Beyond Belief

Beyond belief,
Above opinion,
Supporting true knowledge,
Composed of indisputable facts,
Informing wisdom,
Is the Truth.



Looking for Truth

You can look in your books,
Old and new,
Of beginnings and births,
Journeys and exiles,
Looking for truth
In a burning bush,
Or hanging on a Roman tree.

Search the history of time
For big bangs and clouds of gas,
Using probability and fuzzy logic,
Rationality and intellect,
Dialectic and dialogue,
Searching for truth outside the cave
In the depth of a black hole;
In the cry of a baby universe.

You can look inside,
Examine the depths of your soul,
For compassion and humility,
Poetry and purpose,
Knowing the only thing
You can truly know,
Controlling the only thing
You can truly control,
Be present
In the only moment you have,
Looking for truth
Under an Indian fig tree,
With an Athenian gadfly;
Between the pages of an emperor’s journal.

You can look outside,
At starving children on the streets,
At parents slaving to survive,
Living in quiet desperation
At the pleasure of the oligarchs
In the castle on the hill,
500 yards from urine stained crack houses,
6 miles from Robert E. Lee’s hoouse
And the tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
Looking for truth
In the eyes of a stranger
Or the hand of a friend.



Plato’s Cave (Tanka)

Shapes on the cave wall
Mind-mist, distorted; unreal
Crawl into the light
Eyes adjust to sunlight
Reality seems insane


This was written in response to Colleen’s Weekly Poetry Challenge No. 53 – MIST & SHAPE.

There’s a Dream I Keep Having (For Tom Petty (1950-2017))


A ten year old boy from Gainsville,
Whose uncle introduced him to Elvis
On a movie set in Ocala,
And traded his Wham-O® slingshot
For a stack of the King’s 45s,
Saw the Beatles on Sullivan,
Bought a guitar, joined a band,
And never looked back
As he ran down that dream
Through the mud, across America
To L.A. for a date with Heartbreakers.

Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!
With his guitar, his band, and his southern accent.

Never giving in, never backing down,
Learning to fly with the stars;
Still singing with the voice of the people,
The voice of the poor,
The humble salt of the Earth,
The voice of the lonely,
The downtrodden, the unheard.

A rebel with a cause and a conscience,
Writing his truth,
Singing our lives,
Living his dream.


The Hunt (tanka)

Searching for answers
To questions forever asked.
Seeking only truth
Following the path ahead
Finding myself on the way.


This is my response to Colleen’s Weekly #Poetry Challenge # 44 – #Haiku #Haibun or #Tanka: HUNT & FIND

The Key

The Key

Sore knees kneeling
Inside darkened doorways,
Pants worn to threads,
Back aching bending,
Peering through the keyhole
To see the world outside.
Pure light stinging,
Eyes tearing,
Cannot look away,
Trying to piece together
What is on the other side.
Family and friends
Huddled behind you
Watching puppet shadows
On the wall.

Open the door
—You’ve always had the key—
Sunlight warm,
Pure, blinding, hurting,
Don’t recoil, or turn away,
Stand; face the day,
Open the shades,
Fill the house with light.


Original keyhole image is by Storye Book. It was found at WikiMedia Commons  & modified by myself using Photoshop.


For George Orwell

Once they convince you
the news is all fake,
that science is conspiracy,
To ignore the evidence of your eyes
–They’re full of biased media lies–
Only they tell you Truth,
Alternative facts reversing the burden of proof,
Your best interests always in mind,
How do you prove
Climates are changing
In unnatural ways,
The past is immutable,
History is real, the Earth is old,
Evolution is fact, Gravity works,

How do you prove
That you’re no longer free?


Truth (a Tanka)

Opinions vary
Our points of view are unique
Question everything
Truth can never be untrue
Alternate facts are just lies.


Sing the Song of Rebellion

Singing the songs of my country,
Singing the songs of my land,
Serenading broken countrymen
Writing their dreams in the sand.

Telling the stories of our history,
All the lessons we should have learned:
The path that says it leads to greatness
Ends with human bodies being burned.

If you tell it often enough
Every lie can seem to be true,
The bigger the lie the better, it seems.
The great crowds won’t have a clue.

Trained to reject the evidence of your eyes,
You’ll see what they tell you to see,
Think what they tell you to think.
All the time believing you are free

This is how democracy ends:
With thunderous applause.
Sew the seeds of dissident rebellion,
Give voice to a sacred cause.


Exiles and Enlightenments (a sonnet)


A deserted beach, shipwreck on the shore,
Desolate remains of a life once shared,
Before it was clear what fate had in store
In Eden, with you, when our hearts were bared,

Forbidden fruit can ne’er be un-eaten
Once taught, good and evil can’t be un-learned
Battles can’t be won once you’ve been beaten,
Bridges can’t be crossed once they’ve all been burned.

Alone we walk the paths on which we’re hurled
Exiled to wilderness, where truth is found
To become ourselves, to create our world,
To accept the fate to which we are bound.

No way to be that you’re not meant to be
No way to accept this and not be free


Image: Wrecked fishing boats at Grasbakken in Nesseby, Finnmark, North Norway (6 December 2012, 17:53:17) by Hans Olav Lien.
Found on WikiMedia Commons