The Return
The highway finds me broken
and broken free from the mountain’s grip
bleeding from a fight with the clinging trees
Distance restarts my heart
Each mile is another beat
At the edge of the ocean
my breath and my dreams
return to me
The Electric Doors Never Stop Eating
Earlier than necessary
electric doors open wide
ushering in employees who either
drank the corporate-issued devotion-to-policy brew
or chose a regular cup of coffee and steeled themselves to slog through
another day of being under the eye and thumb of
cameras and software packages designed to report
each word
each keystroke
to measure productivity, to predict loyalty
to the almighty company
Corporate mission statements decorate walls and computer screens
Remember:
Positive attitudes only
Daily emails politely warn
that questions come with a penalty
When bodies drop under the weight of unattainable goals
and crack like stones
No blood left to squeeze
The boss with the broom sweeps the old dust out
so the doors can welcome in
younger faces ready to bleed for a company
that will demand the impossible
then sweep away the broken pieces
with a broom
Image description – photograph of high-rise businesses overlooking a rocky section of the James River
About the poem:
As rights for workers and conditions for workplace safety continue to erode, the reality hits hard that lawmakers are not coming to help workers. Nobody in politics is coming to provide actually legislative help because their pockets are being lined for staying silent. Since nobody in power is coming to help, it’s up to us to set a precedent, to draw lines, to set limits, and to be loud and obnoxious when we can if subtle strategies and quiet subterfuge fails. Otherwise, the spineless, manipulative, ass-kissers who have sold their souls for the privilege of serving their corporate overlords will continue to perpetrate wage theft, require unattainable goals, tout unrealistic expectations, discriminate both overtly and covertly, and cause unsafe and/or inhumane working conditions.
Life in a Bottle
Plastic bottles inhale
breath from the river
Corporations sell
life
and take it
without regret
Image description – A photograph of a narrow, winding section of the James River surrounded by trees on a sunny, spring afternoon
About the poem – Corporations have been given the rights (for the right price, paid to hungry politicians) to bottle up water from waterbodies that people depend on, both in the United States and in other countries. These soulless corporations then sell the bottled water to the people whose streams and rivers the corporations have claimed. There are so many short-term profit tactics that involve destroying water and land for temporary gain. Politicians who allow the land to be polluted and destroyed are often working under the assumption that the aftereffects won’t catch up to them in their lifetime. They assume that they will always live in the protected, fortunate areas where such things don’t occur.
The earth can’t protect itself from shareholders and CEOs or from smiling lawmakers bent on getting kickbacks for passing along environmental destruction laws, all so they can send their kids to the good schools and have summer homes by the river (in the sections the corporations can’t touch, of course), so we have to respect and protect the earth.
Earth Day is a chance to remember and appreciate all the beautiful parks and natural landmarks, but it’s also a reminder that we need to be active in the fight to preserve them.
Origins of a Ghost Story
Uranium invades harmony
Fish can’t out swim toxicity
Corporate goals achieved
Image description – photograph of a desolate dirt road beneath a foggy sky.
This is my first attempt at a lune poem (three words/five words/three words version). Origins of a Ghost Story was inspired by the ever-present problem of corporations and real estate developers overtaking a terrifying amount of natural land. The consequences are devastating to the environment but not to the corporate entities and shareholders who bring about the destruction. They have no reason or requirement to care about what they’ve done, so the damage continues. Ghost towns and over-priced, treeless suburban mega sites packed with chain restaurants and phone stores are often the result of these development projects.
The land doesn’t have a voice, so when I write fiction, I try to create characters who take care of nature and see it as a necessary part of life and soul, rather than a resource to be developed into oblivion. In my poetry, I often write about the harmony of humanity and nature, and the capacity for greed to disrupt what could be a peaceful coexistence.
Melting
Sun shines on the dance floor
melting away ice masks of
winter’s masquerade
Image description – The sun is shining on a partially frozen section of the James River. Sections of ice are thick in outer areas and broken and thin towards the middle.
I have to keep reminding myself that there’s always a light shining. Even when the sun sinks into the sky, the moon will still rise, and when clouds block her brilliance, there are still lighthouses on distant shores. And if we can hold out a little while longer, we’ll see the sparks of fireflies that risk their lives to light the night with the hope and truths that fuel our reason.
