I read not to reach the end
But to keep beside me a well-worn friend
To offer as I walk along
Different views than I had thought
To picture in the world around me:
Notes from dusty minds.

Methods may be gray,
but motivations are fairly clear—
compassion or greed,
it all stems from here.

How you will act
may depend on detail and fact
Complex and divisive, easy to hide,
But the reason why is easy to spy:

Compassion or greed,
self or surrender,
Be honest and the truth
will rise like a cinder.

How the fire started, or the physics of the burn,
These objective elements are irrelevant
To the shades of light cast on faces of concern.

If the flames of conflict rise
What shall we hold on to?
There’s no structure
Incorruptibly true

The only hope we have
Is to draw each other near,
Hand fast in hand
Turn to face our fears

And if we fall
We may well bruise,
But no reason to believe
We’ll not rise through

The uncertainty that pins us,
The history we don’t know,
We’ll trust each other’s hearts
And learn, wide-eyed as we go,

To put out the fires
That began so long before
And reach across
To those others have ignored.

It’s not a game
one hopes to win,
We all will lose
There in the end.

A sad known truth
You might consider:
We can’t protect
The ones we love;

Choose this path
And it will claim your heart,
For those who volunteer
Are sure to part.

It won’t be light,
It won’t be easy,
But you may find something
As your eyes meet

Those of others who
have made the choice
To live for those
Without their own voice.

Some absolutely
Elemental sense
That life can be more
than self reference.

Stand upon your own will,
Join the line of rough claspt hands
Only if you know you can
Give up safety for solidarity’s demands.

And know that even
When night falls,
You are not truly left alone:
The voices of rebel tradition call

To fill your breast
With one more gasp
Of living empathy
That warmed the souls of many
before you, and before me.

Like the shore meets the sea
So at night my thoughts to thee

Where are we now?
Take a look out the window
And tell me what you see.

Are there rivers and streams,
Hills and houses
Built by people with dreams?

Do you want to try
Finding that place
After our feet have touched the ground?

Do you think if we walked
For 2,000 days
We’d understand what we’d found?

This confusion of people
All pushing and thinking
And trying to find something true;

If we spoke to them all
Do you think we’d learn
Or just become more blue?

Oh, where are we now,
Where have we come to,
I wish you could tell me that.

Is it anyplace better than
The one that we left
Or haven’t we been here before?

I could swear I’ve heard
These words in days past,
For power and progress and proof,

Discard compassion
and elect reason only,
It will lead to prosperity’s truth.

But for all these years,
Humanity’s fears,
We’ve never managed the simplest:

To put aside focus
on excellence and pride
And choose to live contented,

To create our work
Not for prizes that rust
But for the value of creation intrinsic.

To recognize
the light in our eyes
is not in truth the brightest,

And even if it really were,
It would be nothing
Without someone to sight it.

We’re stronger by far
if we join hands
Than the most brilliant who would divide us.

Where are we now?
Are we moving at all?
Are we always caught between sides?

Between those who want speed
And those who want fairness
And those who ignore out of pride.

Is it possible
To make them care—
To tug their hearts into motion?

Or is the theme
Of equality’s dream
Another stone in the ocean?

We’ll gaze back at it
Through history’s waters
Now and then as all other ideas

And wonder how
such thoughts began and
how they journeyed on.

Unless, of course,
you choose to stand
And change the scales by one.

The weight of history
Is odd in that way,
Sometimes a grain of sand

Is lost amidst
a breathing desert
And never tumbles free.

But, other times,
One grain displaced
Can tip the whole company,

Or fall into
such a place
That it rubs great engines raw,

Creating heat
With one small presence
That breaks convention’s law.

Note well,
It’s not by exception
This grain achieves its cause,

Just by placing
One valuable common
Into action instead of pause.

Where are we now?
Have we gotten any closer
To finding where we stand?

Give the window a scrub
With the edge of your hand
And see if it comes clear,

See if you can spot
A path for us
In all the ages down there.

If not, I guess
We’ll have to keep
Relying on our feet,

Placing one
before the other
Without much certainty.

Opening our eyes
To each new day
To try to recorrect

The thoughts
We thought yesterday,
Which now we redirect,

Holding tight
to what seems true
And seeking better values,

The way to live,
The way to feel,
A reason to give respect to others,

And simply how
To endure a day,
before we rest forever.

The sand falls softly through the glass
And golden shadows tremble...
Beyond the reach of fingers bright
A figure crouches, nimble,

But even if straightened arms should reach
And willful legs press forward,
The shaded eyes could find no space,
For frigid chains encircled.

