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Howard Moon






Nothing Changes

The body count grows

The silent cries of children

Finally find voice

Surprise from those whose ancestors

Did nothing

Lip service from an uncaring

Unremorseful government

Press and populous give it a passing glance

A flash of news here, then forgotten

The system of cruelty and crassness

Still stands

Unchallenged unchanged

Are only the privileged important

Who must die

How many must disappear

At what number does it become important

When will we see the dismantling

Of the procedures put in place

To protect the privileged

To favor those in power

Too much cruelty

Too many bodies

Too little concern

Nothing changes

Quiet Place

I have a quiet place

A place I love

A place where the outside

world does not exist

where there are no distractions

Where silence screams

Where stillness is deafening

Inside there is neither here nor there

Inside there is no yesterday or tomorrow

Inside there is not even today

Because inside time has not stopped

Inside time has ceased to exist

Only I exist

Nothing else

At times my special place

My quiet place

My timeless place

At times it can be the loneliest place in the universe


Getting off the bus in a southwestern town

Looking around staring at nothingness

Miles of unbroken skylines

Searching for a country of states united

Having escaped the tree lined streets of suburbia

Noticing the obvious lack of anything remotely green

This seems a different country

The smoke-filled bar brings a rude awakening

The beer brands may be new

Strange songs fill the air

Unfamiliar accents reach my ear

The same drone-like people sit on the stools

The same distant dead appearance in their eyes

The same uncaring care-less look on their faces

Traveling so many days

After so many miles

Looking to find something new

The landscape may have changed

But the people are unchanged and untouched

Children at play

Grimy faces smiling running jumping

Dirty from a day of play

Nothing that their nightly bath cannot remedy

Collecting cans for some secret project

Hauling away the large cardboard box

A spaceship to take them on adventures to unknown planets

Reality check

Today’s grime will be compounded for many tomorrows to come

Lack of running water makes simple washing a luxury let alone a bath

Cans jealously guarded scraped with spoon and stick for every bit of spoiled food they hold

Brought home for tonight’s family meal

That coveted cardboard box will add a new room to their already crowded box on box home

Children at play

About the Poet

Howard Moon had a career as a broadcaster and professional writer. He has been published in PhotoMethods, Fire Chief and Fire Engineering magazine, and was the staff writer for Today In Ocala. His work has appeared online in Folks Magazine.  He was a columnist and Op Ed writer for the Ocala Star Banner. Recently his writing and poetry have appeared in multiple collections and anthologies, Small Change, Montana Mouthful, Das Literarisch Journal, Of Poets and Poetry.  His writing has been nominated for multiple local awards. He has four books of poetry and multiple books of short stories available on Amazon. Howard is of Native heritage. He is retired and living in central Florida. He now spends his time writing poetry and flash fiction.

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