What is black

What is black?
Is it the confusion
in a starless night?
What is black?
Is it the envelope
surrounding a corpse?
What is black?
Maybe it is the color
of complete destruction.
What is black?
Does it reside in
the heart of greedy humans?
What is black?
Could it be the
complacency of commission?
What is black?
I will tell you,
open your eyes and see.
What is black?
It is the tar stain
upon Mother Natures breasts.
What is black?
It is the choking slick
upon the surface of creation.
What is black?
It is the oil that
gives reason to mendacious men.
What is black?
It is the killing field
in the marshes and bayous.
What is black?
It is the tragedy
contaminating our ocean’s life.
What is black?
It is the face of consumption,
it is the face of us.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Kingdom come

People are a disingenuous species,
Stealers, cheaters, killers, devourers.
Religious psychopaths imagining a God.
Teaching false humanity, love thy neighbor,
Unless the neighbor believes not as you, then,
destroy him in the creators name.
The hypocrisy of religion is salvation,
the cosmos cares not about beliefs,
the Creator cares only about life,
All life, even the hypocrites of life.
There is no judgement day, there is now,
there are the fish in the sea,
the birds singing in the trees,
the babble of cascading brooks,
azure blue skies with white clouds,
there is you, there is me, there is
only time flushing detritus of delirium.
The excuses for our species,
the greed, government, uselessness,
organic perversion of universal life.
We will be judged not by our accomplishments.
We will be judged on our stewardship,
and the earth is taking names.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Dim wits

Who knew we could fly?
Personal hygiene disregarded
a trans Atlantic flight ballistic
canard of contemporary constipation.
Bowels squeezed into corseted
over priced buckets of insanity.
There are no complaints,
the man is in cahoots with airlines,
you have paid to become a victim,
Undressed by over paid nematodes,
parasites of society dignified.
The jihadist have won and you do not
know it, their torture, confinement.
Searing the skies in aluminum tubes,
rebreathing your neighbors exhalent,
gimbiled by the rules, land of the free,
home of the brave, bullshit.
You are cattle giving in to the
Gestapo of democracy’s bureaucratizes,
it’s their job, you damn dim wits.
You have been sold a patriotic
bill of goods, and we are less for it.

©2012, Donald Harbour

The enigmas of Mars

Mars

with Curiosity humans peered
the scene is desolate
a dry bed of sand and pebbles
water once flowed here
there was life in abundance
now replaced by the events of time
eons of the past brought change
only thin aired breezes whisper
days are burning hot
nights frigid numbing cold
what was before now lies dormant
hiding in deep recesses of rock
adapting becoming resilient
waiting for birthing moisture
and while life suspended abides
the red planet continues its course
until man’s machines disturbed the slumber
awakening the enigmas of Mars

©2012, Donald Harbour

Avariciousness

there is Every Man who walks the long mile
plodding upon the graveled road of judgement
his feet bearing the casualty of avariciousness
a non-complaining man of simple means
he is compelled to perform a supplication
those that hold his means and manner
those that demand his dominion
graze upon his meagreness and humility
no thought given to plight or pain
their demand the holy gospel of exchange
they are fore bearers of blood sucking lice
infecting insects of societal woes and want
these modern-day temple money changers
the constant corporate foot upon the neck
they are the intentional squanders
the desiccation of a nation’s soul
yet they persist by manipulated taking
everything that is evil persists in them
their noose that delivers the pound of flesh
is the corpus of monetary foundation
the man is Every Man Every Woman Every Child
his burden the harlots of finance
yet the man is blind to the casualty of lies
his feet bloodied from the long walk
he struggles as the distance grows greater
and the lie becomes a truth denying his dream.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Political epigram

I am unable, yon politician spoke,
In truth, to speak the truth; would be a joke.

©2012, Donald Harbour

The youth of 1916

A response in the poetic form of a ballad to a line from the novel “Into the Silence”.
By the end of 1916, every boy I had ever danced with was dead.

(Refrain)
By the end of winter 1916,
Every boy I knew was dead,
A bullet for their dance of life,
Cold dirt the blanket of their bed.