Into the room someone must come,
The minutes sift away,
While breath of she in moonlit chamber
Escapes the same as they

Who pace the distance marked between
With busy furrowed brows,
Deciding fates of many
From minds of barren ground

That have not scope to represent
The thoughts of those born different,
To feel in phantom sense
The pains of others in the crowd

Who share the crowded length of rope
That spans our woven fates
And brushes all together
In a turning, changing place.

With night air shallow in her chest,
Silken toes search out the sill
That leads from window to window,
Away from metal barring wood,

And slips from capture to clandestine
With gently whispered prayer.
She flies down narrow stone hallways to another rigid door,
deep beneath the cast of light or air or heaven’s lore.

With waning strength of courage,
The heavy bolt is moved,
And through the narrow gap achieved
Unlikely light drifts forth

As to the eyes that rise to meet
Her roughly beating heart
And unlikely arms that reach their span
To catch her as she runs

Into the stony jaws
Of the crushing hate of man
That tears apart the lives below
To feed hunger above—

A hunger based on fear and power
That leaves no room for love
Of those beyond one’s own stone chest
Incapable of human rest,

Unfamiliar with the ache invoked
By fading melodic chord
Or hope that others in the world
Might meet the forgiveness they need—

Yes, the moment her tears fell upon his breast
In compassion that crossed their plans,
She fell afoul of these sharp teeth
And tempted reprimand

From the fates of this world
That seem to favor an everlasting strife:
The strain of the gentle against greed
That has stained the pages black.

His fingers brushing back her hair
In disbelief of golden firelight
That turned of a moment from menace to mercy
At only her appearance

Enraged them further, those fates or vanities
That ordered other roles for such as these
Of different mind and mold
In the midst of a war so many years foretold.

Even as the rumble grew, deep in heaven’s chest,
Alike to feet of heavy men in binding metal vest,
Her frightened hands worked desperately at rigid metal bonds
that held him as payment owed against their prideful laws.

To have him near after so much risked and feel his eyes upon her,
To reach without imagining and place fingertips to warmth—
To know her presence in only moments
Might become witness to fury and loss...

Her hands twisted and slipped against the chains;
Although she had no key, she knew
The mechanism was brittle
When struck firmly and logically.

With touch of grace, his arms fell free,
And soon his feet to follow,
But as she worked against the last
The fabric of luck wore thin—

The door she had left scraped wider still
Beneath broad, commanding hand
And eyes of those who judge and carve
Measured the guilt of the scene.

But even from the inward hungers
An outward heat may rise,
And he who sets the world to order for his own benefit
Can lift another in consequence of interests turned within.

Just so with the much offended heart that sheltered in chilling mail
And ordered others from the room so he might not disclose
The seeming human warmth of desire
That burned him, charring black,

To see her turn away in irrational attempt
To shelter one pre-condemned by forces far greater than him.
The way he turned her in his arms as though meant to protect,
Though the ordained roles were inverse, scraped irritation across anger’s wreck.

In the hesitation of his thought she had the time to wonder
In her mistaken, seeking heart if he might yet regard her.
Raising fragile arm to speak, she reached across the distance,
But sooner than the motion met, he ensnared her hand and wrenched

Her from the hold of hope and warmth to spill upon the floor,
Thrown back behind him as he moved in mechanical advance
As though the shape of her raised palm had shaded his heart’s complaints
And freed him from such mean distraction to act on a simpler plane.

The end was easy to trace out, he marked the other’s fatigue
From days of rigid harsh restraint and proof of heaven’s absence
When he must have known what many have known when left in pain alone.
For how many has there been no help as the pages of history turned?

In that regard he felt no shame for teaching others truths;
His move to bury privileged steel was then only conclusion
To the revelation of the savage garden he offered as he rose,
confirming self and strength as the eyes of his stable world.

The other lunged to side, but his mind was yet unfocused,
Looking long across the room where little bones had fallen,
Which may be why the straight, steeled man was able to unfoot him
With sharp restraint of iron-cast chain that wrenched him to the gravel.

The tongues of light leapt forward from the burning hearth
And played upon his fallen form as though to claim their part,
While unhurried stride brought blade up to end the thankless chore,
But even as metal fell, the light seemed to roar

In one great fearsome arc as slight hands swung the torch
That was the only savior they could reach within the dark
And brought it down across the helm of hungry, pushing fates
That so often take for granted their power in this place.

