poem in memory of Sen. John McCain

UNPERISHING REPUBLIC

                                        i.m. Sen. John McCain

Politicians are not often poets

though they might be actors

in a denouement of Shakespeare’s

Measure for Measure.  Just deserts

are rarely staged there, in the Senate,

these days – when a thumbs-down

from a stalwart shaken lion

mimes the freedom to be obstinate

against all bullies, liars, tyrants.

When a simple judgement – white

supremacists aren’t patriots,

they’re traitors – damns those deviants

from one magnanimous dream of Union

(human, not partisan;

global, not only Arizonan).

Comanches raided every town

along the Rio Grande, once: Yankee

& Viet Cong slaughtered

each other, martyred

kids; but we transmute reality

by change of heart, by radical

meekness.  With mutual

respect... consensual

advice, consent... our ancient legal

dance of equity, for human dignity...

so might this son of Cain

be able to smile again

in that unperishing Republic of hilarity.

8.27.18

The Sovereignty of Good

PRAIRIE SPACE

A beautiful moon swings low over

frigid freeway, tonight.

Distant rays (twice-refracted)

illuminate roadside snow.  Up there

floating, one sharp sigh, one smile –

dark rondure of tennis ball

cushions his gradual

descent (unique lunar profile).

Substance of illumination...

State of Union, tonight.

President sheds late

bright emanation (station

on the way).  Recognition

of a mission, Everyman –

Goodness is this, right?  One.

Gaze upon prairie space (the sun).

Pursuit of happiness.  By we

the people.  Recognition

of a transposition...

humble oxymoron-man (of thee

I sing).  He play the target-sign,

a threefold ground zero

premier.  Mysterioso.

Ford Theatre (Dallas denouement).

Roger Williams tracks into the woods

to huts of Miantonomi.

Is finished, sez he –

snowing again (beatitudes).

1.12.16

. . . & the difference between Byzantium & US being, of course, Roger Williams of Rhode Island (theocracy vs. church/state separation). it circles around like that in my poetry (around the snoozing head of Wm. Blackstone).