"Opernplatz"

(Upon visiting the square,
Composed in April 2010).


Dort, wo man Bucher verbrennt,
Verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen
Thousands of leaves flutter in the wind,
Volumes ceremoniously heaped high;
Unacceptable, Vile, Degenerate,
The works, the words, thoughts rejected,
Condemned, consigned to the flames;
Dark smoke billows in Opernplatz.

Such burning, frenzied censorship,
Fear hid in the smoldering embers,
Now fully ablaze with irrational zeal.

Seeking to protect themselves,
Future generations from dangerous tomes,
Exterminating decadence and corruption;
Instead, ignorant masses would create;
The fires of inquisition consume;
This raging inferno destroys.

Annihilating all seeming dissent,
And as the wise man said of old,
It would not end there.

For burning books would not uproot
Seed of difference, diversity of thought.
This conflagration of text would not suffice;
For fragrant forests up in flame
Would but the tinder be to burning flesh
Until all color, all beauty is razed.

Empty bookshelves, empty beds,
No phoenix would be found
Amongst this pyre of ash.

"Das Stelenfeld"

(Composed in remembrance
On April 17, 2010).


Das
Stelenfeld
Hundreds in rows
Low as grave stones
Silent slabs in morning
Amongst the grey I wander
Between the concrete masses
Beginning even with the ground
Then slowly rising from the earth
Until they stretch as charging soldiers
Obscuring the view of the heavens above
Oppressive maze, confusing, they mislead
Memorializing the murdered millions
Lives cut short by hate and malice
Slowly fading back to the earth
Yet even still they linger
Lurking in the ground
Will we remember
Lend our voice
Or look away
Cowardly
Hide

"Moment passed"

(Composed April 16, 2010).

A leaf falls into the stream,
Crisp and golden as a dream,
Floating as a morning song,
Lapping waters roll him along.

"Stay still," I yearn, "that I might gaze
Upon your beauty, sing your praise
Of vibrant colors, lovely display,"
Yet he cannot; he floats away.

I follow him with my eyes,
Refusing to say goodbyes
'Til he rounds the rugged bend
And I can no longer pretend.

I would jump and swim
Seeking to cling to him;
I would grasp him in my hand
Never letting go, demand.

Yet grasping would be losing,
In my greed cruelly bruising;
The plucking would be killing,
My nightmare's fulfilling.

Moments of exquisite delight,
Stir the soul, thrill, excite,
As the beauty of the dawn,
Yet soon they pass away...gone.

We weep and strain to see beyond,
Vainly flailing our magic wand
To follow their dazzling trail,
Yet our eyes simply fail.

We mope, and pout, and yearn,
For their quick, speedy return,
The tender moment passed,
Wishing it would only last.

Still moments do not swim upstream,
No matter how we yell or scheme,
Still theirs is not the only song,
For another leaf soon comes along.

"Today in La Mirada"

(Composed on April 16, 2010).

It's a particularly breezy day
Today in La Mirada.
Enjoying a brief walk in the park
In the glowing afternoon sun,
I am distressed to read the black words
Spray painted in capital letters
"DO NOT FEED THE DUCKS".

As though an icy wind encroached,
Chilling to the very bone,
So this interdiction shakes me.
Beside the gentle flowing pond,
The sweetly chirping and quacking birds,
This prohibition in its silent shouting
Disturbs the melody with its dissonance--
Clanging cymbal 'midst soothing sonata.