Poetic Hours
Online
Autumn 2008
Charles Portolano

           elsewhere
Those long forgotten in a far,
far away dark land
stand starving, shaking,
in long lines
waiting in the cruel sun
for a bowl of rice and water
to feed the family for the day,
then tomorrow
the wait begins again.
Where murder is a way of life,
the warlords kill the innocent
instilling endless fear
on those left alive,
as the world waits,
the men of the villages,
scarred by disease,
dare not look up
for they are lost souls.
As the sun slowly goes down,
the evil starts swirling
around the villages;
while the world averts its eyes,  
thousands die in dire pain
having lived in great poverty;
children cry the long night
knowing their parents won't
be there to share their childhood.
The world looks away and waits


      Wildfire
I feel your force
sweeping across
my body and soul;
consuming me
with such speed
nothing seems to
stop your advances
or stand in your way
as you overtake me,
stealing my breath,
leaving me
unable to breathe,
dazed,
burning me up
with that stare,
I am unable
to put you out
of my mind
how your wildness
pulls me in,
stirring feelings
so strong
I long to be
engulfed whole;
knowing reason
will never be able
to extinguish
my unquenchable                                                                  
desire to be                                                                            
taken by you.                                                                         
          



Storytelling
Since before time,
when fire first
illuminated the night,
when man stood up,
and fought to survive,
the elders gathered
all the young ones
all sat around the blaze
hearing tales told,
questions answered,
deep in the cave
words of wisdom
for the young ones
to learn from
under the stars,
listening to every word
of the medicine man,
the respected one,
telling about the past,
the ancient ones,
around the campfire
long before radio and TV
by candlelight
grandparents told stories
of their cultures,
then evil radio and TV
took control,
took hold of our minds
Now far too busy,
rushing off to work,
as she turns on the TV,                                                                      
I stop myself                                                              
then and there                                                                          
to tell her the story                                                         
of meeting her Mother