To the Entrepreneur

I'd like to thank you for the gifts you give
The world, solutions you provide, the wealth
The world enjoys. How many people live
A better life, a longer life, in health?

I'm eating grapes in winter, writing this
On a computer, air-conditioned room
In summer, art is everywhere--this bliss,
This blessing now provided to the tomb.

And yet, the selfish and the greedy want
The tiny bit we bless you with for all
You've done--providing nothing, they now hunt
You down to line you up against the wall.

For all the things you do to change our fate
The world should cherish you and celebrate. 

Sacrifice Your Iphigenia

We're in the doldrums now, and Artemis
Has stopped the winds in punishment
Because we have abandoned poetry.
Postmodern verse was never meant
To strike us all with awe and fear, or bring
The gods to earth with awesome beauty.
We have abandoned all that poetry
Was meant to be and failed our duty,
Offended her, the sacred moon, the light
Of shifting shadows that brings mind
Enlightenment from contemplation.
And now the moon demands a sacrafice
Before she will allow creation
To find its voice in you. You think you have
A voice? Oh, fool who lives in lies,
Pretends the doldrums are swift hurricanes,
And you are simply in their eyes--
You have to sacrifice what you most love.
What's your Iphigenia? Face
The mother of your great creation, kill
Her in the hope of glory's grace,
Risk your poetic life to open life
To poetry and poetry
To life in its complexities, for truth
And beauty come from tragedy.

What Alone

The swans are feigning gentleness--they swell
With white and whisper on the surface, white
Light diamonding the sapphire surface--spell
Now cast, the swans now follow their delight.

The lighter lichens catch the little light,
But otherwise, the forest fills with shade
Attracting your naive soul with its night
That fill the spaces in this little glade.

I know that I can change the world. I know
That I can't change the world. I know that I
Can change myself alone. I have to show
Myself myself and all that I deny.

The forest and the pond both have their pull.
Among the roots the waves lap on a skull. 

Shiva

Out of the seeming chaos came the world--
In Fibonacci spirals it unfurled--
For God's the chaos that makes order be
And Satan is the order that sets free
Disorder and destruction, evil's root.

We can't forget Satan's most beautiful--
A beauty that deceives our souls--now mull
This truth: utopias in mind or made
Are beautiful because they're Satan's shade
And home, though made from skulls, deceit,  and loot.

Creation everywhere precedes destruction--
But from the chaos everything must rise--
From all the rubble will come new construction--
 But never deconstruct what you despise.