Poetry: Politics

Politics

At a certain point the noise becomes too much.
The garish colors all competeing with one another.
Carney barkers selling their frauds, Crying out,
their happy lies to get you in the tent.
Every ride too short, but bright and loud.
leading us like children, wide eyed and bouncing
from noise to noise, all of it blending together,
the fun house, the house of horror, the house of love,
promising big, tempting, the devil in blue jeans
and a funny hat, the dull eyed temptress,
and everywhere the crowd, plunking down
their coins, understanding the pretense,
but spending still, entering the tents,
throwing the balls like they have a chance,
leaving only when they are broke.
Coming back to an empty lot the next day,
the carnival has moved on,
leaving the town empty pocketed
and wondering why there is no food
on the table, save the leftovers from a time before.

You walk away. It is too much for you.
Better a quiet conversation over coffee,
a walk in the woods, where no promises are made,
but still somehow, are kept.

About this poem.

Pretty self explanitory to anyone following politics in this country the past few years. Remember, it’s how each of us act, behave, treat each other, that changes things. We forget that sometimes.

Love and grace. Love and grace. With a dollop of discernment.

Tom

2 comments

  1. How apropos for these times. I also retreat to your final stanza:

    “Better a quiet conversation over coffee,
    a walk in the woods, where no promises are made,
    but still somehow, are kept.”

    Thanks, Tom

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