Thoughts on Mercy

I.

A world without mercy
is like a room with no windows—
all painted walls,
mechanical hums,
and closed doors,
with only the power you can purchase.

II.

A young woman limps
out of the 7-Eleven…
bone thin, blowin in the wind,
carrying a squall—an infant by hip.
Where is your brother Abel?
Unheard, unseen.
How can it be?
Sheep outnumber the wolves
a billion times over.
Do you see what I see?

III.

Mercy is a window
with slatted blinds,
light beaming through—
morning sun or moonlight,
pelting rain with lightning,
birdsong, hints of green
and blue— hidden in part,
but still within view.

Egret

Small eyes of bright dark glass, brighter than beetles crawling through infinite grass.

Tall and white as the flower beneath my window that opens each day and disappears each night. You move so fast.

I must step out for a better view. The bloom doesn’t mind…why do you?

{National Poetry Month is here. I will try to write a poem every day for the month of April. This is possibly one of those quantity over quality situations. There may be typos…

I don’t know if I will be able to publish a poem every single day, but I would like to at least attempt to write one.

This poem was inspired by the “early bird” warm-up prompt on March 31, 2020 at NaPoWriMo.net.}

Cold Front

When a cold front arrives,
it’s conspicuous.
Whole trees sway.
Leaves and chimes are moved to music.

Cats and coyotes cry
at dawn. They sound
like children in peril.
Or demons.

I am a prisoner watching
from morning’s window.
Listening to the cries
of the lost and hungry.

Slipping out of blankets,
I am grounded
on a floor of ice.
Foggy but steady,

I step in slow motion
toward my daily routine—
silent and desensitized,
in striped fuzzy socks.

World Wind Chart for July August & September. Figure 144 from Admiralty Navigation Manual Vol 1 (1938)