For those who view abortion different;
As the murder of an unborn innocent,
There’s a Newtown massacre every day
with nameless victims for whom they pray.
Not wishing to gainsay the law
of privacy or woman’s right to choose.
Praying more for a change of heart,
for children not to be refused.
For there are songs that might have been
That never will be sung.
Blank Canvases, devoid of paint,
That never will be done.
In truth, a generation lost,
As one was lost before;
The first upon the fields of France,
the next on Clinic floors.
No firearms employed this time
but the carnage is the same;
Helpless bodies torn apart
Their blood poured down the drain.
I’ve seen the people up in arms
When Madmen use their right to choose,
But abortionists grow fat and rich
Please understand why I’m confused.
26 angels have arrived for orientation
Taken from the world without hesitation
Heaven is a little more crowded:
There’s a place already prepared
At least tonight those who’ve passed,
Will rest in God’s care
Buried under heartbreak, Newtown still stands
Worlds changed, for this kid and the next
“Kids, 2 +2 is…” BANG -
Children were unable to protect,
Themselves or their friends
Gunshots filled the air
Instead of love that should be there
Flags at half-staff, leave us half-hearted
Soo many, like too many,
Will spend their Christmas
With families torn apart
And no New Years resolution
Can make up for the inhuman execution
May we ever look to love unconditionally.
Untitled for none is deserved.
Bended knees self-sanctify bloodied ground,
sneering, silent thunder slaps my face,
Those Who Dare Call Themselves Gods,
chuckling at all they have wrought,
murderous, heinous, hateful.
Who is the reprehensible abomination,
us or them,
and their devoted servants
who kill "freely" in their name?
Ennobling man with faculty infinite,
then tempting/torturing, obstacling him
from its fullest usage, lest we recognize,
the imperfection of their sloppy design.
If free will is a gift,
I freely regift it back to them.
Some venerate Mother,
after killing their wives and daughters and
laughing about it in
the whorehouses of their souls
What a piece of work are these Gods!
If man is the quintessence of the Gods,
their last, best creation before resting,
are they themselves not corrupted?
So called Gods,
pillory the New York City morn dawn,
a pallor hard-grey nothingness.
a bitter kiss, from things only they control,
a greeting card from on high,
happy new year wishes from
Newtown, Delhi, Peshawar,
At last, I comprehend,
why we minioned millions
celebrate this day with drunken reverie.
Jan. 1, 2013
i found pryce jones
empty, except for
a smell, and sad boy,
wanting to get out of there.
i found that when taking notes,
i took note of the shadow,
the history man on
bullet points, politics.
registering my interest
i may have an opinion here.
or there. he left early
which was just as well.
i went shopping for wooden things.
In the tiny hours os the morning
Long before the sun casts its
Pre-dawn gray and the east
Begins to light
You feel the oneness of us all
You hurt for the people who
Really are brothers and sisters
The people and families of Boston
And the people and families, victims
Of random, meaningless gun violence
Every damn day
The kids lost every day in drive-bys
And the men and women who
Try so hard to hold it all together
The families on the ramen noodles and
Baloney and peanut butter plans with
Hamburger Helper for a treat
The men and women scared of
Losing home--not just a damn house
Don't you know, the only home
Their kids ever knew
And you hurt in the tiny hours
For your people who no longer
Can make the ends meet
And you know a much bigger
Our people are sick of hurtin and losin
While those who really can
Make things happen
Sleep through the night
Without a thought to us
Lots and lots to do
Woody said it right in a different
But same kind of time
This land belongs to you and me
A gentle breeze of warmth pushes pleasant,
freakishly normal, but a smack on the water
builds waves that grow older and stronger.
You feel it all soft behind your eyes.
But there is always something missing
that on more cigarette can't fix.
There is always one bird flying
who just can't find the right sticks
to stand on, to launch from, to rise and
fight the world, so he glided circles
as Lady Hurricane approached.
He flew tired, then he flew more.
I opened the door to our house in Connecticut
in the red mist after Sandy and looked up, and
watched him ramble. "The Hawk in the Hurricane."
