A companion piece to this morning’s poem.
These things I cannot name: that finger of night
between fear and peace, in which darkness both cloaks
and hugs the wide-eyed. A snake, in the open. And that space
behind the watcher? Perhaps it is easier to call it something
else – a gasp, or the immeasurable measure. A presidential
folly. My friends, ever cautious, swoop in and away, taking
with them only those grains they need, unlike you. What use
is a hoarded larder if it rots? How does one come to want
everything and nothing at the same time? A gilded house
spotlights wealth, not right. Is this edifice your legacy,
your monument to self? The heart monitor’s blip paints one
forever, your pursed lips, another. But even the concrete
you cringe behind lacks permanency; regard your hands
and all they can’t stuff into your pockets. Loosen that
coiled tie lest it choke you. Accept what the…
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O at the Edges 
A snake in the open who seeks the choicest kernels. Mixing up the two pieces – I apologize, or do I? If only the foe were one…
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I like that mix. If only!
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Wow. Scarecrow speaks with powerful awareness. His friends only pluck what little they need, but the man in the glass house, his greed speaks through that little mouth, sucking riches through a straw.
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It is a conundrum.
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This is what I put on Vox Populi: So powerful. If only the right people would read it.
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Thank you, Derrick.
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I commented on Vox Populi, but well done, Robert. This voices a secret, primordial wish; carried upon the hearts of the sane, and progressive masses. Well done.
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It is a common wish! Thank you, Sidra.
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I posted this on Vox Populi and also as part of a comment on Daniel Paul Marshall’s latest essay.
I think this is where we as poets need to direct our blows. Okaji’s latest Scarecrow is an astounding evolution in his writing, to my understanding. Here, a poet who writes personal impressions based on tone and meter suddenly rages against an enemy of the state in one of his most beautiful and thought provoking pieces yet. It is a direction that merits consideration.
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Thanks, Pablo. I like to think that we can write many different types of poetry, yet still aim to a common purpose. I find “raging” to be too easy, at least in the sense that the particular audience is so easily targeted. My fear would be that in the effort to write poetry for these audiences that I might produce pieces that massage all the right nerves but lack personal meaning to me. So I write them as they come…
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Well this one is quite timely and well appreciated. It is difficult to stay on message as a poet. I’m finding this out after my own “raging” against certain recent events. Alas, we must stay true to ourselves.
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That truth is what we must push forward. Without it, we’re lost.
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