The Trump Days

The first thing I do when I wake up at 0500 is take my dog out to do her biz, me to have my first smoke of the day, and check the news on my phone to see what the dangerous idiot of the free world has tweeted while I slept. I know; a lousy way to start my day, but there it is.

A poem for my first blog recently published on Reuben Woolley’s excellent site: I am not a silent poet

So speak to power.

Silhouettes in the garden of the east lawn 
Who cares about the affairs
of poor women
who work their fingers
to the bone
just ask them
those who have been let down
and taken up
like the hem of a gown
rich ladies wear
at the country club
taking up a collection for the nun
who cares for the orphans
when there is golf
and invitations to dances
to attend in the evening
on the east lawn
by the garden
the master in his white gloves
brushes dirt
off of his evening jacket
and a flash of a silver flask
in the moonlight
like a dagger in the back
of ambassadors
while those authorities on gas
and all of their advisors
go over lists of the uninvited
keeping tabs on who has
and who hasn’t shown up yet
smoking cigarettes
and drinking cold duck
with their fish eggs
as the dark guests
who were never invited
dance alone in the garden
with their silhouettes.

Rick Richardson

Author: poetryontheedge

Rick is a Professional archaeologist, father, dog lover, and part time poet. He lives and works on the coast of North Carolina. His poetry has been published in the University of San Francisco's The Ignatian Literary Journal, featured on Every Writers Resource, selected by the Winstom Salem Writers Association for Poetry in Plain Sight, and engraved on a granite bench as part of a downtown public arts project in the city of Cary, North Carolina. Most recently, my poem "Things the dead leave" won the Poetry of Witness contest in the North Carolina Poetry Society and will be published in their 2017 edition of Pine Song.

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