Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                        Page 25
Table of

Truth to Power

I stand there at the podium, alone.
Five elected face me, bored.
Behind me, many, all the way to the Atlantic.
all stand straighter as the words come.

I prophesy
an unstoppable flood and hurricane winds,
the destruction of the village,
man's costly efforts swept away.
I assign them a task –
get ready.

A storm is coming.
It will come soon or late.
Let's pull together,
not build walls.
The waves are coming,
the ocean will rule.

Let's see to essentials,
get the batteries,
fill the bottles,
stack the blankets.
We can survive.

The five, red-faced, only look
down into their hands.
They make no comment.

Yet the flood will come.

Tom Oleszczuk __
You Can't Go Home Again

A long drive to the city

Cars, trucks, taxis
thicker, faster
People on sidewalks
stepping off, calling out

laughter, jazz sax
spilling out

Hup, hup,
move it

Where are the trees, the flowers,
the deer, the bluejays?
A twirling
             at the edge

        Tom Oleszczuk__

The Temporal Economics of False Austerity
and True Wealth

Young men on vacation
fast driving, pushing across lines,
parking as they please,
“free” time just a few days,
then gone.

Young women
with different ticks of the clock –
that hunk at the bar glancing over,
that hand on the shoulder,
the sweaty night that follows.

Young parents look nearer and farther
to the next put-down of the baby,
to birthdays down the road.
to September school.

Later, they see the children as adults,
working, finding the right one,

Finally, they take their time,
drive within the speed limit –
making the young crazy.
Know that all can change fast,
savor the seconds,
breathe in the sunsets,
the woods,
urban streets,

and, yes,
reach out to the hurried,
worried young.

I treasure each heartbeat,
each smile.

        Tom Oleszczuk__

I first noticed them
as I walked along the rocky bay beach.
A glimmer of movement in the distance.
As I turned to follow
the narrow spit of land,
I saw another dark blur into the grove.
There, a pole in the center,
like a dead stripped elm,
held a platform just below the tree line.
The twigs jutted out so carefully,
almost by design.
A beak popped up and another osprey flew in.
Both disappeared.
l left.

The next day I brought my camera.
Weather overcast, the osprey
were nowhere to be seen.

It took another day,
and I captured one in flight.
I zoomed in and shot, and shot again.

Later, I notice other platforms above busy roads,
at intersections where noisy trucks
and electric cars stop and go.
The osprey seem undisturbed.
At one stop sign, I saw a head look around
perhaps for its mate, perhaps readying to leap.

One picture I put on my wall.
Bright blue sky, an osprey at full wingspan,
each feather woven for climbing currents.
captured yet free,
there and still back at the bay.

        Tom Oleszczuk__