Saved by Captain America

he held his small hands

on my cheeks and pressed

his own soft face against mine

are you sad, too?

why is mom sad?

my voice faltered on truth

we had to say goodbye

to a friend, I said

so we're sad

the tears held fast,

at the eyes' edge

my cheeks stayed dry

so his would 

he is three and somehow

without words

I felt the need to shield him

from my sudden sorrow

I wanted to hug him close 

let loose the tears, waiting

he reached for a book,

giving me an easy out

read to me?

he shifted to my lap

small fingers turning pages

away we went, 

fighting with Captain America

and behind his broad shield

I hid from death

(poem #7 for National Poetry Day) 

return, Raven

now you play trickster

the cruelest of jokes

balls of earth into beauty

then bring the flood 

and leave us alone

questioning your kind

return, Raven 

remind us why

we are made of mud

[poem #6 for National Poetry Month...Original Raven art by my friend Dakota, a kind soul gone too soon.]

Alien Attack

the aliens first attacked the waters of the world
giant starships, oblong silver water drops, the size of football fields
rays like liquid aurora in beams lighting up oceans, seas, lakes, streams

humans scrambled to battle, then conference tables
old enmities vaporized, in a common call to arms
the space beings clearly knew
ruin the water, ruin man

so they protected the water

then the aliens came for the air
hovering fans, beneath egg shaped balloons as big as mountains
cyclones stirred beneath the blades, tornado winds and black clouds

already allied from the war to save every last drop
the humans coalesced once again
the enemy clearly knew
ruin the air, ruin man

so they protected the air

the aliens came next for the trees, then the animals, then crops, then the children
they came in unimaginable crafts, each larger than the last, and more powerful
beams of starlight and death-rays of sunshine, and finally a moon sized mirror

they enemy clearly knew
what would bring the ruin

but the enemy was no match for mankind
united in a front to fight and protect
their homes, their families, the planet, their kind

the human-beings were a force unlike anything
the aliens had ever seen

which was why the beings came in the first place

to protect man





(Poem #5 for National Poetry Month...by Don Rearden, www.donrearden.com)

the three year old at bedtime

plates pushing. crust colliding moltenmagma 

earth enraged bubbling 

boiling rapid

rising

tempest torrent seisimic storm eruption 

                      explosion

aftermathashdustdebrisdetris

             disaster

                     deathsadnesssorrow

[Poem #4 for National Poetry Month] 

Death By Social Media, 2.0

Death By Social Media, 2.0

he didn't like how her

Facebook turned 

her status Twittered

And in an Instagram 

she was with another Yahoo

and Hotmail 

Walking Dead into

 a House of Cards

his Lifelock was over

he would never trend again.

his only Pinterest?

setting the Match to Tinder

change his status to Explorer

and he set his selfie on Firefox

And Tumbler off

the Caring Bridge

[Poem #3 for National Poetry Month. By Don Rearden 4/3/15 www.donrearden.com]

Unbridled Progress

stand in shined shoes, derby hats

in black unbridled progress
ties and scarves wrapped tight
around your throat
as the noose on the moose
and your reins 

on this land 

the creatures 

and her people  



Image courtesy of: http://vilda.alaska.edu/cdm/ref/collection/cdmg21/id/11494

Day 2 of National Poetry Month. 

Two Hundred Years

Two Hundred Years

I have swam beneath the ice for two hundred winters
watched two hundred summer suns
shine upon this turbulent sea
saw your kin upon the shore
stepping gently, leaving only footprints
first, then wooden paddle strokes
soon rumbles and streaks in the sky

I have seen your rise
rapid as the moonlight spread across
a tundra plain, and now watch
while the moon-set makes ready
remembering how two hundred years
you watched for my spout
saw hope in the mist
made my grandmother into corsets
carved my mother for a mangled
meal for the bottom crawlers with
war weapons, steel whales
with your men sealed
screaming inside

some of your kind believe we
wield the ability to hear those
thoughts in your head, your actions
are already gale force, only if you listened
long enough at the ocean's edge
everything would crystalize
clear, and two hundred years
you would see from sea




(Poem #1 for the National Poetry Month Challenge by Don Rearden. Here the imagined life of a bowhead whale, the subject of a new novel I'm working on tentatively titled Whale Road.)