No Mr. Rogers Here by Ronald Porter ©2019

Burning angels plunge from the skies
a choking world convulses and dies
thunder roars from the throne
rivers of blood rise in the streets of the city
moans of the innocents; the mothers' cries
over broken babies, pierce to the bone
All is despair; the four horsemen race;
the enemy comes; all hope is gone.

 
The life of the cosmos flashes before the eyes
of the dead , who have all died in vain;
who all died in battle; in screaming and pain.
Fighting to gain salvage for the good
and the television media talking head
sends words of placation to the walking dead,
who stalk both city street and wild wood.
Good morning boys and girls;
It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Love Never Lasting, A Sonnet by Ronald Porter ©2019

 Love, like honey from the rock; it pours out pure and golden.
Sugars the mouth, sparkles the eye, does the heart embolden.
Love invigorates mind and body both with joy it brings.
It brings smiles; fires my heart; raises my spirit eagle’s wings.
Love: a dawning sun, dispels night; lights life; forms an armour.
Ever rising, it’s currents uplift, gifting my hopes to soar.-
Far above this weary world, away from earthly sorrow.
Filling each day it brings promise of happiness tomorrow.
Yet Love seems ever fated to end; always much too soon
Cool of new day always give way to  searing burn of noon.
The radiant beauty found in Love’s clear crystalline light,
Evades me and then fades into the deep darkness of night.
I puzzle that love which proves  to not be everlasting
Leaves me both sadder and richer with every passing.

Walk In The Rain, A Retourne by Ronald Porter ©2019

We walk in rain along the lake shore
The nighttime sky, so dark and gray
We can discern neither time nor tide
Things look different in the light of day

Love is a limitless landscape
Heartbreak-a wasteland barren and dried
A heart filled with hope finds escape
We can discern neither time nor tide

A bowl of fruit sits on the table
Two apples, a banana, one single grape
trapped here inside of a fable
A heart filled with hope finds escape

The wounded watch with a jaded eye
Our horses nicker in the stable
Both joy and sorrow cause me to cry
Trapped here inside of a fable.

We lift beseeching hands to the sky
Surrender all our pomp and pride
Both joy and sorrow cause me to cry
We walk in the rain by the lakeside.

Down Home (A Black History Moment) by Ron Porter ©2014/ 2019

Under the Arkansas moon
scent of magnolia in the air
I have seen the hanging tree
the whipping tree
and the wishing tree as well

In the Piney Woods' dark hours
see neon twinkles of lightning bugs
I've heard the Bear Cat's far off cry
sound like a hungry baby's wail
the torment scream of a dying slave
or echos of lovers mourning loss

Way back down home
rich black dirt fertile and warm
hide the bones,teeth and tears
Earth blood sanctified, watered by sweat
of whip driven cotton pickers
and sharecropping growers of corn

it ain't quite that way no more
the old law has gone away
and it ain't coming back
cause every house has a rifle
a pistol and a shotgun
and a memory

of the whipping tree
and the hanging tree
and wishes are just fantasy
desires of little children
underneath that Arkansas moon
way back down home.