On Franklin Street the children play.
Whether whispering death, or born that day
The Fourth will find the youth in man
With beer and sparklers in hand
To celebrate as they may.

“We are the patriots!” they say
While they fold their flag away;
The one for which better people stand
On Franklin Street.

On this day we kneel and pray
For those who fought our foes away
From our free and forted land.
Lights birth and die all while the band
Play until the last note decays
On Franklin Street.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day (though it is Fourth of July weekend)

Through splinters, scratches, and scars
I made it to the top
Of the tallest tree that I could find.
An oak.

From here I could make out my town,
The hills beyond the city lines,
And the edge of the Earth.
A sight.

Squinting, I could make out just beyond the horizon:
A battle between light and dark, day and night.
The Sun, holding onto the edge of the world,
Falls at dusk.

He is no match for the weight of the night sky
With the Moon and the stars crashing down.
Even the brightest flower cedes to the dark
Once a day.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day

Show me your secrets.
Within you are questions that I forced
But have yet to find an answer.
Will you tell me or will I need to tear you open again?
I wish to do the former, for all your
Brothers and sisters have failed before you.

Is it my fault or yours
That you were born inside a cage
Hosted by perfect conditions to age late into
A time point most suitable for me?
Your beady eyes tell me you’re not scared,
But scratching at the walls does not.

It’s time.
Today we sacrifice you to the god we call Science.
Your white coat, flawless and pure,
Gives me an easy target at which to grab.
Inside the chamber you thrash and you scream,
Clutching at walls that have no holds.

One last ounce of oxygen escapes your lungs,
And I prepare you to disappoint me again.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day

Wisconsin Summer don’t know me that well.
Wisconsin Summer comes slowly, leaves fast.
She don’t see me like I see her:
Hot and bright, short but right.
Bees buzz around her beauty.
Horses gallop in her glow.
I can never watch her leave,
But I can always see her go.

Wisconsin Winter greets me like an old friend,
Grabbing my hand and leading me into the night.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day

The many changing faces
Of the lone and gloomy moon
Glow fiercer with fire
Against the backdrop of black.

The trouble with this space is
That the end is coming soon,
Although she’s climbing higher,
I am not satisfied with that.

She’s leaving me alone to face it:
The solitary room–
Darkened with the damned desires
From the sky that’s raining black.

I knew I couldn’t grow complacent
With the brightly shining noon,
Because one day the stars they would conspire
To rip away what they had trapped.

But a crescent shows that I can make it
Through this phase clear into June.
I told myself, but I’m a liar,
I won’t survive as if it’s fact.

The rays fall down upon my naked
Flesh that fears impending doom.
Enough to soothe a sulken cryer
Whose entire journey had been mapped.

Returns! the many faces
Of the newly minted moon
That glows with forces fueled by fire
Against a dotted backdrop painted black.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day

Do you remember when we first saw it?
The nearly invisible thread that fell from the sky
Glistened from the starlight,
And you slapped the back of my head
So that I would see.

My word,
It was as if a fishing line had passed through
The eyeholes of the black blanket of night.
I reached for the silky rope,
But you stopped me.

I grabbed you with my left hand,
And I reached with my right
To grab that fantastic line to the sky.

It’s been years since we discovered
The Lasso to the Moon.
Still, every time my hand goes numb
And I lose sense of your grip,
I look down
To hear your smile tell me to keep going.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day

At that height
He could feel God’s breath on his back.
The Sun’s rays pushed sweat from his pores,
But, still, he persisted.

The answers he was looking for
Were right there,
Just above the clouds.

“Who are you?”

“Are you here?”

He stretched out his hand–
Exposing his burnt arm to the heavens–
Toward a crack in the sky.

He felt God’s Whisper wick against his wrists
For a moment
Until the Sun melted the wax in his wings,
And he fell back to the Earth.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day

The horses that we saddle
Pull us closer to the West.
We are like the Kings
Using mountains for our rest.
Wisconsin eats the snow
Clinging frozen to our boots.
Minus 23 and windy–
Hell has come to you.
We stuff your car completely
To pull us closer to the West.
We are like the Kings
Using mountains for our rest.
Nebraska’s seen our footprints
After Iowa saw us sleep.
The Rocky rollercoaster
Nearly brought us to our knees.
Winding closer to the coast.
Compass clearly reading West.
We are like the Kings
Using mountains for our rest.
The baron Utah desert
Reaches far as eyes can see.
Arizona looked like pebbles
Next to the Utah Seats.
We passed through one more desert
Until we finally met the West.
We are like the Kings
Using mountains for our rest.
California grips my hand,
Warm air whipping at my face.
The horses gallop toward the coastline,
To my final resting place.
Through these states we galloped freely,
Pulling closer to the West.
We are like the Kings
Using mountains for our rest.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day

The long arm of the Milky Way
Stretches further into black.
The speed needed to break the Great Filter
Holds many others back.
Gone! Gone! are the Earthbound.
Forward! Forward! to a new light, our Sun!
The story of Genesis is rewritten today!
We have passed the Ninth Planet,
We have paved our own way.
Now Gone! Gone! are the Earthbound!
Soon, home will be foreign;
Space dust will make you sneeze!
But, back home all the men and women
Will be dropping to their knees
For they! they! are the Earthbound!
Gravity holds no heir here.
It must be me that holds you down!
Though, I know you’d rather be here
Than lowly, coldy Earthbound.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day

The unexpected rains in January
Carry to me creeps of doubt.
Not long before the clouds cover my roof
I feel the storm pressing down.
The drunk darkness dons a heavy coat
As it stumbles through my door–
Breaking branches in my living room,
Shaking thunder through my floor.
Its winds are whipping faster
While shaking blankets from my chest.
It can see my eyes make no fight, so
Off it goes to reign out West.
The thunder gets much softer,
But it never really leaves.
Even in the distance
The storm rumbles underneath.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day