The metal then that struck the floor was not of weapon’s form
But of the man that held the blade, of steel in steel encased.
She had not strength to keep the beam from falling also aside,
And flame to tinder leapt as she to her lover’s side.

Breaking free the last restraint and holding close for balance,
He led her to the door beyond as eager sparks crawled after
Into the hall far below all that men would take for living,
Climbing rough-hewn narrow steps to break out into the morning

Still dark as all the souls of those who turn the other way
While men of power claim their rights, or so they say,
Under starless frozen skies that could not bear to lighten day
While two lost figures stumbled on without prayer of true escape.

For at the threshold they burst forth upon an inner garden
Where five young men of honor and intent reposed from golden orders
That removed from them all real account and gave them certain laws,
No need for thought or human heart, just duty soon rewarded.

Though shocked to see a woman there,
They had no misconception,
To rescue her from foreign foe
Was sure to be their direction.

Though he stepped forth in front of her,
And odd her fingers lingered
Upon the arm that shielded her
As though afraid to lose

The feeling of those moments few before he lunged away
To meet the men with makeshift staff, a rod torn from a trellis,
Keeping her safe behind him until the numbers grew,
And striding from the alley, a ghost of righteous hate

Stepped forth unannounced to bind her possessively,
His hand tight upon her throat, arching her back against him,
While the other turned in late response, abandoning his defense
To lose the ground he hard had held and witness his mistake.

Although his feet could not prevent the first few desperate steps,
He read the sorrow in her eyes and stopped before he had taken
The stride that would put him in their grasp,
The defeat that would repeat his capture.

Turning hard upon his heel he made a third direction
And leapt upon the low near wall
To mount the roof beyond with eyes drawn back,
As oft before, to her now distant form

As though he could with darkened brow cast himself there beside
In only flowing spectral shade to keep their minds drawn near
Though he knew without the need for words she did not want him here
If turning back would cost the life she had thrown her place to save.

The last she saw was that dark glance before he moved beyond
Into the unwoken space of dawn that she would never see
For knowing he would not return was darkness enough for she
Who had not found eyes she could meet with honesty until he

Crashed his way across her path one unspoken eve
When she had slipped beyond the gate
To wander among the trees, alone, an aberration
To the short paused war surrounding

That led her here in foolish thoughts of accompanying her intended,
But left her without purpose in a game of brazen postures
Until the day she froze before him,
Caught without guard or warning.

He was likewise held in perfect stillness of complete uncertainty,
Reading carefully how to react to a creature such as she,
But when a stray shot rang out from somewhere in the fortress,
She flinched in renewed dread and thrashed further into the forest

Afraid of being caught perhaps even more than he
And bearing the misfortune of knowing why a shot broke free,
The unavoidable memory of captive men dragged beyond the bailey,
Their voices ragged with exposure as they cried out desperately.

She had not run yet far enough, she heard the next report,
And desperation of her own sent her feet through thorn and dirt
Until she missed her hapless step and upward rushed the brambles,
Except his arms that caught her there just shy of stem and tangle.

She had not strength to twist away nor will to go on running;
He lifted her slowly to her feet then gently withdrew his hands,
But she could not tear her gaze from his, the quietness of his presence
Sent some strange instinct through her fingers

Which rose to trace his cheek, which bore a scar that roughened skin
In contrast to gentle features now arranged in intent confusion
But gave no sense of threat or plot that often she had seen
Behind the eyes of other faces arranged to win influence.

He slowly held his hand before him, offering his palm
To lead her from the dense surroundings back to where she perhaps belonged.
She met his hand with hand of hers and wondered at the touch,
Following how he moved his feet without crushing the forest brush.

Although the steps led back to where she so despaired to be,
His hand around hers filled her with a sense of solidarity—
A gentleness she had not found proof of for far too long a time,
A thoughtfulness that filled her breast with hope of humanity.

Just within the forest fringe she tugged him to a stop,
Keeping still her hand in his as he hesitated from the walk.
She felt her desperation not far off from the edges,
But sought to memorize him before leaving this sheltered spot.

She wondered that she should feel afraid,
That he should seek to take her
In trade for those of his own land that presence of her kind had cost,
But the sorrow that traced the lines of his face gave way to no distortion—

It was sorrow of an honest cast that pain had not construed
Into the guilt of violence so many others wore.
His face as he gazed on her withheld some unspoken wonder,
That she returned his stare so openly and held him without fear,

Without the narrow stance of caution even the wild held.
She seemed a creature all of trust, too soft to hide among men,
And bearing reason no apology for the company she arrived in.
He wondered if she did not belong more to the woods than fortress walls.

