MJ blathers

dark poet who loves to laugh


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laughter heals

giggling soothes a hurt
chuckling helps regain perspective
laughing out loud
reminds me i am
a pretty funny human specimen
who ought not take myself
more seriously than i
am worth
in the scheme of things
there is too much richness
and joy in life
to miss out on it by
weeping and frowning

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i, fighter

i want to serve
but not to be treated as your servant
my ego still insists
that i am worthy of your praise
or at least your acknowledgement
of my existence
i am a human being
if you cut me, i will bleed
and try like hell
to slice you back
i fight, not proudly
but readily
as though in recoil
i admire quaker friends
and try to turn the other cheek
but i have limits
boundaries beyond which
i will react
i have not killed
but in defense of a child
i would


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anthracis

compound 19, in 1979
has been overgrown
and surrounded by Sverdlovsk
in Central Asia
a small city of
workers intent
on their own
families, lives
but the message
of the missing filters
does not reach
the night shift
they cleanse
their regular production
of anthrax spores
deliberately made smaller
to reach into lungs
how could we expect
the deliberate makers
of agreed-against biological
weapons to tell civilian
doctors what they were up
against—to save lives
when their purpose
was to kill?


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instinct

instinct, they say
touch a newborn’s feet to a surface and
the infant will lift one foot and
then the other
as though stepping

touch his palm and
his tiny fingers will
grasp and close
mere instinct

but when thos near-translucent
hopes for mastery of piano or guitar
stir and touch, surround your
pointer to the world’s
past betrayals
and present heartaches

when fresh, soft delicate skin
brushes callous and scar
and clings as though in trust

those vulnerable fingers melt the wrongs
and promise goodness and mercy
of a future
now in my hands