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Days of Future Past & Other Poems by Tim Dyson - 45 Poems of Protest
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The orange-haired colossal blunder
boarded a blue and white conveyance
Notice the woman tethered to his fame
no one seems to know her real name
so pert in her leather and linen
with only a slight flex of the wrist
drooling correspondents get the gist
So returns the leader to the white palace
the fawning assistants, bored servants
align themselves with the portraits
of former leaders whose eyes are closed
to the absurd scene of rancor and ego
Most knew these were not ordinary days
days when a public good was simmering
when a fervor espoused common humanity
when the other-worldlings mattered
and the flecks of white power scattered
Today, the arsenals of ignorance
are getting a good going over
squads of mouthless men in black suits
scurry down corridors opening drawers
seeking the lipsticked napkin of betrayal
Someone traded kisses for information
someone further defiled leader's reputation
alleging that racist fervor permeated
every crevice of both his brain and his reign
even as he signed Dr King's proclamation
We are not at war in a conventional sense
and yet, this is a time of true terror
a time when global incineration beckons
a time when the red button's gleaming
in the dim-witted light of leadership
It seems like one is on the opposite bank
of the virtual river of no return where
the ferryman's jug is still half full
as the common folk raise their glasses
to the ghost of the man-god as it passes

Days of Future Past

Those old heroic tales
of gods, warriors
and causes seemingly just
gather now on slumping shelves
in ancient castles of dust
Real or imagined, matters not
up from the bottom of a sacred lake
or set adrift on the river of fate
the symbols and images sail forth
towards some implausible shore
The shining children of tomorrow
tamers of the winds,
masters of fate and sorrow
capable of cosmic exploration
non-earthlings may now cower
In Pluto's caves, huddling as we seek
to discover and destroy
any semblance of logic and trust
anything that could possibly indicate
a glory that is not us

Summit Meeting

It's hard to put things in order, color within the lines
Blurring under the pressure of nagging relevancy.
Seemingly disparate events like lightning flecks
On the last day of summer.  World leaders (though
it needed no leading) gather under czar-like clouds
To discuss the fate of what used to be called Western
Civilization. The old books lied but we did not know
enough to refute them.  Civilized people awaiting
the higher destruction that will be wrought by others
further up the Jacob's ladder of venomous creation.
The end comes quick.  More hurtful, since it's intermittent,
lacking a finality, a progress.  Even if there was, shifting
Sands will follow each missle strike. Remember:
Most of us here in the states worship a guy from yonder.
Perhaps, some sort of linear equation
Explains what's going on,
The path from evil's logic to the alleged rightness of might.
If we stood on the steps of the Parthenon,
Would reasons rise from the Athenian ashes?
Even on the steps of the Russian palace,
With the sun staining the suits and stick-pins,
Gilt-edged handouts are placed next to crystal glassware
That reminded some of the Hapsburgs. And, unknown
To all the attendees, one of the servers
Possessed the Actual Voice of Reason, kept safe
Inside one of his soft thought processes.
After three days of feasting on speeches and caviar,
The security squads started loading their gear.
Bullet-proof limousines lined the drive, black
lacquered ponies on a murderous merry-go-round.
Some of the leaders complained about odd sounds
Emanating from the blood-stained beams.
The scullery maids' laughter echoed all the way
Down to the dungeon where the dissenters
Were watching cartoons about a superhero
Hearing the howls of snow wolves just outside
The caves of solace.

Tim Dyson: Retired from corporate HR, I live in SE Pa. with my beautiful
spouse and two spoiled cats. Many poems published in a variety of
publications.  I simply like poetry that is well crafted.
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Special Project: 45 Poems of Protest

Days of Future Past & Other Poems

by Tim Dyson
(Exton, Pennsylvania, USA)
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