A blink erased the fallen time and once again she stood, bound,
Taking her last sight of him as the soldier turned her around
To send her slipping to the dust with one resounding blow
As he noted that it was his job to guard her virtue so

And wrenching her up by the arm strode off toward the bower
Where she began the lonely night, shut behind a wooden door
Bound around with iron, though her station bound her more.
He set her hard upon the bed, two hands upon her shoulders,

And reminded her he was her future as a promise could ensure.
As such, it would do her measureless good to learn to mind him well
And defer her needless concerns to his good countenance
As he would come to show her when dusk again should fall.

The door again was fastened tight as clouds began to pale
Beyond the narrow window, a substitute for light
Obscured by monotonous clouds, as smooth as an undisturbed sea
Implying calm as calm as the mind that rested within she,

For she had no doubt what he meant to do
And no doubt that she would be
No longer breathing in this room
When he returned to use the key.

Her thoughts replaced the gray-toned world
With the memory of gentle hands, that lifted her,
Without cause to care, and proved there can exist
Kindness among the crowd of roughened fists that tear

The lives of others to shreds to reach a moving goal,
An idea of costly progress that costs the winner a soul
Before death comes to lay him on that same unbroken plane
Where all who breathe return one day despite their ranging claims.

It did not matter then exactly when one should take their place
Among the figures strewn together below the lowering clouds
As angels drifted above them to offer final shroud
And disperse tiresome memories that kept the mind uneasy

So all would fall to rest and forget their separate needs.
The memory of kindness proven was all she wished to take
As her feet again traced the edge of that high stone window case
The pale slip around her tracing her form in the morning breeze

As though to take last familiarity before parting release.
She wondered if there may yet be those gentle, seeking arms
Somewhere far beneath the trees reaching for memory of her.
And then to end the tease of thought, she took the fateful step

Beyond the strength of masonry into the frigid air
Falling like a hunting bird to slice the pond below
And falling falling even still as the water past her flowed
Filling sight and sound with rushing that soothed and slowed.

What are we gonna do now~?

Everyone says they just want what’s best—
for freedom, for hope, for development and progress—
just support the one who yells it out best.
But what do we mean
when we say words like that?
We never do manage to say where they go—
the people you mean? Oh honey no, the money!

You know, that’s what travels most.
Beyond borders and visas, no need for a check,
it’s money they send and money they get.
“The people!” they cry, “we must make them safe—
for freedom and hope and more commercial space!”

So generously our companies fund
development, factories, and don’t forget guns!
It’s all out of care, we act on principle,
to rescue from fear those dollars we hold so very dear.
For companies, they tell me, are people too!
So don’t forget we owe them their due.

People or profits—the question is skewed,
for profits are people if you take the Friedman view.
Free markets for growth, free markets for progress,
free markets free men from the need for the docket.
Freedom and principle, oh I heard you clear,
but my question remains:
is it freedom for people or money you hold dear?
Jara, Walsh, Letelier, and more,
did these men die on freedom’s door?
Or did misdefined freedom cost their countries more?

Watch out what you’re funding, my countrymen proud,
for the cost of our neglect will not go unfound.
I believe your compassion still can grow,
but wake up now and make it boldly known
before hands moved by greed redefine what it means
to face the world from the American scene.

"Get off the streets!!"

Wanderers and fools. The fabric of my people.
Those who leave their homes
for something they can’t describe.
Following a sense—a glow of footsteps set
In places they knew not before that feel of something more.

Spirits of a like, they say, seek out the same retreat,
And by virtue of their instincts alike inevitably meet.
But if we’ve spirits enduring time
Then we’ve traveled here before—
No reason to think the ones we seek
We haven’t journeyed with before.

Perhaps we parted knowingly
On those before known shores
And whispered “luck” in bracing tones
To face the world alone.

For experience, that human angle,
We leapt back into the flow
To think and weep, reflect and sleep,
To seek for something more.

That’s our flaw, you may well know,
To ache for further meaning:
To pass the time we have here now
With our gaze up past the ceiling

Of the circles in which our lives are set;
It’s also our greatest virtue,
Insofar as Aristotle’s definitions can be kept:
That trait intrinsic to the mind as humanity defined.

What matters then, in such a place,
What values must we keep?
Some think survival its own end,
Others pay it little heed.

They focus on less profitable things:
What matter if we lose?
To live with heart embracing others
Seems to them full worth the cost.

