Why should I not delight to live In these fair lands where Aestas has long residence Working her artistry day after day? It is not to the artist’s blame that The audience shrivels and withers before the intensity of her performance Snails or slugs bestrewn with salt cast from where she prompts sweat
Though descended from hardy men I am not a hardy man Have not the stamina that I once did And even that was not so much But that fault is mine if fault it is And problem mine if it is no fault Though I confess to seeking faults and wallowing in them
Even so feeble and fast-falling as I am I take some small joy in seeing the dance she does Dwelling here so long as she does Kindly and in force here as in few other places Even if it is not for me that she will dance Or not only for me And others gyrate more fully and freely than I have ever done At her mere approach and in her long duration Taking their time as she with them until she Satisfied that she has done enough Moves on Only to come back again As those who sit before this stage of hers Bound by brush among gnarling woods upthrusting Know will happen And mostly when– Though she visits at odd times between
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Oh, I am not immune to that demand
That Stupid God has called across the land,
From stony shore to balmy beach of sand,
From water’s side to high and snow-clad peak!
I often find myself compelled to seek
Some idle pastime through which that god wreaks
The ruin of the mind. I make me numb,
An infantile sucking on the thumb
Or sitting thereupon to depths self-plumb.
Yet while too many find their joy in such,
I linger in that hateful fear: too much
Of any joy will blunt the future touch
Of better happiness that can be found–
At least as much of it as is around.
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Why is this the thing that shocks you so
The one at which you mean to draw a line
And sever yourself from the greater godly body
In which you were raised
To which you pledged yourself
And not the lie that you enact by
Pushing yourself away from it
And it from you?
Is it not a sin to lie?
Yet you expect to be forgiven
And to remain among the body of the elect
While working so very, very hard
To keep others out of it
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Why is this the thing that shocks you so
The forbidden deed among forbidden deeds
The unpardonable event that must be set aside
Or must be set aside.
Because it is commanded that it not be done
And that those who do it find opprobrium
And not the marks made in flesh and marring of it
And not keeping the gleanings of the harvest
Or the fruits from the edges of the fields
And not the mistreatment of strangers in the land
And not adultery
Which is one of the larger among
Thou shalt not
Set in stone on courthouse steps as a movie’s marketing maneuver
A politician’s campaign ploy?
Are they less forbidden?
Yet they who do them
Again and again
And gladly
Those get welcomed in and celebrated
While others would be left to languish
Why is this the thing that shocks you so
The one you claim cannot be forgiven
That merits castigation, condemnation
And not the killing of another person
Something many claim that they would do again
Given similar circumstances
And not when someone else is creeping into their home at night
Which might well be excused
But in the homes of others
Unwelcome on their lands
And for no real purpose save to be there?
Is it not a sin to kill?
And yet many do more than fail to repent
Who are kept among the congregation gladly
Why is this the thing that shocks you so
Demands of you that you rise up in anger
Giving voice to hatred
Giving hands to violence all too often
You who claim to hold as your lord and teacher
One who often abjured violence
Who said who lives by the sword will die by it
Who said who calls another a fool is in danger of damnation
Who said not to resist evil
Who said to turn the other cheek
Who said to give more to those who ask of you than they ask
Who said to take the beam from your own eye before worrying what is in another’s
Who said to cut yourself down to keep yourself from sinning rather than to cut another down
When you will welcome back among you
Even praise
Who flout the two true commandments
Proudly
Who offer up not even a mumbled apology
Let alone burnt gifts of atonement
Or efforts to make real change in themselves
And whose actions bespeak praise for Mammon?
It doesn’t seem right, does it?
It shouldn’t
But you still do it
Over and over and over again
Unrepentantly
And demanding to have a house that is not yours
Be as you would have it
Shutting out those who have too often been in the cold
Who harming none have suffered harm
Why is
This
The thing that shocks you so?
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A year later Lives later Daughters and sons Sisters and brothers Mothers and fathers Cousins, aunts, uncles Gone away now Not dust in the wind but Mesquite leaves beaten down by Hailstones falling all too quickly All too often
Those who might build shelters from the storm Take up their hammers and their Phillips-heads indeed But what do they seek to pound on and screw While some new La Llorona festers gestating Ready to be born into a world made wet with obscene dripping
She will scream as she is born And her own mother will scream Again and again And it may be that we have already heard the pangs of her birth Ringing in a tritone over Smaller cries silenced too swiftly
Skewering the one in a hot time Two going together in the split of a third Melting into each other and Leaving the sticky white clinging To the lips that taste them all Guided thence by a firm grip Again and again and again Something shared well with many people
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Pulling current Rheostat rolling back slowly to Let more power through Shine more light as the filament Grew more heated More strident More incandescent The gassy tube more charged and pulsing Scattering widely what it took in
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Things wear out as they are used They rot in place as they are not And there is no preservation in the end Nothing to keep things as they have been Despite the desires and protests of many
The globe on the fixture has been swapped out And it may be that the bulb does not Cast so much as once it did When the switch is toggled But it still alleviates the gloom From time to time
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It’s often becried By those who’ve espied If you’ve done nothing wrong You have nothing to hide We know it’s not true Some things I don’t rue But don’t want others watching Me carry them through
How often they try To catch folks in a lie; If you’ve done nothing wrong What have you to deny? We know it’s not true We all know someone who Had their words twisted ’round And it might’ve been you.
Across many years We’ve oft had to hear If you’ve done nothing wrong You have nothing to fear We know it’s not true Whatever you do Something ugly can always Happen to you
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How many Look at things through Manichean lenses Polarizing into Chiaroscuro starkness And think they have the whole picture
Red and yellow and pink and green… Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com
I try to look Not only at the shades of grey But across a broader spectrum Where others see only black and white And think themselves well bleached
I know I am deeply stained Both with ink and otherwise Unlike the Scottish lady at play That I cannot get those spots out And even so There are hues I miss
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Plant in the season Fertilize the fields Reap when the time comes But the rains will fail sometimes And some seeds Despite the best tending Never sprout Or Germinating Become plants that never bear fruit
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They say to Set your course by your own North Star Pick out Polaris and plot out a path But they do not realize that Over the years Even that star drifts across the sky
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Elliott RWI 