I’m not gonna share every poem I’ve penned (usually mighty quickly) in the mornings to meet the “Poem A Day Challenge” for Poetry Month. Some, not all.
I plan to gather them for an ebook collection when the month is done, and I have time to go over and tweak/edit them. Posting them all kind of defeats the self-pubbing plan.
But I will post this one, as it marks the 49th anniversary of that day Bono so passionately sang about: “shot rings out in the Memphis sky…free at last!”
April 4, 1968
I was eight that year when I wailed
in horror and wept the way girls
weep at news of killing, and eight
too when I began to lose the shock
and tears for assassinations
You get used to news of anything, if
horrors happens often enough–you sob
and puke and lose sleep the first time
second time, maybe one, two more
and then it’s “same old”
Shameful, isn’t it, that we adjust?
Jaded should mean we become more
like the gem, not less: more reflective, more
touchable, more able to heal or make wise,
marked forever by the blows that stop
the hearts of great dreamers