#ElectionDay: Go Gather Wood by Pablo Cuzco

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Go gather wood for your fires boys,
gather wood to burn | don’t pick wood that’s wet or rotten,
or it will not burn ::the cherry trees stand withered,
the orchards bare and dry | the grass parched and dying
by a scourge sent from the sky.

The leaves eaten by the sun,
the water line is clear | the lake is showing rooftops
of a town once disappeared ::it rains and rains for days on end,
so the fires burn out | the sun shines from the sky,
suddenly it’s a drought.

There’s flooding in the valley,
chaos in the hills | the roads washed out by the creek
that once ran deep and still | the river swollen to the banks,
the farmlands turned to swamp | the city center’s four feet deep
of a rage that just won’t stop.

The government is sending troops and sandbags by the score,
but the angry skies won’t listen, tomorrow—
another storm | the national guard stands ready
with its soldiers and their guns | but the thunder’s roll is louder,
the battle has begun.

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Pablo Cuzco is an American writer of poetry and short stories. He spent his early years in France and Germany with his family. In his teens, he traveled across America with guitar in hand, writing songs and jotting memories along the way. Now, living in the Southwest with his wife, he has time to reflect and share those stories. His works can be found at Underfoot Poetry, The Big Windows Review, and on his blog Pablo Cuzco – in My Mind’s Eye.

Two Poems by Pablo Cuzco

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The Swallows Have Left

The orchards are bare
the sun no longer shines.
Waters flood the mainland,
avocados shrivel from a lingering drought.
There’s a sign on the door that reads:
“The Bees are Gone for the Season—
We’ll pray for rain but wait for the sun.”

…the swallows have left Capistrano.

 

The Swallows Refuse to Return

The greenback was once well oiled
till renewable energy raised its serpent head.
Hybrids and Uber-Lyft rides on the cheap—
promoted by Utopian masters of the carbon footprint.

A clock’s revolution | a turn of the hand.
A paradigm shift racing toward the event horizon,
the Singularity threatens neural networks with artificial constructs
—a perfect Anthropocene storm.

::you must remember this—we send our boys to war
but bring home *men* in caskets.
Sweethearts wave as trains leave the station—

…the swallows refuse to return to Capistrano.

 

 

Pablo Cuzco is an American writer of poetry and short stories. He spent his early years in France and Germany with his family. In his teens, he traveled across America with guitar in hand, writing songs and jotting memories along the way. Now, living in the Southwest with his wife, he has time to reflect and share those stories. His works can be found at Underfoot Poetry, The Big Windows Review, and on his blog Pablo Cuzco – in My Mind’s Eye.

#Mountains: A Sunset Falls by Pablo Cuzco

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A mountain in Yosemite lets water fall,
majestically crash on rocks. Bird whistle cones,
Sequoia | tall, send message to the sky:
We are the emperors of the wild.

 

 

Pablo Cuzco is an American writer of poetry and short stories. He spent his early years in France and Germany with his family. In his teens, he traveled across America with guitar in hand, writing songs and jotting memories along the way. Now, living in the Southwest with his wife, he has time to reflect and share those stories. His works can be found at Underfoot Poetry, The Big Windows Review and on his blog, Pablo Cuzco – in My Mind’s Eye.

 

Photograph by Walter Siegmund.