I can’t believe
how things have changed
yet so much has remained
exactly the same
It’s been four years but…
I look at the headlines
and wonder if we’ve fallen
through a time warp
or a hole in the floor
or been smacked on the head
by a one way door
What the hell happened to
the last four years
or four decades for that matter
progress has been
stripped away
in a matter of days
to make a new way
for us to pay
crack out the bullwhips
and light up the crosses
round them up
put them in chains
and send them off
on airplanes
and forget they
ever had names
Category: Free Verse
~Flip or Flop~
if you see me sitting around
with my head tilted down
face wrinkled in a frown
hands shielding my face
just trying to figure out
if I can survive in this place
if I can finish this race
I know. I got it
change will come
and change will go
for better or worse
we won’t know
until we’ll either
suffer through hell
or find Heaven’s grace
if we’re to be celebrated
as conquering heroes
or banned in disgrace
the true story
will not be told
until those very last
words unfold
and in the end
they are rejected
or embraced
~Who Knew~
Back when I was a child,
they said I was poor,
but I did not know it.
Until one of my teachers pointed at me and said,
it’s okay for you to show it,
and that you have no cause for shame.
I should have asked her then,
but my mind didn’t comprehend,
and to this day I still think about what message
she was trying to send.
Ashamed of what— I never knew,
so I lived my childhood
without a clue.
Maybe there was something,
or someone I should blame.
But I was never one to follow the rules of the game.
I just smiled and said okay,
then I walked out to join my friends,
on the playground’s monkey bars.
I was the king of the monkey bars,
and I was not ashamed of that either.
~Outdated~
I am not made for these modern times
Missouri mud runs through my veins
unspoiled country air flows through my lungs.
my roots are intertwined in the bedrock of culture,
traditions and folklore of a pioneer Midwest
My heart beats with the rhythm
of wind through oak trees
the sway of golden wheat
the steady fall of summer rain
on metal porch roofs
My voice is the sound
of pickup trucks on gravel roads
tractors plowing through gumbo
the hoot of owls from leaning red barns.
the yip of foxes or the howl of coyotes from
across green pastures under full moon’s glow
trumpeting of a rooster greeting the day
songs of blue jays, cardinals, red wing blackbirds
caw of crows pecking through early snow
on harvested corn fields
beat of horse hooves
lazy bawling of cows
My nostril are filled with the smell of
wildflower meadows, fresh baled hay
alfalfa, soybeans, and apple blossoms
I am lightning bugs on summer’s eve
coon hounds asleep on sunlit porches
family picnics on red checkered tablecloths
horseshoes, freeze tag and kick the can
I am unlocked doors and open windows
rocking chairs and back porch swings
I am outdated
Oppressed
What is it I wonder you don’t want us to see
that you don’t want included in the story
Do you think just because
your big smelly marker says
permanent ink that it
can cover up history
Why are you so scared
that someone might care
about the true version
of how the past
should be told or how
the future might unfold
Did you think with a stroke
you can cross out the hopes
of generations
who came and went
or maybe prevent those
who have yet to dream
their dreams
Just because you erase the words
does not mean
we can’t be heard
Because we can scream louder
than you can whine
we’ve done it since
the beginning of time
Jerry Brotherton 