M.I.N.E.

We never walk at sundown.

We could live better on this planet.

You hold your dark eyes
and I hold mine too.

If everyone stays inside their house
and guards their possessions
then we’ll call the planet Earth.

You will have a forehead made of stone.
I will remember the scent of stone.

A solar star burns
and
mortals go capturing its light,

but we could live better on this planet

so I guess
you will have your possessions
and I will have mine.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

The Elementary School Across From Whataburger

The little girl is talking to the trees
But the trees won’t wake up
To tell her what she needs

How her hair is
Who her friends will be
What side of town her family should
Live

The trees are old
They’ve lived long enough
They think it’s stupid what they’d
Have to explain
So they stay asleep
And the other kids avoid
The little girl talking to the trees
Because she’s different
And won’t walk around in circles
In the parking lot
Like the rest of the kids are told
To do so by their P.E. teachers
Because it’s a part of the curriculum
The planning of making tomorrow’s
Americans
On purpose be like this


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Turn To The Land

Let us turn to the land.
You and me.
You.
From this pollution.
The purpose of humans.
Turn. Turn. Turn to the land.
Or abandon the pollen fallen
from willows.
At night the stars show
then in day still burning.
We refute such odd existence.
Being but not yearning.
So turn as a plow turns,
turn as the leaf turns,
turn as the tree turns.
Turn from the rock, bone,
threshed into soil.
Turn. Turn. Turn to the land.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
from:
Humble,Humble Love thumbnail image  Humble, Humble Love (poetry book)

A Place Of Resistance

I went to seek out a place of resistance,
but naught did the grasses lay,
for the buffalo roamed and roamed
under stars for the ages
where the sky sheltered their freedom.

Then drove the human in cars and
diesels by road
over a summer eve’s gale of storm.

Stopping and staring, pointing and
glaring, the grasses and flowers and
trees were no more,
replaced by warehouses, chain stores,
and matters of volume,

from the age of the gods a new era
was born.

We sit in our homes.
Our forebears vanquished.
No questions for
the origin of words and intentions.

The stars no longer wave with the hay.
The humans are no longer made of the
stars.