A quick and (rightfully) dirty poem:
Ever Widening Gulf
In that gulf
where I tugboat-towed
so long ago
from the refineries
to the refined
in their finery
from the pineries
of the impoverished
grease for the palms
of the over-rich
forever
over-reaching their rights
My days
on that gulf
of life and delights
foreshadowed
times and crimes
that would not go
unpunished
my own lust for oil
part of the spoilage
part of the death
and the blight
Yet I vote
each time
to install
in the capitol
someone else
who will not
set it right
~ Ralph Murre
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
y' just might find y' get watcha need
Monday, May 17, 2010
bird in hand
Saturday, May 08, 2010
L.M.H.
came for scattering her
to the winds
he could not
but
sheltered ashes
beneath that little tamarack
where the marigolds
bloom in spring
.
because shelter
was what he could give
~r.m.
Saturday, May 01, 2010
May Day
After the thaw,
grass greens its blades to meet the mower,
daughters are raised, prom goers
in pinned-on flowers wilt from the nearness
of over-hot hours and days.
Sons, their hearts (and they have them)
swollen, like rivers, are unable to ever
go back, as haze lifts, descends.
Fair-weather friends smile
while plans are made and deserts storm
just over flag-draped horizons.
Now airports at night receive
flights of sun-filled boxes
and docks on the bay feel the sway
of tide on tide and May after May.
A few ships come in, there,
below the blue hills
and the gaze of gray foxes.
~ Ralph Murre
grass greens its blades to meet the mower,
daughters are raised, prom goers
in pinned-on flowers wilt from the nearness
of over-hot hours and days.
Sons, their hearts (and they have them)
swollen, like rivers, are unable to ever
go back, as haze lifts, descends.
Fair-weather friends smile
while plans are made and deserts storm
just over flag-draped horizons.
Now airports at night receive
flights of sun-filled boxes
and docks on the bay feel the sway
of tide on tide and May after May.
A few ships come in, there,
below the blue hills
and the gaze of gray foxes.
~ Ralph Murre
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