Charles Goldman - Three Poems

O To Be Big Enough

i look for you in mist and turmoil

i look for you in my pain and anger

for you i seek in the myriad abysses

my screams bare themselves of all clothing

they strip themselves naked until there is only bone

i listen all of my days to the faint echoes from a tiny voice

through lens and sound i scour the night stars for a vision of you


and there in the midst of all depravity 
in the flooding grimace of winning vileness
in the unceasing torment of murdering war
in the folly of the jackals of the soul's poverty
in the deluge falling skyward in the vanity of brokers
in the wind fall of those who live free of the rest of us
i find you standing with rock hard obedience in the service
of greed


for you living in the wounded distance i offer my full healing 
embrace 
as a prayer
as determination
as longing watered in hopelessness
to shower your life of horrendous despair caused by warriors of 
all countries
and like a tall stranger bending to tell a child that its love is all 
that counts
make for you a tabernacle of my opulence and the very 
substance of my soul


there in the endless storms of grief

rapid-fired from human hate

i reach a hand of solace but it is too late

i cannot drag you from the ruins which are taking you from us

i cannot convince the powerful to stop your suffering
nor the most powerful from reversing time


in your lands of starvation and days of war

in the grief of your families and friends

the shape of what could have been but will never be

in the numbness of class difference and causes of dominance

in the pain caused by inattention and clinging
o to be big enough to set you free

Hate No More

You
do not forget.
The story must unfold
to live inside you.
To become a lasting flame,
one to cherish, 
a human tale, 
to teach others
what to feel.
 
Arrogance
must never win,
must never again
be allowed
its triumph
inside 
the many
burning skins
of those who
lived to suffer
in the hands
of tyranny.

One day
they will all
have gone, 
replaced 
by other stories
just as wrong. 
Until we
are strong
enough
in the thorns
of misery,
to say for
the rest of time,
from deep within,
hate no more.

The Ruins

these 
are not buildings
of stone
but selves
of flesh
built to hold 
our meat housed minds

we believe in
our solidity 
in our ability 
to reach out
and crush

i see ruins
a city laid waste
by an idea of war
i see a sorrowful moment
in a hospital room
when someone loved
must die
i see the tears
and rain
i see it pouring
through our hearts
and i know its purpose
to wash hatred
from inside us
and send it back
into the ground
the timeless healer
of all despair

i see the farmer
come to tend his field
of thriving flowers 
and unwanted weeds
spreading coats of poison
to profit us 
and kill all else  

Charles Goldman is first a Poet. Dear to his heart is the study and work connected with all things of Spirit. He finds himself defining a poetic reality in such a way that it may live inside the subconsciousness of others. Charles has written under the nom de plume Doctori Sadisco. He sends his love for a good life. May the living world survive our arrogance and rage. He lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.