In Praise of Logic

          In the jungle it’s customary
          for orangutans to check
          passports of insects
          crossing their terrain.

Translucent angels pierce
aliens out in space.

                           “Paul sure looked spiffy
                            in tux and spats,
                            that is until he leaped
                            from thirty stories
                            and went splat.”

Oh the constant intolerable applause
for venomous ogres who defy
nature’s laws.

                         A woman took it all out
                         on her lazy spouse.
                         Less man than mouse
                         he shot up the house.

“Exploring worlds
within clouds one could
get shocked when struck
by a bolt of lightning.”

                     Electric blue like pulsars
                     blasts through corpuscles.

Every organism
for itself says scripture
anonymously ripped
from Time’s womb.

        “Dominant strains of gods
         reverberate in the brain.”

                     At a mention of death
                     fire ants scattered,
                     multiplied and migrated
                     to the silver moon.

It’s blasphemy to insist
black is pink and pink black.

                    “After washing hair
                     and brushing teeth
                     don’t blame the mirror
                     should you despair.”

Admiral Sokalov in command
of battleship Russitania
reluctant to show his face
in public not for shame
but in deference to self-defense.

               Slow down or you’ll strike
               that squirrel crossing
               the road on its way home.
               We’d hate to lose another
               of a declining species.

                        “Grandmas are typically
                          the best at spoiling kids.”

          It’s predicted that by the year 2100
          at least two-thirds of Florida
          will be submerged
          as polar ice caps become
          things of the past.

Once upon a time ruled a hero in the sun
woefully deposed by an evil favorite son.

                       “For want of constellations
                        not born into creation
                        the lurid crucifixion
                        mirrors mass extinction.”

Sordid rhetoric ignites
violence where
vengeance dominates.

The air geometric, pirouettes.
Vibrations shod, flowers sing,
the music knowing full well
its notes have power to heal.







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​Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly. His poetry has appeared in such publications as The Journal, Poetry Salzburg, Modern Literature, The Museum of Americana, South African Literary Journal, and Home Planet News. His books of poetry are Ballad of Billy the Kid, Monterey Bay Adventures, Mercurial World, and Aurora California.