I once walked -- just like an Egyptian
in mimicking a Bangles song,
and reenacted an inscription.
The mummies woke, and came along.
The dead and buried, two dimensions,
perspective lacking in those days,
they mummified, with good intentions,
and hid their treasures in a maze.
Tutankhamun or Tutankhaten
seem hardly relevant, and yet,
the pyramids above Manhattan
are built so that we won't forget.
this is what men do
while women do their shopping
then carry their bags
half-hanged Maggie was her name
this is how her story went
the event that brought her fame
you might think was heaven-sent
'tis a tale of subterfuge
a town judge that was a scrooge
but in justice did relent
she was hanged: adultery,
the concealing of a child
was the charge: what doltery
she was hanged for it, but smiled
in the coffin, she woke up
the town judge -- he then spoke up
double jeopardy -- thus filed
Author notes: https://www.scotsman.com/whats-on/arts-and-entertainment/half-hangit-maggie-scots-woman-who-survived-hanging-622567
a waterfall that flows downhill
does not engender a raised eyebrow
and yet, the flow of dollar bills
continues to surprise the highbrow
like a black hole, the budget does
attract all matter to an orbit
it's all about "I Have", "He Has"
nor is it time to write an obit
for justice: justice ever bends
to what I'd call the laws of nature
and execution -- yes -- depends
not on some quirk of legislature
but on where the black hole resides.
So put away their bona fides
no advocate or legal scholar
will supersede the mighty dollar.
Once you have learned this lesson well,
no, life does not, of sudden, swell
into utopian perfection.
Put it aside. Get a canoe
and ride the rapids to the finish.
Dissatisfaction will diminish.
You'll get your turn into the queue.
And that, at least, is my reflection.
along the sculpted Scottish coast, they are no strangers to the boast
but whisper Duncan or Macbeth, and there's that telltale catch of breath
yes, something wicked this way comes, cue in the beating of the drums
the witches prick their thumbs and chant, and Duncan seeks escape, but can't
Author notes: the fuller version: https://allpoetry.com/poem/16258137-Duncans-Ghost-by-Coolmails
The time comes soon, when humankind
will hand over the torch.
What Sistine chapels would its mind
conceive of? Will it scorch all that we've done
and all that we've created?
Or will it let us carry on: no longer masters. Sated.
bright dreams shattered
glass cracking
sunlight scattered
blame not lacking
but the picture's gets clearer
search for fault? look in the mirror.
Author notes: Image from thisiscollosal.com
a potent chemical attraction
the touching hands, though, demand action
at last she gives up, in a rant:
"Please, please, please use -- deodorant!"
Author notes: Image from stockunlimited.com
each man an island, but the mind
will try to ascertain and find
a common tongue with which to prattle
the will to talk is half the battle
but in the end, what you will hear
is either boobs, or butt, or beer
a lone balloon near water's edge
a floating remnant of a pledge
to "never, ever leave your side"
now looking for a place to hide
red faced, and sinking in its shame
it bears the blame
Author notes: Image from pixabay com
captured, wings flapping in midflight
as the sun's luscious, grapefruit light
directs their shadow down below
their wingtips bathing in its glow
perhaps they've come just for the view
and then they turn, as if on cue
Author notes: Image from chirpforbirds.com
Usher scans phone, and then ushers us in.
Speakers announce that the show must begin.
Actors today facing no easy task --
It is the audience that wears a mask.
First intermission: we're all at the bar,
buzzing: the playwright, have they gone too far?
Hamlet a woman? Petruchio the shrew?
What else is new, all in all, much ado.
End of the show, we spill out to the street.
Some rush away, feet that measure concrete.
Some even TikTok while they're on the go:
Excellent, horrible, or just so, so.
Avenues crawl with determined commuters
glued to their phones. Some whiz by on their scooters
trying to get to a better tomorrow.
Some beg or steal -- as to most -- they just borrow.
Grey and subdued as the bright LCDs
glare at each other, and tease follows tease,
Broadway as busy as ever it seems.
Something is missing, though. Must be my dreams.