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Category: Poem Page 1 of 7

American Crossroads

American Crossroads

For nothing now can ever come to any good,
now that justice is dead, swept from the stage
of this farce we call America, where manhood
is white and carries a gun fired in rage,

where guilt is washed away by milky tears
sucked from the teats of youthful privilege
asserting manufactured fears, met by jury’s cheers.
Once thought land of justice and freedom, now sacrilege,

without respect for life except one’s own.
Asked to bow to the vigilante in despair,
transformed into another MAGA-spewing drone,
do we dare act instead with compassion and care?

For goodness has not left if it lives in our heart.
What to this world around us do we truly wish to impart?

Note: The first line of this poem is the final line of the poem “Funeral Blues” by WH Auden.

Wrestling with Reality – new poems

I’ve made some more of my poems available in book form by independently publishing “Wrestling with Reality.” If you’re interested in ordering a copy, see the Books menu for more information and a link to order.

A Lament for Truth

A Lament for Truth
By Kenneth Arthur

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.
– Martin Luther King, Jr.

Somber suits donned,
we gather to mourn.
Tears caress cheeks
as we face truth:
Truth is dead.

It may have won out some day
but instead we done shot it dead.
Without Truth, there are no
truth-tellers, no prophets.
No Moses to demand let my people go.
No Nathan to hold murderous adulterers accountable.
No Isaiah to stand up for widow and orphan.
The prophets died with Truth.
No Martin to march for justice.
No Harvey to run for office.
No one to lay bare consequences
of power and greed.
No more whistle blowers because
truth has been shot dead,
branded fake, no longer necessary.
No one paid much attention anyway.
We prefer our emperors naked
as long as they strut with confidence
and a fuck you attitude we can mimic.

So we shot Truth dead
and gather to mourn
and wonder if anyone –
politician or preacher,
pipe fitter or paralegal –
has the power to stand graveside
and shout, Lazarus, Come Out!

Borders are in Season

My poem titled “Borders are in Season” won second prize at the 2019 Westminster Art Festival in Portage, MI. Read it here: https://www.westminsterartfestival.org/2019-poetry.

Circle Poems

In the poetry workshop I often go to, one writing prompt was to create our own poetry form. I was inspired by the image of a group of people holding hands in a circle. And so, the circle poem was born:

Circle Poems

This poem forms a circle
within which it will reveal
its madness, like a gerbil
running in a fancy wheel

without an end. Every line
continues onto the next
line and alternate ones rhyme
but that may be too complex

for some. Before we are done
let’s also make each the same
length. Whether or not it’s fun
the final line should reclaim

the first. So our words let fly
and quickly jump this hurdle
if we can, because that’s why
this poem forms a circle.

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