Sick Country

(c) 2010 by Mark Richards

There is a chill in this country of democracy,

Where the no-longer-free press tells you what to believe.

Education now is a target, to be cut and forgotten,

All that was once good, is now considered unimportant.

Civilized thought, kindness, care, love; all go by

                The wayside as being fools’ messages – old and outdated.

Signs of past times, with as little meaning now as the

Hooped skirt of the rotary-dial telephone.

A broken government, where corruption is more accepted

Than heroics; spends billions keeping fat union workers

Overfed rather than providing children with a future.

The pork barrel becomes more desired than a healthy environment.

Little girls are brought up to think that looking like a

Hooker is acceptable, while little boys are told that

Porn is safer than relationships, so search the Web

For naked flesh rather than going out in the world to be real and alive.

This is the world built by a State worker’s dream,

Where every joy is based on the poison of a whore’s cream,

But we still have another path, no matter how dangerous it may seem.

To stand for the revolution, to burn their nightmare and make it green.

Nature Is Holy

(c) 2010 by Mark Richards

Stone towers, golden domes,

Are we all so blind to the greater truth,

Why would any god seek palaces

When creation gave us Kilamanjaro?

Robes and crowns seem unneeded

In a universe of comets and novas.

The deadly whine of holy men,

Who care more about dogma than peace,

Condemns their faith to endless pain.

How can anyone follow such ugly people;

Give me a hot-looking, well-built witch!

Give me the healthy fertile loins of mother earth.

Keep your graves and bodies in a ditch,

Give me a morality based on love and birth.

Compound lies try to confine science to age-old myth,

Leaders rages on topics based in an era pre-pill,

                Pre-refrigeration, pre-internet, pre-big bang;

Unable to grow with the universe, because their

                Reason for being is based in the sewer of the past.

Open your eyes, or be blinded by the fires of exploding stars.

There’s beauty in each branch and twig

When they put forth their leaves again.

You’ll know when buds burst into bloom

Your confinement was not in vain.

Spring in Marin

@2011 by Mark Richards

It was easy to love the jubilance of Spring,

When leaves and flowers burgeon forth,

And children exulted in the mirth of bird songs,

                Resounding through the redwoods.

And one may relish seeing the meadows,

Adorned with hikers and picnickers’ pavilions;

Great was my happiness,

When the fields were packed with unarmored lovers.