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A Poem for every Week of the Year..

Ronald Mules, San Diego

American Colossus

Oh twin replicas of Rhodes
How steely strong you towered
Monolithic markers of a world’s crossroads
Heralds of a modern age’s power

In your mirrored eyes the fortunes of thousands gleamed
Your cast, straight-backed, their pride
Your expression a heady triumph of all they dreamed
Of an innocence lost by an unholy suicide

Replete on twisted words and 12th century zeal
They aimed at your stout heart with arrows o’ pain
Revealing your façade as more glass than steel
And spilling your life a staining gray rain

In the debris of your broken feet we stand, O lost colossus
Clutching to our impenetrable American Hubris

copyright©2002 Ronald Mules

Robt O'Sullivan Schleith, San Diego

Little Falling Persons

Little falling persons,
you wake me up each morning now;
falling small & helpless, selfless, fading
morning glories, one hundred
stories down you dropped,
unstoppable against unspeakably dreadful sky.

Tiny little tindersticks in tailored
business suits, you sailed
out of your windows on the world
in shiny high heels & patent leather boots,
in waitress linens & busboy aprons-
you had no time to think about your spill,
unwilling Icarus that each of you became.

For you no wild blue yonder,
no stars fell on alabama
no smoke gets in your eyes
for you, this was no lyric plunge
into song & poetry- it was business,
just unfinished business.

It is not my intention to diminish you-
I watched you fall and in that moment
wished a saner destiny for you;
no slowly-building realization-
rather an evaporation,
spontaneous combustion,
instantaneous separation.

It is not my intention to diminish you,
your life, its fullness and its end;
Was it maybe your birthday,
had a bouquet of balloons
just been delivered to the office,
or a box of Krispy Kremes?
Was this the day you were to be promoted;
were you checking out your horoscope,
or typing out a letter, or a poem?
Were you going to tell your lover that
you've been cheating,
were you going to say the words tonight
I'm leaving you, and won't be coming home?

Tiny little fireflies,
we trapped you in a jelly jar,
punched holes into the lid so you could
then let somebody steal you out from under us-
thrown into a furnace like so much garbage,
like so much trash.. debris.

Little falling persons,
incidental falling stars-
you wake us up each morning now;
you fall & flame
unknown, unnamed-
little burning moths
to sabbath candles drawn
in all our fitful, hellish dreams.

copyright©2002 Longboard to Tipperary Press