(I)
When the call for war first went out,
Our boys joined with happy glee,
Not knowing loves kiss goodbye,
Was the last to ever be.

(II)
Their women mourned so pitiless
With tears their eyes did swell,
But boys thought the better of it,
Formed ranks and marched to hell.

(Refrain)
By the end of winter 1916,
Every boy I knew was dead,
A bullet for their dance of life,
Cold dirt the blanket of their bed.

(III)
Rose colored was each manly cheek,
Their hearts were young and brave,
But soon their faces turned to ash,
Hearts stilled by battle’s grave.

(IV)
Their country gave them medals,
Chiseled names in granite stone,
Everyone sadly shook their heads,
But their widows cried alone.

(Refrain)
By the end of winter 1916,
Every boy I knew was dead,
A bullet for their dance of life,
Cold dirt the blanket of their bed.

(V)
So when you think to take up arms,
And kill another man’s kith and kin,
They too are someone’s father or son
Who will never be kissed again.

(VI)
The great war should teach us all,
There is no reason for such slaughter,
In the end the pain of  death,
Is carried on by wives and daughters.

(Refrain)
By the end of winter 1916,
Every boy I knew was dead,
A bullet for their dance of life,
Cold dirt the blanket of their bed.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Dali got it right

Last night I happily dreamed,
Our world’s ship turned upside down,
Giant oaks hung suspended in the air,
While birds flew on the ground.

Air was not polluted for breath,
All water pure for drinking too,
The earth’s creatures took photographs,
Of caged humans in their public zoo.

It was a world of imaginations,
Where peace reigned supreme,
Where guns were licorice sticks,
And oil was frothy whipped cream.

Blue skies were always overhead,
Rivers and lakes placidly flowed,
Fish were scaled in sparkling diamonds,
Multicolored butterflies paved each road.

Cows were made for milk and mooing,
Chickens cheerfully clucked a chicken song,
Lions laid beside fluffy lambs,
No one ever heard the words: this is wrong.

There were no gods or seraph,
No torture or misguided religious grief,
No war mongers, government or politicians,
Pontificating their bellicose belief.

Pink peddle-pushers road horseback,
Through fields of limeade green,
Not found were homeless without homes,
Unbranded tennis shoes were only seen.

Dali was captain of this ship,
Sailing among the galaxies of space,
The passengers of his whimsical bark,
Different hues of the same human race.

Dawn pulled me from the dream,
It whispered a new beginning had begun,
Startled I realized in a jolt of epiphany,
All of us, could make 2012, the one.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Remembering Wanda Hawley

Wanda Hawley, 1920, silent movie star. You are remembered.

Blue Wanda, you are nectar,
That sweet cusp of desire,
You, tucked in violet petals,
Perched upon a delicate stem,
Rooted in Hollywood’s vermicelli,
You waited for the sting of love,
Thirsted for that drop of dew,
Quivering in life’s passing breeze,
Blue Wanda you captivate the heart,
Posed only in a fading still photo.
Born in the soil of Bacchus,
You soften our existence,
Your twin star yet shines in bloom.

©2011, Donald Harbour

A letter to the U.S. Congress, you bunch of dimwits

Dear Congress of the United States of America,
Yeah, you who begged for money to be hired,
What happened on your self-righteous trip to DC,
In what lobbyist cesspool are you now mired?

Is it just that you are lazy self-indulgent egotists,
Or a bunch of incompetent party hack tools,
Do you think you’re at a Halloween masquerade ,
Dressed as monied special interest banker ghouls?

Hey, I’m talking to you mob of politico dodos,
You’re burning up my hard earned tax cash,
People and families are suffering in our country,
Get to work, get off your partisan fat…er, ah, ash.

Does plutocracy ring your green back bells,
Or, have you forgotten about your nation’s need,
Does political party-line mean more than the voter,
Well then, we know from which slop trough you feed.

Where is your brain, what are you doing to us,
Has power, greed, and emotion taken our place,
Does the one percent now represent America,
Their campaign contribution the smile on your face.

When it comes down to your bottom-line,
There is only one thing that really rings true,
All those big dogs in this greedy indifferent world,
Have bought and paid for our congress, that’s you.

©2011, Donald Harbour