There he was circling, as if to prove his strength.
And when those boys and girls were murdered in Newtown,
just down the road,
I thought of him
like he was a good thing.
Brave enough to stand and be a bad omen.
A crucifix with wings.
Innocent boys and girls are gone now.
Turned into a show we watch on TV.
But that is natural to life in this century,
so there's policy and argument
and my eyes turn back
to my own
with an end.
Happiness makes a subtle appearance as just a humble breath,
a deli sandwich, as sun that peaks around the old windows.
And sees me,
invites a squint,
and then comes back.
When you got the
cuz ole' Scratch
done pulled off yet another coup…
Remember to remind yourself to
When you don’t think you can…
When you feel so alone…
Dig out… from under…
cuz if we stay
then wrong will win…
it is a long and dusty road...
but let us not lay prostrate
no matter how tempting
in the aftermath... and
seemingly well worn path
of insanity's destruction...
Lift your eyes to the hills
From whence your help comes… and
Speak a word
To your self…
Lay hands on
Dust your own self off… and
Keep on… keep on…
I heard the singer say
“I think I’m gonna run on, to see what the end is gonna be… “
And that feels
mighty good to my soul… so
Let’s run on…
And see what the end is gonna be…
Take my hand
Let's run on
And see what the end
Is gonna be…
A palm on the blackboard and a loud black shoe,
tight as a lover’s squeeze against the wind,
a door swing on the incline and blown sky-blue;
this morning’s painting wheezes out from its pin.
A hand on the back-lock and one black sin,
wide as a wind-torn preach upon a pew;
the heavy thud of his boot on the white lin-
oleum - a hopscotch yearly in two by two.
Finger in the tock-tick and a fat, black coo,
dumb as a stillborn on a hospital wing,
the men who sell bullets and claim the right view;
men who start fires and then let the bell ring.
why is it
i am guilty
(so many people
and i never
and pray to
to each other
what a tragedy
god bless the dead children
(and america, if you get a chance)
You should never make fun of someone else’s beliefs
Where you are right now has less than a few hundred million miles of surface area
You can’t even walk on 70% of it
77 years of life on average if you’re a healthy American
That’s only 4,015 weeks
28,105 days on this small planet floating in a large black mass
You’ve already lived about one eighth of your life
Time won’t stop for you
Your days on this blue marble go by and there’s nothing you can do to stop it
Believing there’s something more is nothing to scoff at
Do you really believe that? they say
Do you really believe there is a man in the sky?
Well since you asked here’s my answer
I believe there is meaning in every day
I believe there is a point to waking up and doing good actions
I believe there is a spirit in emotion
And a metaphysical being who loves me endlessly
I believe in something more
Now it’s my turn
Do you really believe that?
Do you really believe this whole thing is a scientific coincidence?
A cosmic collision at a specific point
An explosion that created all of this
Perfect atoms with electrons that bond and share
Creating perfect cells with all the right organelles
A process of cellular respiration that coordinates as a perfect opposite to photosynthesis
All to maintain homeostasis,
the so-called “wonder process”
that keeps us all alive
Our bodies preserve an exact temperature, the ocean an exact pH and salinity and the ground an exact resistivity
To keep us all alive
We are all a coincidence?
What about that shooting in Newtown
More than one kid took a gun to his head
and what for?
Why was that so tragic?
The shooter could have been conducting a scientific experiment
What is the basis of right and wrong derived from?
What are feelings derived from?
Don’t tell me it’s science
Don’t tell me that it’s science that makes you cry when you get dumped
Science that breaks your heart when you lose that state championship
Science that lightens your spirit when you go home to your beautiful family after a long hard day
It’s not science
It’s your soul
A soul given to you with a light side and a dark side
A soul with genius thoughts and horrid sins
Genius thoughts you should act on
Horrid sins you may commit anyway
and He will love you
He will forgive you
Will your precious science forgive you?
I wouldn’t force anything on anyone
I wouldn’t question beliefs in science had my faith in God not first been tested
I’m not asking you to believe, whether you do or not won’t affect our relations
I just need to explain
To each his own
So don’t laugh at me