They may remember
a too-long year
365 days
nineteen more
twelve more hours
until noon dawn
of too-long sought year
ours
drawn two weeks
too weak
to strength
Kristallnacht to Schönertag
mourning through morning
until sun of everyone
rose again
at noon.
We lack the words
I so wish I could sing
I care
I carry
somewhere to nowhere
a torn and tattered thing.
------------------------------------------
Quedamos sin palabras.
Ojalá pudiera cantar
preocupo
porto
de alguna parte
a ninguna parte
cosa rota y andrajosa.
------------------------------------------
Nincsenek szavaink.Bárcsak tudnék énekelnigondozemhordozemvalahonnan sehova valamit szakadt és rongyosot.
.------------------------------------------
Torn and Tattered
Bob Komives
Fort Collins (c) 2025 :: 2503
From dormant seed
heroes emerge
as evil dumps fertile manure
--here and around--
on thought-to-be sterile ground.
Here, there, where
--or so we thought--
hero seed is not to be found.
Heroes Emerge
Bob Komives
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2025 :: Heroes Emerge :: 2501
A day to care,
a day to share,
to make a stranger, friend,
to spread a peaceful moment
through circles without end.
A day to care,
a day to share,
to make a stranger, friend,
to accept a neighbor's favor
through circles without end.
In hour of work,
in hours of play,
to remember attention paid,
to share a silent moment
and speak as silence fades.
Our time to be,
yes, time to see
we can be a village growing friends.
Pray, squeeze a hand and give one
through circles without end.
Be careful.
Before you make a next, fashionable quip about white males;
imagine yourself sending all white males
(those you personally know)
to death camps;
sell them into slavery;
destroy their shops and their right to work.
Picture imprisoning them unjustly.
Castrate them.
Rape them.
Take away their right to vote and hold political office.
Stop research into their diseases.
Lynch them for flirting.
Deny them their right to education.
Blame them for all evils in history.
If you think my caution silly,
if you know such could never happen,
then, quietly to yourself,
acknowledge:
prejudice is prejudice--
even if fashionable,
politically correct,
naively innocent,
among good people,
good friends.
Too convenient and too blind.
Too lazy and too dangerous.
Be careful.
Perhaps and per sometimes,above their glass ceilingwomen see white menwalking and talking and keeping them down.Perhaps and per sometimes,above their wire ceilingmen see a man or a womanwalking and talking and keeping them down.Perhaps and per sometimes,
we are the schoolteacher,
urban planner,
road paver,
social worker,
line splicer,
and nurse.
Perhaps and per sometimes,we see men or we see womenwalking and talking and keeping us down. Perhaps and per sometimes,we hear them praiseful and thankfulfor having us around. Above our ceilings of wire and glassthey are few.Below, we are many.We are their objects of both envy and disdain. Perhaps and per sometimes,we are grandparented or grandchildedor will someday be great-grandchildedby those shadows above wire and glass.Perhaps and per sometimes,they have spoken or will someday speak of us fondlyfor doing this life well.We deserve to be celebrated,not to be divided,nor have it decided that parts of us fit today's category of whom to deride.At our story among multi-storieswe have a name, a gender, perception of race, and ladder of personal history. And, yes,we may notice those at the story above--looking down through their glass and wire floor.We may notice those at the story below--looking up through their glass and wire ceiling.Both may see our work and our talent.One or both may not. Perhaps and per sometimes,they see us aspire to climb or descend,or stay where we are--all in pursuit of happiness.All, in pursuit of happiness.
All, in Pursuit of Happiness
“ t.e.a.r ”
two ways to say and intend
too many ways to rend and cry
too many ways to tear and tear
http://komivesiangraphics.blogspot.com/2019/02/pecs-1.html
I felt this among the traces of so many people
in the streets and museums of Hungary:
beauty and tragedy
in a roman catholic church,
once a mosque,
once a christian church,
built on more ancient foundations;
beauty and tragedy
in the stone and mortar
of a music school
once a synagogue.
Beauty and Tragedy
Among the Traces, a Feeling
Bob Komives
Fort Collins © 1996 :: Beauty and Tragedy :: ,0x34..
I walk the bank of the river.
Watch
fishermen,
boats,
and swans.
Cross, continue, away from center.
Curious, I wander on
toward a smokestack,
a long-vacant lot, basketball hoops, high fence.
To pass another building,
renaissance revival in form,
painted pale yellow with little care,
metal ramp to the street,
a sign that says
this is no more than a storage place for a chain of stores.
But then,
above eye level,
on the face of this mysterious building,
a dark plaque,
new enough to shine against dull yellow.
