Haiku

Jesus died for your 

sins, and the dinosaurs died

for your gasoline.

Less light falls today,

an early bed, a chance to

turn in, turn inward.

Seats for seven, but

six are empty—the car’s solace

for the sole driver.

Men in suits talk tough,

thousands of miles from the

soldier on fire.

War is not fought from

a chair; countries are not led

from the battlefield.

Don’t imitate me—

It’s like an echo, always

coming in second. 

The annoying fly—

I’d let you live if you stayed

slightly out of reach.

In the museum, 

a girl sits, trying for the

most charming selfie. 

They put on ears, tails—

It’s nothing new, this human 

worship of felines.

The cat kneads the soft

blanket, remembers happy

times with his mama.

Marionettes

Boots thumping,

words brush the backs,

of the heads--

savage, convulsed mountains,

fantastic realm of the

immense spirit,

mountains of pain,

terrible fury—

this was the war he

had been handed.

His eyes swept the looming sky--

marionettes led your boy

to death—

It was a good mission

down some dark tunnel,

all the bodies underground,

slamming, warning—

white stone chamber,

white stone doors,

a mound on a grave—

Join the majority.

Composed partly of words found in "Mines" by Susan Straight and The Bridges at Toko-Ri by James A. Michener.