Faith on the Wind

Animosity cannot grow here
among the shaded groves
and dandelions roaring yellow faith.

Let sunlight burst from fertile earth
between the broken vines;
animosity cannot grow here

when twilight comes and blossoms close
from bright heads to brimming hearts
and dandelions roaring yellow faith.

Children mourn the passing scene
of selfless beauty and of love –
animosity cannot grow here;

their gentle hearts echo the light
from a thousand little suns:
dandelions roaring yellow faith.

In old age, when the world has worn away
the sight of simple gifts,
animosity cannot grow where
dandelions roar their yellow faith.

(first published at Songs of Eretz Poetry Review)

Two Simple

Robert Frost was a fine
mathematician. He reduced
his fractions efficiently
down to two roads in one
wood. Modern. Scientific.
Beautiful. Binary reductionism
and poetic refuge denying
or avoiding quantum chaos
and the probability of
improbability of organic
human irrationality which
is not a four letter word
but offensive anyway
because rational thinking
is key to science, our
modern religion, and
“irrational” sounds bad,
a label for mystics and
poets, when what I mean
to say is simply that every
one wants a forked road:
left, right, even if you
take the scarecrow’s
directions you still only
have three options for travel.

The last time I was in
a wood, there was a
labyrinth, Bowie and all,
that appeared – hall of
mirrors, trap doors, secret
passages – with a hundred
entrances, billion exits,
chess problem with no
solution, and people
raced back and forth –
no somber, solitary,
reflective forest this,
dominated by climate
control, astroturf, pine
scent, exposing the reality
of Frost’s apparent fifty-
fifty game, clearly all
or nothing in truth,
this modern mathematical
ruse to deny the beautiful
array, meticulous matrix
of maddening possibility
available from one step.

I stuck out my foot
to trip a passerby, then
meandered aimlessly
into the woods, foot
following foot.

(first published in Dirty Chai Magazine)

An arsonist by trade, John Reinhart lives on a farmlette in Colorado with his wife and children. He is a Frequent Contributor at the Songs of Eretz, member of the Science Fiction Poetry Association, and was awarded the 2016 Horror Writers Association Dark Poetry Scholarship. His chapbook, “encircled,” is available from Prolific Press. More of his work is available at


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