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Sunday, March 15, 2015

Tired Old Man Tales


So when I woke up this morning
I heard this noise outside my door.
When I investigated, I found an old man
wanting to tell me his tales.

I listened to the first story,
full of Love, Hate and Piracy,
and I wondered if even part of it were true.

Then he began to tell me of corporate sharks -
of lies, cheats, the stabbings in the back,
and the rewards that could not be spent,
smiling the entire time.

I heard him tell of passion, and love gone sour,
of drunken mistakes and forgiveness
so sweet it gave me a toothache,
And I wished, just for a second
that I could tell tales so well.

He told me about the stars big plans,
about the world in trouble
and what makes a man a man,
And I understood,
he was a tired old man.

Then he asked me for a tale,
Since I did not have one handy
I made one up, about a tired old man
telling tales to those who would listen,
and he nodded as he fell asleep.

So some morning, when you wake up
if you find me at your door,
sit a spell, and let me tell you a tale
or two, or more, because, after all,
I am a tired old man.

©2010 Christopher Reilley
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Tuesday, March 10, 2015

The Last Tree


They file past, upturned faces awestruck with wonder
Not one of them has ever seen my kind before
Nor will they likely do so again, for I am the last.

It has been more than a generation since my kind went under
There will be no saplings, no seeds, not now, not anymore
The time of my kind, my species, is forever past.

Our murderers cannot yet admit they made a blunder
Poisoning the air, destroying every single spore
Eliminating the greenery of Earth's forests vast.

Only now when faced with the world's last living tree
Encased in a museum diorama behind leaded glass
Do they encompass what their collective hubris has done.

Why must it cost such an ungodly price to see
The death of all their futures in the follies they surpass,
Will they know of losses more than they believe to have won?

We cleaned their air, Mother Nature's own promise and guarantee,
From the mighty oaks and elms to the densest prairie grass
That sweetened every breath and succored them from the sun.

Now machines do the work to filter their every lung's taste
And shield them from Sol's bitter, biting, burning rays
Their adaptation their only defense against their folly's fault.

While I stand here to the last, awaiting eventual rot & waste
Under school children's astonished, amazed and wary gaze
Every bitter tear waters my bed of soil with killing salt.

Until with germination has my imposed loneliness been replaced
And with new hope might seedlings be interred to raise
Will vegetation rebound from the meatlings unwitting assault.

So pass me by with a look, attend well the words of your guide
Who tells you of how my kind once kept your kind alive
And of how your arrogance cost us everything we ever knew.

Think well on what you will do when I, the last tree has died.
How will your children or theirs ever hope to survive,
When only ashes coat the world where once greenery grew?

Think long and hard on how we all may safely abide
How photosynthesis is required for both of our species to thrive
So you will never have to moan, “If only we knew?”

©2014 Christopher Reilley

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Monday, March 9, 2015

Travel Through Desert


They say you should never try it alone
And fill your tank first, don't forget water.
You know when it is near,
because the gas station is busier
than Beaver's house when the damn broke,
not long past midnight -
locals eating lunch.


When you leave the light at last
and feel what real dark is,
the last glow of things made by man
in the rear-view.


Something within you just – slows.


You make what time you can before the east ignites.
Rolling or stumbling, it is up to you.
And when you learn what life is like
on a match-head
you know with certainty
if you want to stay.


You make the decision, every time.
Cannot cross without doing it.
You choose to see the other side
or you choose not to.

©2014 Christopher Reilley

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