BLUE HERON

Stillness incarnate

Blue wraith hidden by the sky

Feathered dinosaur

Writhing silver flashing death

Slow wide wings lifting

Ancient form perfect

Crested noble flesh eater

White heron gliding

Over the falls

legs trailing

Fishing with her eyes

Streaked cirrus ceiling

Above west wind driven puffs

Arrive with a chill

I sit in a dive of my own devising
Armed to the teeth with indignation
Hurling burning words into dark places
Hoping they will be used
to light new torches.

Ballad of the Thin Man

High above the foreign lands

Power in the Thin Man’s hands

Western science coalesced

In Thin Man’s finger firmly pressed.

He’s the one that gets to chose

Who will win

And who will lose.

The finger of his mailed fist

Picks names on a hidden list

Acting as avenging GOD

He’s never limp

Always hard

Seated on his mighty throne

His scepter a deadly drone

Pinstriped pinheads gather round

Holding targets they have found

Pictures for the Thin Man’s eyes

That discern just who will die.

Where are those who were aghast

At such actions in the past?