90

The atmosphere, serene above the world
Does not give way to clamor down below
For in the sky, minute and boisterous beings
Remain unseen among the stars and clouds.
The atmosphere, too high to spy where lines
And borders break and merge, where voices
Can be felt or heard, is ignorant amidst
a life of boundaries drawn in earth.
The atmosphere, forever moving round
Bears witness to what history has lost,
Observes the planet’s turn, the turn of time
Above the screaming world, continues on.
The astral plane slips by without a trace,
For humans can’t be seen from outer space.
HM

83

My head is spinning from this past month’s news;
By the week Trump’s being seems to change!
A personality he cannot choose,
Trades “yes” for “no,” a puzzling exchange
That puts our country’s fate in fickle hands.
In fear, I watch the White House move the target,
A plethora of fraught partisan plans.
But can the man himself follow their argot?
Syria, Trumpcare, NATO, and ISIS
Matters of life and death remain capricious.
Each issue leads to crazed internal crisis!
But good or bad, Trump’s certainly ambitious.
Each day brings forth positions unexpected,
And still I don’t know what we have elected.
—HM

76

The heat begins within the core, unsteady
In which reactions burst from forces warring.
Structures dissolve, and burn, and churn, already—
At once the Earth and molecules are roaring
Above disordered clamor in the chambers,
Filled with energetic discourse, hot news,
While neighbors wholly unaware of dangers
Are left amid the fallout of the fuse.
Despite attempts to delay detonations,
Atomic heat and pressure builds up still.
Uncharted energies dissolve foundations
Until the bonds of parties motions kill.
And while politics force mind-distortions,
They make choices of nuclear proportions.
-HM

69

Why is it that our world seems so confused,
Divided, fumbling toward my What’s to Come,
And lost inside a web of What’s the Use-
Still shifting what was once perceived as true?
The Earth has come upon me all at once
Through words, and news, and light, and Dreadful Sounds;
Realities unrealized waiting since
Uncertainty (or hope) prevails—compounds.
My history books have taught me about change—
Or progress—ever-changing what we know
Of lives, and states, and yet I find it strange
To think of our time’s loop. Do I still grow?
This life has showed me ways to question history,
Yet as I write, I realize it’s a mystery.
—HM

62

Last evening nightmares opened up my eyes—
I dreamt of politics subject to lament—
And, hands still shaking, I met a surprise
When late-night news streamed “Madam President!
Still stupefied, I searched, opened the blinds—
Looked out upon a world I saw anew!
Without Twitter tirades or fear-plagued minds,
This universe was too good to be true!
Walls crushed, bans gone, no “alternative facts,”
Gone Ryancare, and Russia, Dreadful Sound
Mike Pence is past, and Spicer can RELAX,
‘Cause big old baby Donald’s not around…
Yet when I saw no one had been offended,
Reality returned and daydreams ended.
—HM

55

I’m realizing Earthlings are rather strange:
They seek a truth, while themselves they destroy;
Caught in a storm, or heat, or waves of change
They’re still left deaf, unable to deploy.
While corrupt powers contradict the facts,
Our present slinks into alarming futures.
What happens when we, soon, face the impacts
From a history of progress as polluters.
On air or earth or ice silently drifting,
Tempests natural and human will collide,
Climates political and real are shifting
Devoured by a volatile tide.
And while these massive waves could be predicted,
Our drowning underneath was self-inflicted.
—HM

48

Why is it that shadows of history,
Cast long over a life, or lives, loom large
As if propelled by torchlight of sisters
Unseen, still shining with utopia’s charge?
The marchers of this year alone exceed
The way we count, the footsteps and the voices
Too many to recall, and still I need,
I’m forced, empowered now by them, to think—
When did we fall into a history book?
The distant tales—division, unrest, peace—
Revived—they weigh much heavier than they look,
Batons from yesterdays we thought we’d passed.
While of the past’s stories we avail ourselves,
Will we turn cautionary tales ourselves?
—HM

41

Who is this man? Unfurling new regard
Before a nation’s disbelieving ears–
Rendered alert, prepared for verbal carnage,
Awaiting fearsome words best left unheard.
What new falsehoods, descending rung by rung,
Can top a year of false flags and sworn lies?
What more, from confidence’s silver tongue,
Can hide behind a businessman’s disguise?
The next day’s news suggests parties deceived,
Or just confused–by bluffing’s bard outbluffed.
Left in the aftermath–what to believe?
Will temporary phrases be enough?
Still, it takes an expert rhetorician
To make conciliation raise suspicion.
-HM

34

A silhouette is poised, with arm extended,
To welcome “masses yearning to breathe free.”
In winter waters, is its warmth suspended?
Its truth now lie, obscured as history?
Her beacon’s heat, once finding, now is blinding
To sheltered eyes of people left adrift
Within the nation, who fear the binding
Between “human” and “race.” There sprouts a rift.
And yet still gently will the lady stir,
Her feet march on against erratic tides,
Lest freedom seem put on a pedestal,
And souls now turned away lose her as guide.
Though to the orders’ letter we accede,
Let Lady Liberty say what law we heed.
-HM

27

Words of fear and treason news is peddling;
They build on rumors, leaks, and campaign dirt.
The TV blares—it’s nonstop Russian meddling!—
Yet misdirection seeks to disconcert.
How can one month turn government to lies,
Make all news “fake” and all talk indignation?
Yet this administration’s foreign ties
Somehow still elude investigation!
Haunted by Flynn’s ghost and dossiers,
Trump’s odds seem slim, yet all is wait;
History repeats itself, they say;
Can Trump survive much worse than Watergate?
Though it’s our country that this man mishandles,
Still his mouth outruns his actions’ scandals.
—HM, SH, NT