The Breeding Ground of Misanthropy

Front Range
Colorado’s changed
No longer the cow town and slow cities of my youth
Where monarch butterflies still migrated through, and life
Was slow enough to breathe.

You have become a coast city now, your beaches
The sandstone piedmont of the once purple Rockies
A cloud of nitrogen now smogs my view, and
Although the sunsets are vivid it pales to John
Denver’s fire in the sky.

I feel you tainted
With hurry and bustle, the
Bloodline to our ski towns clogged
With dis ease
And economic need
With ego and noise, distraction from pain

Clogged are my towns with booze, meth,
Cocaine, ever hiding from the activism we
Proclaim
From the top of the Flatirons, we scream
Our greed
Our Front Range is nothing more than the western
Most East Coast!

Filled with the hurried and angered soccer moms
The onorexics and yoga divas
The self – the self – perpetuating its fear
My West is no more, its peace is all gone

Along with the starlight
The silent night
Replaced with the Hummmmmmmming of power lines
The bright L.E.D. lights,
Blinding our vision from destiny to fright.

The Rape of Luna

The moon, she cried tonight
Silently weeping her shadowy light
Down upon my broken heart
Beaten and harmed in her name.

Luna, whose hold and cadence
Ever dependable, never changing
A loyal lover, even in her dance
The maternal grasp of satellites gravity

She has never steered us wrong.
Never harmed, never hurt our beloved home
A shield to flecks of ice which could harm us
A protector, she the eternally kind sibling to our mother.

Raped. Violated by the cowardly
A roomful of sexless androgynous souls
Seeking either glory or redemption
Longing for recognition in a world of chosen cells.

Isolation - the breath of the dying
No longer creation but meaningless equations
Spun by empty casings in a universe of predictability.
Did they penetrate to a hopeful end?

Was there righteousness in their excretion
Of carbon onto pure soil
Of waste onto the icy linen of the night
DId they do it to protect our home from satellites?

Not spoken of but known
More silent than the moon’s harvest light?
More urgent than the purity of belief and religious
Rite?