VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Gary Maxwell

A Meditation for Monday Morning

Proud, lifelong members

of a mediocracy –

they plan to die here.

A quiet harbor.

All that fills the air’s the scent

of dead fish, stinking.

Managed by seagulls

screeching high above our heads,

the daily droppings

are their directives.

In the belly of THIS beast

I envy Jonah.

American Religion, Inc

You deny us mercy, grace,

claiming you’re the master race.

You’re no stranger to my sins – 

drowning, you just hold it in.

By your lie this truth you’ve taught:

“holy” means you’ve not been caught.

Rightly we who seek the sun

take one look at you – and run.

What we all know you can’t see:

you’re in chains but think you’re free,

keeping up that grim facade,

blowing bullshit back at God.

The Visitor

The wind came shoeless,

   asking back the grief she’d left

on her last visit.

I served expresso,

   glad to have the space of course

for new expansions.

Discussing weather

   and the flapping fears of fools,

we laughed together.

She smiled so sweetly,

   sweeping up the jagged parts,

then took ’em with her.

Economics 101

See the big dogs saunter past,

blessing hydrants, all around?

Those aren’t raindrops on the grass –

that’s your taste of “trickle down.”

Haiku

Moon-watching May night –

next door neighbor draws her bath

while I drink sake.