“Men in Orange Jumpsuits”

 

She wanted the attention and the wealth.
Bold disrespect she shows Memorial Day
for Christians dressed in orange to their death;
be-headings all the rage is Griffin’s way.

I weep for Man whose lost all sense of shame
I shudder for her stupid, bloody hands
I feel the filth just mentioning her name
A comedy of sorts lost to her fans.

Catastrophe to those who clap and grin.
There will be sorrow for the rest of us.
A lost humanity attuned to sin,
we’ll view our part , if any, with disgust.

The heart has withered once the head is lost
and so Man’s spirit where there is no trust.

“Patterns”

Mathematical Universe(see Max Tegmark’s “Our Mathematical Universe”)

                                                                   “Patterns”

Whose hand now tracks this journey in its field?
Who placed it in that Universal norm?
Whose pattern makes it swirl and glow and yield?
Whose logic gives it stature in this form?

Its turnings strong and sure; no anxious pause.
Its destination perfect and sublime;
the artist pushed that pencil is first cause
for other worlds envisioned at that time.

Who tracks my body into being mine?
Who gives me voice and life; connections, too?
Directions come from stardust where I shine.
Pitched in black ponds, dust forms a circling brew.

Whose journey sends a chilling down my spine?
Imagined hand thus prompted by what mind?