Bernard Gieske So Many
Multitudes It began with
thundering
marching raindrops Like a thundering
herd of
buffalo stampeding over prairie land Hidden faceless
immigrants
toiling late into the night drenched in debt and sweat Rows of manikins with
revolving hands spewing out endless things Rows of benches lined
with fear protests hidden in folded
sleeves Language barriers frozen
passports wages withheld working in the
Land of the Free the “garbage” of global
economy No Justice Here No Hope Nothing with no
hoping is nothing Happening with no
hoping is coincidence Seeing with no
hoping is sightless Time with no
hoping is doomed Willing with no
hoping has already ended Doing with no
hoping is drudgery Laughing with no
hoping is choked Sun with no hoping
is without a day Awaking with no
hoping is all night The Farmer welcomes spring
opening his book of fields furrowing the pages rows of stories
revisited repeated traces of family
history new entries sown branching free budding ears
picking the tunes of spirited winds under sailing
caravans caught
up in the swirling arms of chapters in an autumn way rolling up the
scrolls of
leaves of grass spirited away from winter
chills settling in lofty
bins
cribbed indexes of a next generation The Big Tree
(2) here’s the place I can rest under this tree its canopy
embracing me no sun, no moon just the dark,
dark blue under this big
tree now blanketing me my companion along with this dream of
the journey trekking a dusty
road under the heat of a burning sun in busy pursuits to a lasting
resting place this welcome haven
melts my dreams | 