Wanderers and fools they are,
For truth they leave their homes,
And give away what comfort lends
Without concern for what is owned.

Though concern they have, well and plenty,
For shattering the ice
That builds up on the restive mind
And seeing through the shards

To shake off convention’s morphine
And question life’s regard
For thought and work, identity,
what compels the social yard—

Because they were once told it’s so
Is not for them enough
To justify the differences, assumptions, and disregard
That places some on pedestals and leaves others breathing hard.

A question in itself, they say,
Is rebellion in true form,
And to question thought of your own cast
Takes work more oft ignored.

But if it’s so that all we have
Is simply passing time,
Before this turning garden casts us
To some more distant clime,

Then what role would you choose to be,
Connected or self-absorbed?
History books cast war as fate,
But the growing mind must wonder:

Is inevitability really to blame
Or the wants of men knowingly sundered?
The values of before return,
And honesty must ask,

Is it justice that the merchants seek
Or profit from destruction’s path?
Can rights be bombed into the world
Or is that just a mask

For string-pullers in lofty seats
Who count our interests last?
Wanderers and fools, they never mind the odds;
They want the truth regardless and will pay with what they are.

If war is just a pastime,
Chosen by those with greed,
These wanderers will seek the voices of the ones left in need;
The fools will stand for hours to demand transparency

And so the battle continues,
An uneven drama felt by the ages,
A matter of schismic values
Tumbling down across the pages.

It’s taken lives and love and loss;
It’s given current aplenty
To the rivers of humanity
That take so long to cross.

To find your feet in this swift flow
Is your one birth-given job,
To recognize what matters
And be more than you were taught

To see our universal breath
And realize the thought
That trivial identities as divisions
Are naught, but near-sighted distractions,

Dishonest to our worth:
With centuries’ unspoken names
How can one be more than earth?
To give way to self-importance would lend only to celestial mirth.

Make peace with being who you are,
And find it not demotion.
Accepting ordinary life gives room for yet another notion:
That everyone holds some importance, none to be dismissed.

Anyone can turn the wheel
On life’s unfolding pattern,
And were you born a different time
You’d find how little it matters

What you think of your influence
Compared to what you’re given,
So grace demands we open our hands
And share what chance has riven.

Wanderers and fools, they always have a corner
In life’s unchanging threads.
To be one is a privilege
I’d not regret to have.

If I could find
A simple way
To love all things
That are touched by day,

To admire those
Unwritten thoughts
That dance at night
And whisper when found,

Then in a breathing,
Reckless leap
I’d follow after
He who speaks

Such wondrous words
And lovely lines
And gives to life
That embracing shine.

I’d shiver to behold
Such magic fingertips
That touch unfamiliar shades
And turn them to divine

Pages illuminated all in gold,
A captured heart,
Beyond the popularity sold
For mere convenience and control.

So much more the power
Of lighting bright
The fire of interest and care
Than spite

For what is unfamiliar
And bold to our senses
Simply by virtue of being new,
Something from a distant land

That grew in soil we never tread
And soaked up ideas
From other sources,
Water cool but reflecting strange discourses,

Colors filtered through different clouds,
Pale reflection, vivid crowds,
Full of life that—could it be?—
Is alike to that in you and me

But wears some other jaunty clothes
That startle us from our calm repose
And often as not set us on our toes,
With anxious disposition.

Lost time, that spent in needless fear
Of things that come from other spheres.
Instead let me find the key
That opens each next corridor

Until I’ve managed to build a love
For every corner of humanity’s halls,
The home we share with ages past,
With hope and pain, and life lived fast.

If you can take my hand and lead
Me just one step on this broad street,
I’ll trust the warmth of your embrace
And start by loving you.

Then as we share the sights we’ve seen
We’ll come to widen our belief
And reach out easily to others still
Who need a brighter song,

Loving all the days we have,
The nights that are soon gone,
And as we come nearer the close
We may as yet discover

That the best of life we ever knew
Was confiding in each other.

The door snaps shut,
The trees fall in,
I’m reaching out
For you again.

The moment that
My warmth meets yours,
The fear they stoke
Misses a chord—

The road may twist
Far out of sight
Through stifling fog
And moonless night

But a glance at you
As we drive on
Confirms you’re here,
Where I belong,

And nothing else
Can break the pulse
Of healthy human certainty
Kindled by minds alike to this degree.

The forest is not empty then,
When you who also do believe
In open palms and honest eyes
Count the minutes of concurrent life,

A blessing more than
Could be achieved
By any act of self-sympathy:
The bracing breath of calm solidarity.