weather report

blow  you icy winds –
we’re here still  belly to belly
safe in loving arms

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2016

vision, third night of Lunar New Year (for Lan and Ruby)

pale sliver of moon,
evening sky: eye of dragon
dozing in the dusk

*    *    *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2016

February blues

beyond the sun’s reach
patches of snow linger on…
Spring seems so far off

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2016

“the audacity to hope” [thanks to Jeremiah Wright]

would I had 40 billion dollars
like the Gates Foundation!
my dear friend asked me,
“So what would you do
with such a fortune?”  I said:
line up the best European lawyers
and get their judicial authorities
to pursue G. W. Bush, R. Cheney,
C. Rice, Tenet, Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz,
Obama, Petraeus, R. Gates, H. Clinton,
W. Clinton, M. Albright, H. Kissinger,
and too too many others,
put them in the dock as war criminals,
spend half of it, if necessary,
to get convictions,
and lock them all away
for the rest of their natural lives.
“Really?” my friend asked. “But why?”
Pour encourager les autres.

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2016

senryu – twenty-five years late

endless Near East war:
Bernie’s no-no; one question –
where you been, my man?

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2016

senryu – where the boys are: Gloria Steinem and millennial women

Steinem talks rubbish
supporting a warmonger.
heaven help us all

*     *     *

© Gregory V Driscoll 2016

reminiscence from the future

her granddaughter came running
in her hand the little packet of papers
she’d found it in a trunk in the basement
as she looked for things to play with

she gave the packet to the old woman
what is this  grandma  and whose is it
the woman’s heart filled with dusty memories
‘they’re poems, my little one   mine   from him’

her eyes seemed to look off into the distance
‘he wasn’t very handsome  little one
but how courteous and charming
nor did he dress well

for he was a poet in disguise’
the old woman smiled
‘here he is   disguised again
in these sheets of paper

ha   after so many years there is still
a scent of wine about the ink’
the old woman fell silent then suddenly:
‘listen  little one   is that the wind

no no   it is he once more
disguised in the breeze’s laughter’
one single tear erased
the tender memories

‘take them  little one   put them once more in my past’
her granddaughter took from the old woman
the packet of dried out pages
and began to run toward the past

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2016