pompeii

The rich men, they know about suffering
That comes from natural things, the fate that
Rich men say they can't control, the swell of
The tides, the erosion of polar caps
And the eruption of a terrible
Greed among those who cease to be content
With what they lack when faced with wealth they are
Too ignorant to understand. Such wealth
Is the price of progress. The fishmonger
Sees the dread on the faces of the trout
And mackerel laid out at the market
Stall on quickly melting ice. In Pompeii
The lava flowed and buried the people
So poems such as this could be born.

charles bernstein, june issue of poetry

mujer

old dream my
old dream
for years lost in the back
of my worries and i
lost in a void of hope

old dream my
old dream
have found me while still
looking lifeless

dream of my visions
embraced me in love
i who abandoned you
in this the short experience of living


ramontrane