the drizzle of diamonds

the drizzle of diamonds

the sky used to drizzle diamonds

her face turned to heaven as she

stood infant in arms and whirled

good fortune at peak – now gone

to rot – weeping willowed roots

wrapping round her ankles on

the trail to the tunnel where ex-pat

mothers trudge seeking surcease

from the swift sickled saint, sur-

cease from those relentless

slashes of the soul - seeking

entrance to the black tunnel with-

out end - yet - there -through it all

in memory - manifested - ahead 
the drizzle of

diamonds
sparkling
still 

The Sunday Whirl

A craving poem: a regular day

a regular day

kneeling they fall
headless in blood
others stand above
picture fades to black
as voices chatter
here and there
it’s not just that
bloated bellied
children stare
with wide eyes
of slashed puppies
from televisioned
eyes and screens
begging and I
in witness bearing
madness to not
turn away or
toward …wake
to this sunshined
morning flowers
potted - planted
trees drift...
languidly as
words scream
and a group sits
in for blasts of
gunfire that cannot
be silenced any longer
I long I long I long
for the regular day
when I lifted a mewling
infant to my breast
and curled together
on cool sheets
as milk flowed
in peace