GINGER BUSH

A woman of which has been said many things....including that she is of American Indian and European heritage - although her true bloodline remains, at least to herself, unknown. She resides in a rural area and has been known to howl at full moons, enjoy stars, rivers and sand.

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ODE TO A MEME

You splatter truth like blood,
your lies washing against the walls of my life
gaining momentum, this destructive tide overwhelms
any possibility of truth, dripping, coloring a world,
my world, once soft and innocent, gray the gray dishwater
of your imagination spread like fecund water stagnant
stinking, fecal retch of ideas overflowing into my mind
to then go forth, claiming a bloated twisted, disingenuous lie
of a victory as any hope of truth drowns
beneath your lying game.
History has seen your kind before,
in the bootstep of the third Reich, false ideology spread like
butter on an empty plate, in the heavy hand of Mussolini and Stalin,
spinning for the greater good, in the trials of Pol Pot, Mao's sacrifices to
the meme, and McCarthy, those who turned afraid
those who saw and did not act
those who set it up for innocents to fall
judged and ruined,
those who did not care.
Come to roost here, an evil that rarely sleeps
thrives on these days.

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PTSD

Robber baron of light,
of hope and peace of mind
rattling chains of trauma linked
by thoughts as sounds distorting senses.
Memories of trauma pass,
years of fight for help for one
so deeply afflicted.

Destroyer of life
of newfound joy,
the horrors of Butner
driving with child by side
those weekends home,
icy roads littered with the skeletons
of 18 wheelers.

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RESIDUALS

the incredible lightness of knowing
that it was just a story after all,
polluted by the residual effects
of gossip and rumor
reaching the towers of the State.

Words whispered,
my mind searches for cause
and sensitivity is, once again,
my master.

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PANIC

Panic paints blinded
rejoicing,
to color your world a stygian hue,
strike your senses dulled…
declare you immobile, bending knee
and chortling
render you speechless.

Panic listens, unheeding,
deafening memory,
to ambush treasures in picture frames,
photographs bent and marred
folded and cast windward
to blow unheeded into oblivion.

Panic troops, blinded,
devious,
defends cast shadows,
troths dispersions,
leaves you floundering,
drowning
time on earth remaining.

Panic is senseless,
has no precinct in reality,
no secrets to reveal…
only madness
and sorrow.