There are sometimes, some things the mind refuses to accept; the mind says: it cannot be so, but it is so: the senses refuse to adjust, like the stomach vomits up, for it refuses also. Digestion cannot compass, neither the mind; such are these occurrences that stop us dead, like Katrina.
Who do we blame: the Mayor, the Governor, the President? How shall we carry the flag, the one our country says stand behind, have trust, be a true American. Who shall carry it with pride, when so many have died, sucked alive into the empty sacks of the levee, sacks that were once filled with clay. Brothers, fathers, sisters, all left behind: husbands, sweethearts.
If there is faith in our elected, there is little to be proud of today. From the black leaders who point fingers, to the white leaders who carry the flag. It was love and faith we left behind, it was our own kind. Like an empty sack, tossed into southern clay. If anything, it is shame our public servants should carry home to bed this evening.
[#832/ 9/4/05 Dedicated to: Stephen Carysoft
Impalpable Katrina [Poetic Prose
There are sometimes, some things the mind refuses to accept; the mind says: it cannot be so, but it is so: the senses refuse to adjust, like the stomach vomits up, for it refuses also. Digestion cannot compass, neither the mind; such are these occurrences that stop us dead, like Katrina.
Who do we blame: the Mayor, the Governor, the President? How shall we carry the flag, the one our country says stand behind, have trust, be a true American. Who shall carry it with pride, when so many have died, sucked alive into the empty sacks of the levee, sacks that were once filled with clay. Brothers, fathers, sisters, all left behind: husbands, sweethearts.
If there is faith in our elected, there is little to be proud of today. From the black leaders who point fingers, to the white leaders who carry the flag. It was love and faith we left behind, it w as our own kind. Like an empty sack, tossed into southern clay. If anything, it is shame our public servants should carry home to bed this evening.
[#832/ 9/4/05 Dedicated to: Stephen Carysoft
Note from Rosa: Dennis works up a most ghostly, profound and livey point of impact with his Prose Verse on the Katrina castrophe. While many people are pointing fingers, perhaps pointing them, before they get them pointed at them, the world looks on, and the military tries to cope with the disaster. It would seem to me, if there was, as so many have said it was, 5% chance of a storm like Katrina hitting the International city of New Orleans, the blame must go back 30-years, and thus, there would be a lot of names to a big lis--today! Rosa
See Dennis' books at http://www.bn.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetic Prose
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