Wave the Flags Goodbye

Trumpets blare from all the towers
as quiet children stop and stand
in the correct bright light of politics
that creates deep and secret shadows.

Wave the flag goodbye along with God,
wave the meeting place goodbye as well.
Stop the disturbing wind so it cannot tell
the fresh green leaves where it has been.

The unseen wind whispers secrets
as it slides between the cold towers.
Its chill fusses along the empty street
looking for an open door.

Shirtsleeves in the towers shout, wave
their hands to quell the doubt and save
us all from all the dusty bits that fly about
the cold and calculated city streets.

And all those trees whose neighbour's
are the same with green and brown
that follow seasons root to crown
can move only by their seed.

Seeds cast are caught by careless winds
and fall outside the insidious shade
of tower flags that wave them goodbye,
wave them goodbye and cry, oh God!

It's much too late, the sky is everywhere,
the earth grumbles, winds blow
and we must wave the flags goodbye, wave
goodbye and smell the fertile upturned soil.

The Greening

Undoubtedly, the green revolution
is leading us astray. Streets littered
with nothing but red-tinged leaves
from cloistered trees proclaim
a dedication to the art of work.

The green house, a western contrivance,
is built into new corporate images
and the shiny surface of our lives
dissimulates the uneasy news
that flickers in high definition.

Then there are the poets for people
who worry about themselves
and conjugate the universe
with single letter words that define
their struggles in the sun.

There is garbage everywhere
but it's inconvenient
so it is painted as background.