Kicking back against the wall
Society says it put me here, but really I needed a place to rest.
I left my mark here, like so many before me.
Feet prints on the brick, blood on the pavement.
Time talks and I'm looking at the smirks of the firing squad.
So here I post up, years before people like me were put down.
No mutt reaction, just the next breath of the confused generation.
Trying to be the best, better than what was, knowing that we're half cocked and about to lose it.
Living on a top that's about to tip.
Hands up against the wall, it was built by the generations before us.
We're adding layers and making it higher, making it thicker.
Maybe we're on a clock, tiktok says the boomer.
I see no X on the map to mark a generation meanwhile the ghosts of granddad stay silent.
Kicking back against the wall, society says it put me here, but really I needed a place a rest.

Trying to swim but I'm drowning in the shallow end
No deep water for this first timer
You set a goal and cried a river which never ended, now it's an ocean and I'm an island.
Set sail sailor
Now the ship sunk and I'm watching the waters lap higher and higher, here I sink.
I say a prayer under my breath and tip my hat to the sea before me.
She finally got the best of me.
No matter the time, no matter the work, I feel like I failed, like I let you down.
Now take to the lifeboats, I added to these turbulent waves so with the ship I go.
The waters taking me, so here I sit and with the ship I go.

Now the monks set fire to the holy texts
Let it burn as so did our souls and passions
Now the monks are drinking wine from the vineyards
Each sip sweeter than the last, each sip sweeter than the last.
Do not as we do for we've given all we have and now we watch the flames engulf it.
Now we set fire to the pages to prove that we're men of faith and not just printed sages.
Holy fire ring out the bell, child let there be one final prayer.
Set here in our old ways, watch as we let the fire take us
I say bonfire child some and join the dance.
Come and join the dance

Was it terror, oil, freedom or war
what did we **** Osama for?

Lives spent in the searing heat, bullets whizbangs and pre packaged meat, far away from home, family wondering when I'll come home.

Bodies of men and women the fighters die together under our stars and stripes fighting a war for freedom.

No this is an oil war, this is the war on terror, we won't stop til we get em dead or alive.

Was it terror, oil, freedom or war, what did we **** Osama for?

A half job done causes a whole lot of trouble later, so why waste so many lives on something we just walked away from?

Was it worth it?
Who paid the price?
Was it worth it, Uncle Sam says
"Gee, fight the fight and fly Ol' Glory"

What was the war for? Pick which reason was worth it only for us to walk away?

Blood on the streets is blood on our hands, no heroes, no winners, just bullet casing sands

What the hell did we fight for?
Did we drop our helmets at the door?
At the door?
Just like the Romans, The British, The Soviets before, now we died in the desert, just like the forces before.
Forces before.

When the sun shone high we pulled the troops and brought em back home to Yankee Doodle land, while we sacrificed the women to the Taliban. You can kiss education, hope and civil rights goodbye.

The sun has set once again so, so long Siagon and Goodbye agan Afghanistan.

Now the citizen fled to the airports trying to hitch a ride on the outside of a plane, gripping that cold metal to their chest and hoping they fall over Afghanistan, rather be dead from a fall than alive over there again.

It's a sad state of affairs when we start a war and skip out on the check, Vietnam springs to mind, so let's hang our head and give thanks to
Bush
Obama
Trump
Biden
I hope it was worth it?
Was it really ******* worth it?
I don't think so
Not at all.

Laid to Rest



Finger on the trigger, hand on the pen.
The romantic say words are stronger, sword is weaker then.
I felt like I’ve been laid to rest sleeping in my artistic grave, chipping away at stories and poems because the urge to create is back, I came from the Cali now I’m southbound and down but this desire to ****** a page got me feeling like Wes Craven- satisfy the
Rage.

Stephen King wrote that and what a tragedy it came true too many times to be fiction, may as well be taken like dictation, how many more shootings can happen during a pandemic?

It’s enough to make me sick, enough to drive me to the edge to drink, stomach sick, heartbroken, ***** in the sink.
On the brink of society based depression, aggression up, suppression up, but the pressure keeps locking me up, draining my energy so all I’ve got to do is sleep deep and hope that tomorrow we get some sanity back.

Books hardly sell, like a doomsday preacher, street sign apocalyptic prophet I stand in the town square and yell.

Bullet based precision, but I spray like an AK, the finer points I use a ballpoint ****** rifle so I can pin the point I’m making and then I throw your bloodhound comprehension off track with a reference, so I move from A to B then loop around and connect the dots, you’ve seen it before when I leave these fanfiction writers in chalk.
Chalkboard like I take em to class, call me the Professor cause I’m giving out F’s.

I feel like I’ve been laid to rest to early, but I only laid down to recharge my batteries and the years flew by without me working, I was burnt out of thought, now the gears are turning.

I wrote six books in two years, released five, then repelled three. Now I’m working on two more with plans to republish and release all of them. Plus, I fell out with friend and in love with a former stranger, I lived through the ongoing pandemic plus a freak snowstorm, now I’m back to the grind, climbing out of the grave to soldier down in the social trench, this battle is on, meanwhile you’re still stuck on title page one.

I gave you all the tools to work, told you how to sit down and motivate and self-publish, you sat around and waited for me to show up again, superman- I know when I’m needed.

A writer writes. Take notes class because once again I’ll wade through dark and deep waters to show you how again.

Mr. Masked man is back, the boogeyman of the page, the masked anti hero who writes as much as he raves, and I don’t chug whiskey anymore, now I sip and take my time to enjoy the finer things in life, but I still got these wolf teeth and a savage bite, predator of the poem, 87 skin you alive.

Headhunter, spine collector, trophy killer, broken *** writer with the addiction to fill pages with words until it reads like the dictionary drunk off punk rock and Beethoven- blurred.

Hello fellow poets and writers,
fellow thinkers, drinkers, laughers, boomers, doomers, zoomers, consumers, looters and last but not least voters.

What can be said of a year? 2020 was hell.

Even if you tried to list all of the events that happened thus far you'd still leave some out, we've had wildfires, two very near wars, a global pandemic, animals bringing disease back, massive storms, flooding, the fourth wave of naiz's, a violent head to head with police shootings, racism, food shortages, massive power outages and the shitlist goes on.

I never used to celebrate New Years because living in America it seemed pointless, it's not hard to survive a year anymore. We have all these creature comforts even despite the riots, the crash, the loss of jobs, of life, people are still somehow surviving, so I've always let New Years be for the birds but after this, I think we could all use a good laugh. A good single breath and a moment where we can just relax.

Leave your masks on, wave at your friend and just enjoy the fact that whoever is left, is still here.

Even writing this I'm not trying to be clever, this is no time for wit or sarcasm, there is no time for wordplay.

I just think right now we all need a reminder that we're ok. Somehow this will pass, this is what the world changing looks like, this is what keystone moments in history are like.

2020, a turning point in History.

Covid is far from over and politically, socially, racially, we still have a long way to go before we can rest, but there is no rest for the true believers, there is no rest for those weary of not having social justice or feeling discounted, their waking nights have become the waking world.

Adapt or die, change or get left behind. I know we won't end racism, we won't end people will still be bigots, but what we can do is reduce those numbers and leave them in the past, through proper education, time and an unrelenting show that people will be who they are and we share the world in peace or we risk repeating this hellscape we're in now.

If you've made it this far, well done.  If you've made it this far consider this a hug, a handshake, a pat on the back. Consider this as someone who also is still here, I'll never meet you but ******* if we aren't in this fight together.

You are not alone.

-Jester.