She is With You

*Special Note: I wrote this a little over a year ago, when my best friend’s mother passed away … I had forgotten to give it to her and just came across it. This is for you LK with love … *

She Is With You

photo/digital art by Wild Thing

you will find
she has not
left you

a whisper
soft … gentle
carried
in the breeze

when you need
her most
she will be
by your side

in sunlight
on grass
at night
the moon

every time
you tell
the story
of her life
she will be there

it’s her
when
shared laughter
uplifts hearts

it’s how
she lets you
know
the bond
is never broken

Wild Thing ©April, 2019

Psychophants on Parade

psychophants

impotent and weak
he poses for
the photo op

no head bowed
in reverent prayer

no words
of solace for
those who grieve

holds a Bible
he never read

the psychophants
line up
fools on parade

Wild Thing ©June 1, 2020

I Can’t Breathe Sir

I cant breathe

Dedicated to All the Black Men & Women Who Have Lost Their Lives to Police Brutality

as a child
he walks
out the door
mind your manners
yes mama

I can’t breathe sir

peaceful protests
nighttime fires
mothers cry
glass breaks

I can’t breathe sir

strong voices
sing out don’t
destroy … vote
take anger make it
positive

I can’t breathe sir

a weak man
hides underground
yells for more
police power
yells … to divide

I can’t breathe sir

Wild Thing ©May27, 2020
To the Floyd family …
my heart is broken …
may the goddess bring you peace
in this time of great unrest …
may she shower you with grace …
blessings to you all

Arah . . .*

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Black Moon Night – photo by Wild Thing

Today we grieve . . .
Wear black
Beat our chests . . .

Keen “ARAH!”
Let the pain out . . .

Til we rise . . .
Like the sun
Stronger . . . wiser

Knowing . . .
There is always
Light in the darkness

Wild Thing ©Nov. 9, 2016

*I wrote this poem the day after Trump was elected. In view of the over 95,000K deaths due to the corona virus, it seems more needed today than ever.

Pandemic

Pandemic

I don’t know who originally designed this rendition of Trump, but I enhanced it for the purpose of this poem. I thank whomever did the original artwork.

90,000 and counting
reapers wait
to retrieve
thousands more

the faithful gather
to spew macabre
words of hate
from their lips
emboldened by their
false prophet

small cowards
scream “hoax”
pretend soldiers
wave their
weapons of war

while the lunatic
sits on his
faux golden throne
a smirk on his
hate twisted face
and finds it good

Wild Thing ©May 17, 2020

The Loss

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he walked
as if shackled

his large hands
held a wooden
box of ashes

eyes blurred
he gently set
the box
on the table
fell onto his knees

he turned
wrapped his arms
around her legs
face buried
in her lap

her soft touch
upon his head

in this moment
he cried like
the boy
he once was

Wild Thing ©April 10,2020