Revolution

It's raining down collective societal conscience  
a shift, slap and pat down of fear based rhetoric
something so sinister it retracts common morality;
lean to the right and hear a reptilian hiss...
dissipating truth from fiction
power is an addiction - if we slither in groups
  
It's something we can find in our history books
flashback resource of tales and stories told
and as the sisterhood and brotherhood of humanity
are pushed to its limits, hands and tongues bound
a night like this is more dangerous than most
while we flip through the networks and watch
- media spins as we begin to crumble from the top...

But nothing else will set us free 
nothing else will let us float around 
without hitting the four corners 
and there is something soothing 
about the tapping sound of water 
as it taps, taps, taps on a tin can
with the ambiance of tar and paper
peeling back the layered years

It is the soothing sound of a revolution

...hearing the water running down 
outside on a window frame; window pane - shutters 
reaching out, coiling within inciting violence
running like the devil is chasing angels 
shatter proof - a ghastly scene feathers falling at our feet

Floating around without hitting the four corners
puddle jumpers splash...with delight 
and there is nothing as soothing 
as the tapping sound of water 
as it taps, taps, taps on a tin can
with the ambiance of tar and paper
peeling back the layered years

It is the soothing sound of a revolution

© 2016 TrilbyYates 

Not That Kid

Making gum wrapper chains  
snap pop New York kid shuffle
innocence was a game 
we never intended to play 
it was always like blowing smoke 
into the wind
choking on the fumes 
brown paper bag huffing
the last boat has sailed
and it doesn't matter any more
because the kid can't swim anyway 
and the Atlantic waters will chill to the bone
especially when you are floating - far far from home
and as the kid wanders and wonders 
about all the cracks in the pavement
and the footsteps that slide and shuffle - late in the night
all she recalls is the pop pop pop
and the rattle of a snake
reminiscent of an old western 1950s flick 
when only the bad guy wore black
and we all know the only snakes in the city 
wear haute couture suits
carrying pens of gold to seal deals 
that wreak havoc on the masses
and it doesn't matter where you stand - or if you stand at all
the view is the same city by city
country by country
power hungry fat cats 
belly protruding finger licking - scoping out the dessert tray
and when the fog doesn't lift quick
and it gets too thick where they sleep
the pie in the sky top floor will flip 
and shift from exclusive to tenement
and guess who is moving
where the air is clear and clean?
suddenly the eye level view 
becomes a treasured source - of pride and privilege
certainly not the kid from the block 
the kid that played Motown 
and danced in the streets
falling in love with the boy from upstate
a first kiss slow dance warm hands 
not the 2nd generation kid 
whose eyes haven't gentrified 
turning brown into blue
or a name with too many letters 
simplifying it to Joe or Sue
No, not that kid
Not that kid 
The kid we all were 
Or the kid we all knew...

© 2015 TrilbyYates

Forever ‪#‎JeSuisCharlie‬

They are like air
non-tangible 
of no material
substance - 
Yet they are powerful!
Thoughts, words, opinions, perceptions
dialogue; internal, external 
beliefs, doubts, questions, answers 
All up in the air 
Throw it against the wall 
...to see what sticks 
or lands on the floor - 
Pen to paper,
pen in hand 
Words, caricatures
They are like air
non-tangible
of no material 
substance - 
Historic words translated
passed down generation 
watered down interpretation 
Mind boggling
degenerate, debasing 
string of pearls 
words of wisdom 
Yours, mine, his, hers,
theirs, no ones, someones 
Does it matter?
Does any of it matter 
- at the end of a long day? 
End of a long life?
Does it matter 
when a life is taken?
...because?
They are like air
non-tangible
of no material 
substance -
Living is believing;
breathing, loving, hating 
strength, weakness, depravity
giving and taking 
Enlightened, mystified 
acceptance, judgmental
Saving grace, cold blooded murder 
Martyrdom, Sainthood 
Heaven, Hell 
...and all that floats 
between is the truth 
My thoughts 
My words 
My opinion 
My perception
...will continue to grow 
and strengthen 
I am not afraid
Forever ‪#‎JeSuisCharlie‬ 

© 2015 TrilbyYates  

United By Gender

There is no 
safety zone
or comfort 
in numbers 
The votes 
have been cast
- opinions abound
The tides are turning,
and at the risk 
of an uprising,
United By Gender
the battle will rage on 
As my grandmother,
my mother before me 
and the females 
that will come after; 
our right to express 
and to determine
our destiny 
is that unto its own
Our choice - 
Be it faith based,
or conscience ,
reasons of practicality 
or not, 
timing or lack of 
No religion, 
no man, 
nor political agenda;
will hold the power,
will obtain control 
over the basic rights
to our innate freedoms. 

