PHOENIX POEM 

I feel a long poem coming on,

Might need three-shot mochas to get through it.

Not right: I’m cozy in a coffee shop, bright and chattery 

While our bombs 

Drop on Iran against our will. We’re powerless against

The billionaires playing games with lives and money

And the water we drink

And the air we breathe,

As thousands like me run out our pens writing words like these.

Trains flow by on Lake Street. Long flat freightcars 

Over an elevated bridge

Slightly above my line of sight. There is talk of sun waves

Of magnetic changes in the planet

Of new and higher frequencies powered by H2O and love 

Instead of oil. Defying gravity

As the Wicked green witch sings.

Come, new world, 

come within me and outside of me.

Monks chant “Today is my peaceful day” as more bombs hit a schoolyard

And Epsteined power brokers run wild

With ancient lust to eat babies. 

Spiritual youtubes proclaim we must decompose.

We can only rebuild from ashes.

                                                                                      --Bonni McKeown,  New Sound Cafe

                                                                                        Thurs. March 5, 2026