Category: Poetry

Different may be different,

And different is not the same.

But to be with the same

Is quite different for many who are the same,

And those who are the same are the same,

Which is quite different.

Sometimes being with the same

Is just not the same.

But being with those who are different

Is not always the same either.

Perhaps, some are meant to be

With those who are the same,

And some are meant to be

With those who are different.

I know that is quite different,

But sometimes it’s good to be different,

Especially for those who are not the same,

Because they are different.

Mapped a way.

Get there somehow.

Got to get through.

Get there some way.

Striving,

Holding on.

Standing

On what I hold dear.

Clinging

To the last of my sanity.

Staying

In the zone.

Socializing

When I can.

Visiting

With my friends.

Making ends meet.

Paying bills.

Cooking meals.

Getting up on time.

Time.

It’s a funny thing.

It means

So much to us.

So important.

Structure.

Pay checks.

Fitting in.

A day’s work.

Taking a vacation.

Getting sick.

Leaving for a little while,

For appointments,

Running errands.

We want to do what’s right.

We want to please our boss,

At least most of the time.

Jumping through

The hoops they make for us,

Biding time (there’s that word again),

Until we can go home,

To do what we want,

What really matters to us.

The comfy, cozy stuff.

Let us go home.

Let us be safe.

Let us be with the ones we love.

Let us have time to be ourselves.

Let us have more time.

Freedom.

I say, FREEDOM!

Let us all rejoice.

Let us all break free

From the chains that hold us.

Let us not let others

Tell us what we can and can’t do.

Let us not let religion or politics

Stand in the way.

Let us not let old, crotchety, white men

Tell us how we can spend

The rest of our days.

Let us love who we want to love,

Go where we want to go,

Say what we want to say,

Worship who we want to worship,

Be who we want to be.

There is too much constraint.

There are too many rules.

There are too many eyes

Spying on us from cracks in the walls.

There are too many guns

Pointed at us in the face.

We want to free.

We want to live our lives

How we want to live.

Please,

Set us free,

In the name of God,

In the name of our forefathers,

In the name of freedom riders,

In the name of Ghandi,

In the name of Martin,

And Malcolm,

And John Lennon,

And John F. Kennedy,

And Robert Kennedy,

And all the others that have died,

Do what is right,

Do what is right.

What if I could not say hello to you?

What if we couldn’t have sex?

What if we couldn’t go to church on Sunday?

What if we could not work?

There are so many possibilities,

So many freedoms that we all

Take so much for granted.

I am as guilty as anyone else.

We have it so good in our country,

Though there is always

Plenty of room for improvement.

Right now, there are many injustices

Present for many people.

The mistreatment, and, sometimes,

Even murders of black citizens

By police officers is a concern;

Another is the mass deportation

Of Hispanic immigrants;

And the unequal pay and

Lack of promotions for women;

And the exploitation of student loans;

And the influence of big business

And the extremely wealthy in politics;

The list goes on and on.

These are some of my concerns.

I’m sure you have plenty of your own,

And they may be the same,

Or they may be very different.

Perhaps you are concerned

About the use of abortion;

Or maybe, same-sex marriage;

Or the welfare state.

We all have our priorities.

We all value different things,

And, perhaps, they are two sides

To the same coin.

It’s what makes our country great.

But, I wonder,

Can our country withstand the strain

That it is under?

So much conflict!

So much stress on our daily lives.

Can we make it through

The crucible of our greatest strength,

But perhaps our greatest weakness:

Democracy?

Money, money, money.

Time ensnared, body in chains…

No, not really, not ever, not quite.

I never really know

How that really feels,

So, I shouldn’t say that.

But, sometimes, I feel

Like there is an invisible

Ball and chain

Around my leg,

In my office.

No, I don’t really know

What that feels like, I know,

But, do you ever feel like that?

Because you have to be there?

Because you have to pay your bills?

I know, I have it very good.

I shouldn’t complain.

There are lots of benefits

That come with my job.

I know, I have it very easy,

Compared to many others.

So, perhaps, it is wrong

For me to complain.

But, just for the moment,

Please, indulge me.

After all, I live in a country,

In which some seem to think,

It is their right to hate.

It is their right to discriminate.

It is their right to enslave.

It is their right to provide

A small amount of benefits,

Or, none at all,

In return for very hard work,

With little pay,

With no leave,

With no insurance.

Am I too far off?

Am I wrong, after all,

To bring up the fact,

That it is on the broken backs of those

Who produce the labor,

To earn the dollars

That fill the pockets

Of those at the very top,

While leaving very little

For the rest of us?

What is wrong with this picture?

Loved, this. Wonderful. Deja vu of Whitman.

Open brawls over political issues,

Discrimination justified by the state,

Bigotry disguised as morality,

Class warfare in every paycheck,

Every tax return, every law passed,

Every corporation exempted,

Every big bank profit,

Every new star of the fascist regime.

When will it all end, or,

Is it just getting started?

This game has gone on long enough.

Can’t people understand

That these things are wrong?

This is not Nazi Germany, after all.

It would seem that some

Would like it that way.

After all, didn’t Hitler

Consider himself a good Catholic?

The ways things are going,

We may just see the same type

Next election, in the White House.

Days fly by, faster than we can fathom.

Seems as though, we never catch up,

What seems important one day,

Is quickly forgotten the next.
Is there peace and rest for the weary?

Is there compassion for those in pain?

Is there healing for wounded souls,

Broken bodies, aching hearts?
Seems the world doesn’t stop to wait

For those who straggle behind,

Hanging on a whisper of hope,

Clinging to a hint of mercy.
Is there a chance for all of us?

Can we all rise to our potential?

Or are we lost in the details,

The number crunching, the cut backs?
Maybe our hopes must be exchanged

For less shiny, impressive outcomes.

Maybe, when it comes to the end,

We are not even remembered.
“Who are you, again?” they ask.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Oh, you really worked for me,

For thirty years, you say?”
“Wow, that’s a long time!

Funny, I don’t remember you.”

Yes, funny, not ha, ha.

Not silly, not kidding, not joking.
Dead serious.

What do we really hope for?

What is our goal?

If it’s happiness, we can forget it.