Simmer
In that uncertain space
where fear and hope
are still separate things
take a rest
take a breath
Let rage and indignity simmer
We’ll stir the pot
until our anger boils into a scream
that rises above
their manufactured misery
Image description – photograph is of the night sky. Clouds are on the left side, the moon is in the middle, and clear dark sky is on the right side of the photo. Barren branches rise from the bottom of the photo.
I don’t really have adequate words for the sadness and fear many of us feel about the orange mistake taking place today. I’m still in shock and trying to process how this could happen and what the fallout will be. Taking a moment to rest and gather strength is the kindest thing we can do for ourselves, but after we rest, we rise and we won’t relent until equality and decency prevail.
The Moon Screams the Truth
Spoiled
vines strangled the moon
She grew teeth and tore free from
rules meant to keep her
silent
Image description – a photograph of the night sky. The moon is visible and shining bright above several trees.
The initial shock and numbness of the previous day has worn off and now, I’m livid. Now, I’m gathering strength and screaming the truth. Many rules aren’t created to keep us safe, rather, they’re passed by those in privilege and power to keep people quiet. Their main objective is to shut questions down and make it too hard, too dangerous, too costly to object. My voice gets louder every year. My teeth get sharper.
We have to come together in anger and find ways to tear down the system that tries to silence us. We can stand and hold signs, write and call lawmakers and demand they give us an audience. We can run for office in record numbers. We can write about the truth, whether in fiction, Fahrenheit 451 style, or as journalists reporting the truths we see. We can continue teaching our children to be decent human beings and we can reach out to people who need a hand. We have to fill the time and space with our presence and with our voices. We have to be unrelenting.
Hope everyone is having a fantastic month full of all the scary stories, horror movies, macabre decorations, and haunted sight-seeing tours. May your Halloween costumes be as gory or ethereal as your hearts’ desire! Here’s another scary poem to enjoy. I may get the chance to share some flash fiction horror stories too before the month is over.
Yesterday’s Delight
Yesterday’s delight
grows teeth
and shifts into a callous skin
bristling with chaos
Screams choke the air
seeping into the fabric
of the future
(poem appeared in Feral Feline Literary Magazine’s issue 2: Forbidden Fall on November 28, 2022)
Image description – picture is of the roots and dirt clinging to an overturned tree. Within the mass of dirt and roots is a hole that looks like a mouth.
A creepy poem in honor of Halloween month
Spider Rain
Silk that seems
like angel’s wings
are spiders crawling in the darkness
Webs anchored in splayed hair
Summer raindrop memories are eight legged babies
descending
into satin sheets and draperies
Shadows keep secrets
from the morning sun
Image description: a picture of a large green and black spider climbing down its web in front of a window. The close-up photo shows the spider in detail, including the hair on its legs and the translucence of its green and black body.
For Halloween month, I will be sharing spooky, creepy, haunting, and strange but lovely poems, pictures, and posts throughout the next two weeks.
Slow
Slow
because even after
endless hours of effort
the profits aren’t mine
Slow
because my body is stuck in service
of creating unnecessary things
Slow
because with each day
of this unfair exchange
my mind slips further into acceptance
So I’ll fight while I can still fight
to slow
the productivity
that will never benefit me
Image description – photo of the James River which is mostly obscured by a rusty transmission tower, the view underneath railroad tracks, and an expansive building. The blue afternoon sky is slightly hazy and grayish.
What inspired the poem Slow?
Promotions and promises of better pay, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to rest and take proper vacations- these are carrots, pulled on strings by corporate executives who profit off the backs of employees who give up so much of their lives yet receive hollow promises and inadequate compensation in return. People are asked to do more work than their bodies are meant to perform and once they manage to meet harsh deadlines or produce an outrageous amount of revenue, even bigger results are asked of them, all while employers use the common tactic of decreasing the number of workers available to perform tasks.
Workers are being shamelessly exploited and underpaid in the United States. Where does it end? What must employees give up in order to produce the results that should never have been asked of them? For some, the answer is to slow down and take care of themselves, to take time off instead of giving all their time to a corporation that doesn’t care about them, and to fight back against ridiculous deadlines by decreasing their pace to one that doesn’t feel like it’s pulling them into an early grave.
Christina Lynn Lambert 