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Bernard Gieske
So Many
Multitudes
It began with
thundering
marching
raindrops
Like a thundering
herd of
buffalo stampeding
over prairie land
Hidden faceless
immigrants
toiling late into the night
drenched in debt and sweat
Rows of manikins
with
revolving hands
spewing out endless things
Rows of benches
lined
with fear
protests hidden in folded
sleeves
Language barriers
frozen
passports
wages withheld
working in
the
Land of the Free
the “garbage” of global
economy
No Justice Here
No Hope
Nothing with no
hoping is nothing
Happening with no
hoping is coincidence
Seeing with no
hoping is sightless
Time with no
hoping is doomed
Willing with no
hoping has already ended
Doing with no
hoping is drudgery
Laughing with no
hoping is choked
Sun with no hoping
is without a day
Awaking with no
hoping is all night
The Farmer
welcomes spring
opening his book of fields
furrowing the pages
rows of stories
revisited
repeated traces of family
history
new entries
sown
branching free
budding ears
picking the tunes
of spirited winds
under sailing
caravans
caught
up in the swirling arms
of chapters in an autumn way
rolling up the
scrolls
of
leaves of grass
spirited away from winter
chills
settling in lofty
bins
cribbed indexes
of a next generation
The Big Tree
(2)
here’s the place
I can rest
under this tree
its canopy
embracing me
no sun, no moon
just the dark,
dark blue
under this big
tree
now blanketing me
my companion along
with this dream of
the journey
trekking a dusty
road
under the heat
of a burning sun
in busy pursuits
to a lasting
resting place
this welcome haven
melts my dreams
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