7, 2015)
We celebrate human rights
As human rights are sabotaged
Every day
We celebrate freedom
As freedom is jeopardized
Every day
We laugh at satire
As a satirist
Is condemned to years in prison
For a tweet
A Malaysian cartoonist
Named Zunar
Tweets condemnations
Of the jailing of an
Opposition leader
And is condemned himself
To prison
Perhaps for life
Zunar has been harassed
By police
His office raided
His works banned
For nearly a decade
And he continues
To fight for the rights
Of free speech
We celebrate his courage
And tweet his tenacity
As he fights
With the sword
Of words
For human rights
Death for Failure
to Post Bail
Countless are the souls
Murdered in jail
For failure to post bail
Poor people
Charged with small crimes
Sit in jails
Notorious for crime
And murder
And die
Awaiting trial
Die
For lack of bail
Die
Often innocent of any crime
Die
For the crime of
Poverty
Die
For the crime of
Empty pockets
Die
In prison
Waiting
Waiting five and more years
For a trial
To prove their innocence
Die
Of the crime of
Poverty
For the crime of
Waiting
Waiting
For Justice
Trauma
Trauma does not die
With the next generation
Trauma lives on
In our children
Those who have seen horrors
Pass those horrors on
To all who come after
Infecting those born after
With the energy and passions
And memories
Of parents and grandparents
Who witnessed violence
At home or in war
Violence becomes the backdrop
Upon which a life unfolds
Seeking answers
Trusting no one
Wanting only to escape
Escape the aftermath
The horrors
Of violence
Awaiting Grace
Breathing in rain
Inhaling life pristine pockets emptying
from rosy dark sky
Damp blinding drops of pulsing moisture
Penetrating every naked pore
Face and hands
Welcoming rain
Welcoming clean memories to be made
Across the Arabian Sea
Red Sea, Gulf of Aden Persian Gulf
Await cleansing
That will not come
Four dozen men less one
Are executed on a dry warm day
Absent rain absent blessing
In the land of Mecca
Land of holy pilgrimage
Flowers of holiness
Cut from vibrant stems
To drip red salt
Upon a yielding earth
Opening her arms
To catch those drops
Of grace
Stretching further still
To cast her shadow
On the poet’s cell
Fahradh, I am your mother too
I wait beneath the prison
That cannot claim your voice
I wait and watch
Here where
No pristine rain may fall
No cleansing fount
May purify those
Who cut the
Radiant blossoms
From their stems
I wait
My pores exhale
The rosy sky
Across the sea
From other worlds
My arms reach out
To raise your soul
Into a pristine
Night
And all I breathe
Is poetry
And pulsing drops
Of blinding
Light