Hot Rock

In this melting heat I am an elastic acrobat with a pliable spine.
If this implies I remain manipulable, don’t get me wrong;
meticulously imbibed values run through me like Blackpool.
But if you insist that conflict brings about justice,
I bite through to your impervious core, and show you revenge;
when you testily suggest progress can be measured along a continuum,
I answer that the future of the earth is round.
So we (me and me) rock, split and roll over in our sweltering debates,
kicking back with Greenpeace, arcing over to Amnesty,
or throwing in our lot to proclaim belief in the will of God.
In this sticky heat I am clammy after a day of mass debate
but if I shower my body I may sacrifice the plasticity of my mind.

Gale

When this feisty wind blows, how is it?
Will our bonds fall? Our stays loosen?
Will our breath slow? Our fists open?

For sure, our bonds will not fall, nor stays loosen,
nor our breath will slow, nor fists will open.

We must pitch our tent then, tied and tethered?
We must build our base then, trussed and trammelled?

Ah, but unpinioned thought will out and grasp the gale,
shaking the land-lashed by the ears,
unleashing us, in all honesty, blow by whipping blow.

The Spirit of Accord

Conjoined by circumstance, we were as twins,

collective fate upon respective dials;

you docked your pirate ship inside my lines

and blocked me with uncompromising sails.

.

To square the round we drew our swords to fight,

inflicting wrath on anchored minds with spears;

decisions ground with sharp wit edged with spite,

in altercation boxed the other’s ears.

.

In case you tried to sail I slung my stones,

and what I strove to build you ran to spoil;

you flared your nostrils, stamped upon my bones,

I danced on pins to pitch my burning oil.

.

You curdled coffee with your sour grapes,

my rancid comments rattled down our time;

but now you’re gone I miss our fierce debates,

it seems as though your voice was also mine.