A Kestrel Perched and The Wildcat Cries

A Kestrel Perched

Acceptance hinging upon rejection
Amused by this mute toleration
A kestrel perched upon the signpost
In front of the house of god
Across the street from his golden calf
Where souls are bought and sold
Faith foully flowering into financial gain
Faddish falsehoods and all other hype
Or to be shunned by those of that type
An honor that gold can never buy

Perched upon a signpost waiting for nothing
A world closely viewed, yet so far away
Of polls, tolls, competition, promotion and failure
Money changers spilling out of their temples
Oozing down both sides of the street
Applying their ill craft and blighting creativity
Long ago it was a beautiful sacred grove
Now a gathering of gold beaked vultures
Ever to feast upon bloated rotting cultures
So much foul meat for these carrion eaters

Taught to embrace both counter deities
Ever fearing their one loving god
Ever loving his fearful gluttonous golden calf
As one cannot exist without the other
Some souls sold and lavishly enslaved
So many lining up, more souls to sell
Merciless masters, masked in gold, laugh
Steadily lining up and so easy to fool
Grasping for straws and so easy to rule
Beauty made to associate with ill gained wealth

Who or whatever can surely turn a profit
Those desperately wanting to be desired
Alone they self flagellate in Urdu
Keen eyed goshawks, the predatory poets
Ever ready to bag a mourning dove
Swiftly swooping in without warning
Leaving naught but a few soft grey feathers
Bejeweled in tiny ruby-like drops of blood
Softly settling atop a puddle of mud
Not a white dove of peace to be found

Never an eater of the hovering green flies
Hungry for piles of the golden calf’s dung
The shunned kestrel in time is shooed away
An honor that gold can never buy
Ever swift and sure, this small falcon’s flight
Off the signpost and over the street
Issuing a long shrill cry of defiance
Or perhaps it was the kestrel’s laugh
While shitting on god’s golden calf
Flying back to her wild meadow, speeding away


The Wildcat Cries

Telling the wildcat just what she saw
While he licked an injured paw
The kestrel spoke through her shrill song
Of evil concealed behind golden masks
And the many slaves tending to their tasks
In a world gone so terribly wrong

Hearing this, the wildcat brought up his ears
Her sad song playing hard upon his fears
Of all the places he did ever rove
Meadow, mountain, forest and glen
Of all the places he had ever been
His place of birth was that sacred grove

The wildcat snarled, growled and raved
Cursing any sad souls sold and enslaved
Subjugated in their lack of self worth
The golden calf, fed by their god’s hand
It’s fodder harvested across the land
Now shitting on the place of his birth

His terrible cries sounding through the night
Throat sore, he ceased at dawn’s first light
So addressed the wildcat looked up at her
“God and his evil horned golden calf brother
They cannot exist without one another
And neither can stand against Mother Nature”