Quill #42 - Babel (2001)

Quill #41 - Space - topic exploration (2010)

My family visited at an aunt's house.
All my cousins were there, my grandparents.
Suddenly everyone was rounded up,
Pushed into one tiny living room,
Children seated on shag carpeting,
Parents standing around in every space,
Grandma and Grandpa in recliners,
But not reclining,
As we all breathlessly watched a black and white screen,
And a helmeted man descending a ladder.
The strange thing was,
I thought we'd already been to the moon.

Generations of boys, sometimes even girls,
Have grown up believing that anything is possible.
Space travel sounded glamorous, slightly dangerous,
But always something we could strive to do.
And now,
When finally a dark-skinned child can be the president,
Now, when the "impossible" has happened,
An entire dream is cut off,
And this one wasn't even impossible.
Our final frontier is not space, not reality,
But a fantasy of travel,
"Star Trek,"
Going only where men have gone before.

-----

Astronaut or president?
President or astronaut?
The boy who could be anything,
Do anything,
Used to have a much harder choice.
Now it's easier to be the president,
No matter who you are,
Than to travel the stars.
The machines have stolen our jobs,
Even in space.

-----

Into the earth,
Into the ocean,
Deeper than ever before,

Nowhere to go,
No way to stop him,
Mankind must always explore.

Take away space,
Stop funding science,
Where will our brains take us then?

Overrun planet,
No other outlet,
How long will Life contain men?

Quill #36 - Tarnish (2010)

I brush away memory
Of grit, a ghost of sand, once
Present while shaping this stone
Forming the castle archway.

Built by distant relative,
An earl no more remembered,
Who passed this graceful eyesore,
Not one farthing for its care,
To child who died without heirs.

Strangers own it now, run as
An hotel sans doorknocker.
Traffic, night and day, circles
Like moat, or carrion birds,
Living off long-dead spoilage
And seasonal spillover.

The must reeks with decayed hopes,
Invading my mouth, my mind,
Poisoning the fresh drink of
Curiosity I brought
To share with a caring friend.

My hand drops and looks exchange.
Silently agreeing to
Not inhale any spirits,
We go seeking sweeter airs.

Quill #21 - Buster Daddy (2010)

"Smash his face!" I thought,
Rooting for Marlene in this play.
She swings a crowbar at him a few times,
But the physical is not her realm.
He gets a sore toe and feelings of loss.
She gains some bruises,
A new life, and love,
Harmonic resonances,
A re-gifted son,
A better deal all around than even Roosevelt's.
This generation, one of the first to understand
Why help was needed,
Still has too many voices
Sounding out the praises of abusive corporate partners,
Feeling trapped and unequal to the demands,
Unable or unwilling to leave,
Like battered spouses everywhere,
Downtrodden,
Lacking even a cast iron skillet for weaponry,
Afraid,
And betrayed,
By their own loyalty and lack of options.

Quill #17 - No (1991)