The Killer

I am the misconceived unconnected son of an ordinary woman who baked as many cakes as your Mom, loved me as much.  My father went to war, saved the nation, came back shell shocked with medals and memories he cannot tell. Something went wrong with me.  It was not the boyish pranks, soap on your windows, Halloween T P on your house or car.  I am evil behind a mask, the guy who breaks into your house, microwaves your cat, leaves a note, “I just had to see.” I feel no remorse, it’s all good fun.  I’m the unknown gunman of the drive by shooting, hitching a freeway, waiting with a rifle, dropping a cinder block from an overpass… Tense, clean-cut, overly polite, the All-American type at the 7/11.  I pack a 38, take a bus to Nashville and murder six people in the mall for the thrill of it, the fun, the fame. I am the unexplained American dream gone nightmare destined for the black print of the newspaper —  The brute in us all, the reason you bolt your door at night.

 

Jack-o'-Lantern_2003-10-31

 

 

 

 

 

*Cover Photo by Gwyn Henry

Toward Samhain, for Shawn Morrissey

It would be a lie to say
I have no sorrow for the dead
I sing to them
To steady heart and head.
Sorrow, a boy forsaken
Sleeps no doubt
In the quiet of my bed
He cannot be mistaken.

Rising to the early light
To torpor I awaken,
I care for him
His Sadness never shaken.
Cold days in ink
I give him voice, the mild
And the meek,
Seldom have a choice.

Sometimes tears are words.
Understand me,
Ghosts follow in gloom
Throughout my home
Looking on lovingly
They crowd the rooms of memory
They do, until we join them too.

Friday 13. 2017

This poem has nothing to do
with Shawn Morrissey being dead.
He’s very much alive & well.
It’s for him because he’s into ghosts, horror, sci fi
and other spooky stuff.

ced0ddb7519d17df7cb4d9fc08064dcb
Painting by Odilon Redon

Lament for the Body Politic

You’re better to believe what we tell the children: God loves all
Satan’s to blame for the evil in the world, the horror of war.

You’re better if you just think it, think the heart of humanity
The soul of the nation is one, indivisible under Mr. Donald J.

Oh say can’t you see something eatin’ away at the heart-land
Like an amoeba eatin’ the brain, a crow peckin’ the liver of liberty?

Chipping away inside, death has a bone to pick with us all.
We let hate and bloodshed go, over and over, but never have we

Quite committed to memory how we do it—our books rust on shelves
Our art rots on walls, television keeps us distracted with football

Our laws help check, but there is no remedy for reality– violence
Erupts at any turn, with or without imams, rabbis, priests

A merciful God, Almighty Wall Street—
There’s no getting away from that unless we remember

How to love one another, send the cops and soldiers home for good
Lay down our views, our arms, and live in perfect peace—

Believe it’s possible and you’re better than me, pushin’ seventy
Kickin’ the tires of a heavenly car, never seen nothin’ like it so far.

peace-sign
554850918

Credo 2

Religions are a balm to a wounded heart
but an insult to sound intelligence.
They provide peace and connection
while kicking us in the head,
So because we need to connect for peace
and we like being kicked around,
We’d do well to study and get use to them.

lifespan-bodhisattva-vow   Blues for a Buddha : Credo 1 & 2 by Rayn Roberts

The Wave & The Wind

Rikuzentakata Ôfunato Kuji swept away

No trace they were ever there
Otsuchi Miyako Yamada
Sôma Namie Minamisôma Onagawa
Kesennuma Natori Ishinomaki gone,
The earth gave and the sea
Has taken away Banda Ache
Two hundred thirty thousand
Gone in the Indian Ocean wave.

I am thinking of Phuket on Boxing Day

The waters receding so fast
Fish were left flapping on the sand,
The boy drawn by hunger
Or a child’s fascination
Not knowing the danger
Walking out to catch a few–
Then the immense water-wall moving
He turns, runs–  is gone.

Some say the Lord taketh

But where were healing Jesus
Allah the Merciful
When countless cries went up,
Where were the thousand hands
Of listening Kannon,
in paradise where she was
Blissful in her Pure Land as if
Tsunami’s never happen?
Do the dead hear the whispered calls

On the kaze-no-denwa wind phone?

 

Rayn Roberts 2017

Kaze no Denwa, The Wind Phone

10191129518479

Any Day Now

Nothing you were to think, feel, know, remains intact
The givens all gone, the body unravels

The soul does not exist: where spirit seemed to breathe
A great hole deepens, a sea of liquid sound spills in
Pure as God’s voice, moonlight-shoals and starry reefs
In vacancies of time too wide to navigate, the soul
A supreme fiction, a lost frame in an old film
Lightens out of being, a dream in pure color, sensation
Glittering the last hour, the lives that lived you
And left you to wonder, completely gone, directions
Collapse in light, light in all from all
Nothing to hold you, what you are dissolves in awe

A dreadful wonder of knowing all and nothing at all
But the jewel in the lotus, this, this moment.

call230410