These Winter Evenings

In preparation for death we
send strangers away, cast
them out unfed and unloved,
scatter their families like paper
and see that it is good.

Expecting the Nightland
we stare at the harsh lights
of winter evenings; red
and green and fierce
fluorescent white – until
they echo when we rest our eyes.

Predicting the silence forever
we lean hard on the horns
of our cars and curse
the traffic, just to rush home
and tear off our clothes.

The rumble of dark water
speaks all night from the mantle
beneath us and we sit up
until dawn, forgiving the lies
about justice in the bitter,
unkind world. Then when
the sun comes up, we go.

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J. Kyle Kimberlin
2.25.2017

God Save The Queen

… from Donald Trump.

I know that some of my readers live in the UK. I cordially invite you to join more than one million of your countrymen and women, in signing a petition to ban the ostensible president of my country from being received in your country for an official state visit.

Here’s a link.

Trump is a vile, vapid, vulgar little tyrant whose putrid character is utterly devoid of any redeeming qualities. His personality has all the taste and discernment of a small lump of molding cheddar.What’s more, he’s simply a mad dictator who, if he’s not stopped soon, will rain sorrow and suffering, hate and discontent, on people here in the US and far abroad.

So feel free to tell him, “none shall pass,” and trust me that no right-minded American will take the slightest offense.

Cheers!

Want of foresight, unwillingness to act when action would be simple and effective, lack of clear thinking, confusion of counsel until the emergency comes, until self-preservation strikes its jarring gong – these are the features which constitute the endless repetition of history.

~ Winston Churchill

Withdrawal

Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us. We need hours of aimless wandering or spates of time sitting on park benches, observing the mysterious world of ants and the canopy of treetops.
~Maya Angelou~

Let Them Not Say

Let them not say:   we did not see it.
We saw.

Let them not say:   we did not hear it.
We heard.

Let them not say:     they did not taste it.
We ate, we trembled.

Let them not say:   it was not spoken, not written.
We spoke,
we witnessed with voices and hands.

Let them not say:     they did nothing.
We did not-enough.

Let them say, as they must say something:

A kerosene beauty.
It burned.

Let them say we warmed ourselves by it,
read by its light, praised,

and it burned.

Jane Hirshfield, 1953

Our Better Angels

When I walked into my kitchen this morning, a disembodied computer voice roused itself and said to me:

“Good morning, Kyle. Today is Barack Obama’s last day as President of the United States. He is the 44th president and the first African American elected to that office. Thank you, Mr. President.”

I felt at once sad and grateful, angry, nauseated, and infected by despair. “Yes, thank you and thank you,” I thought, “but my God what have we done?”

This evening I wrote a blog post about my apprehension and my thoughts on citizenship, and posted that on another website. You can read it here, if you’re so inclined.

Here on Metaphor, I’ll just say that by my clock it’s after midnight in Washington DC; it is January 20, 2017. Thank you, Mr. Obama, and your wife and family, for your service and sacrifice offered with surpassing poise and manifest in good faith.

God bless and save America.

 

The Engine

We argue about flowers
We raise our voices
and the flowers stand
proudly in the withering light

From another room
they simply whisper hush

We never cared about flowers
This is just steam from the engine
that drives the great shafts
of our darkness

A wonderful machine
covered with flowers

 

J. Kyle Kimberlin

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