© 2014 TrilbyYates     

Self

Flickering flash light 
sparkling florescent glitter 
weaving shadowy reflections 
and sounds vibrating  - 

Imagine: tiny poetic dancers  
movements fluttering on stucco walls 
texture rubs the senses with twirling 
drips of a grand illusion 
fan fare and flags waving...
with no peaceful conclusion -

Yet the heart continues to pose 
question after question 
without clarity - the illusive peace of mind 
the illusive state of being 
in alignment with ones Self - or another-s...Self 

The solidarity of peace and being
continually alludes someone like me 
with fear of the faithless cautionary guide
skipping stones across a vast ocean
from here to there a safe haven ... is too far to see

Reflection is an action
examining all the pages 
our own personal story book -
like pop up characters 
they willingly unfold
page one, two so on...and on and on
we reluctantly savor a perspective look...
While some images are  to difficult to hold
or look squarely head on...eyes close

Drawing on the powers that be
drawing on some ancestral Euro strength 
a Pandora's box within you and me
drawing on rumored reputation 
east coast tough guy fact
lands solidly scuffed knees
hands of a beggar ...fingers entwined Gods final act

Pulling images and memories 
are bricks in the foundation
the foundation of ones own being
Self...posing the questions, 
holding the answers
revealing more 
always concealing less
casting light into the darkness
un-ringing the proverbial bell
changing the lines drawn in the sand 
a distant voice 
speaking clearly 
decoded words of knowledge
a fine line between fate 
and freedom of choice

...freedom of choice 

© 2014 TrilbyYates

 

Carte Blanche

Listen to the crimson rattle! 
Death calls...
Feel the labyrinth shake!  
Earth moves...
Is it love pounding 
at the hearts door?
Or could it be 
the bubbling of skin 
so thick
that no one dare 
come close enough
nor get under it?
Embrace the roll that comes 
when notes and vibrations soar  
to hidden places sunken deep within
and we acknowledge
there is nothing more. 
Withered soul allows 
the moment to penetrate,
reverberate 
what life was meant to be...
Not an illusion 
or lack luster cover 
flip pages of magazine images. 
Feather dust creases of ageless eyes gleam.
Hiss, "...back at you baby..." carries no weight, 
no substance only darkest void.
A seductive glance 
back and forth high,
when the silver spoon 
falls methodically 
from perched thin lined lips.
And they never question why.
Commonality flies 
in the face 
of redundancy 
when our uniqueness 
separates us...by 6 degrees?
Carte blanche 
to a permanent place 
in a universe without boundaries. 

© 2014 TrilbyYates

 

Delicately Choreographed Dance

By the end 
of this 
dream life
as we 
glide 
or stumble
from path 
to journey
road block 
or stepping stone
not a macabre 
scheme
in the moment 
unaware
of the transformation 
the information
the lack of overload
double-fisted  
hands of fate 
stride in 
never tipping 
"its" intention
knowing full well
ignorance 
is not a defense 
in the land 
of the law
the freedom
of choice
the unwritten 
page in our 
personal stories...
but is a gift 
from God
at times 
and others 
a curse
you my friend
though you try
I'm sure...
between word 
and song
sip of wine 
catch yourself
letting go
drifting off
across the sound 
can not forget
may not recall 
my name
...out loud 
in an awkward
moment
or
the deepest
color of my eyes
transparent brown
but you will 
in that place
held close 
to the vest
where the heart
protects 
Pandora's box
...we've come to call
dare not open 
except 
on precious occasion
in the privacy 
of your own 
desire 
for a tender 
moment
interlude
set of circumstance
caesura
the harmony 
that was shared
within a breath 
between 
two people 
on a path
that intersected 
not so long ago 
will not
be denied...

We are not frozen
isolated in a prism 
variegation
memories sojourn
we are a 
delicately 
choreographed dance... 

© 2013 Trilby  

4th of July 2011

Fisherman's Walk

All the battles
that rage around us
hands of the clock
never stop and we
step forward
with the hope and promise
that what we believe
to be true
is coming from a higher power
and not just the back pocket
of some man with a plan
and a fetish for fame and fortune –
or what ever else is twisted
around our fate.
We walk the walk
and talk the talk
bury our children
from generation
to generation
draped in a flag
of one nation under God –
while we praise and hail Mary
giving us the power of choice.
For whom the bell tolls
is a question we won’t ask
because it cannot be un-rung
each name is etched in stone.
And Einstein said,
“…insanity is doing the same thing
over and over expecting different results…”

Do you feel free yet?


© 2011 Trilby Yates