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two hundred years ago
   or so
this title might have read
"America", etc.,

according to the myth
that then was strong
and still exotic
   and promising to aliens
with no experience

today, after Wounded Knee, the Trail of Tears,
the Civil War, the Restoration, all the lynchings,
after Vietnam, Grenada, Panama, Nicaragua,
the Gulf, Iraq, Afghanistan,Lybia, Syria & cetera,
Ferguson, Baltimore, & cetera,
"America" has disappeared

it has, in fact, become quite evident
that to subsume the continent
   on the far side
       of the Atlantic or Pacific
   with this name
will do no more

   in truth, it rarely ever did

the mythic notion
   of a just and free society
was definitely buried at My Lai,
Panama City, on the desert plains
of Kurdistan, the Baghdad prisons,
    and Guantanamo
by racist violence & arrogance
   and pitiful ideas of white supremacy

   the usa today lies bare
   of the old promise of 'America'

street people, rampant fundamentalists,
drugs, and low employment rates,
in a society that longs
   despite its cherished myth
   of tough but honest competition
for holy war in order to rebuild with profit
   what it has destroyed with arms

that, to all evidence, cares not
a penny's worth for
   the unbuildable
   which never shows in the domestic census
or for the lives of others but their own brave boys
   preferably white
who have in recent years
      though with increasing discomfort
upon appointment by their country's presidents
achieved the dreary fame
   of bombing back into the stone age
distant lands that had
    just barely begun
to make it out from there

           * *
dead bodies floating
in our oceans
from the Asian Pacific
to the Mediterranean

crumpled corpses lying
on our beaches
thousands drowned unknown

overcrowded detention centers
not unlike concentration camps
behind barbed wires
guarded by police and snarling dogs

nobody feels responsible

not  those who started wars
destroyed whole cities
made millions homeless
and into refugees

not those who take advantage
of the chaos for their own gain
abusing the names of their gods
or some ancient figurehead
to excuse their atrocities and greed

not those who live
in comfortable homes
and wish the desperate crowds
would just stay on the TV screen
and not come close

nor those who pretend
to be the guardians
of our great humanitarian heritage
but show no backbone
against nationalist fanatics

it is the shame of the world
to sit and talk and watch
and not do enough

those who turn away
the needy and homeless
could also
      quite suddenly
lose their homes

forced to rely
on the kindness of strangers
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
I’ve Said Too Much**

if you think of me
    like i think of you
then i will come to you,
find my way from this deep, deep abyss;
find my way
    to your touch
        your warm embrace
            your strawberry lips.

oh no, i’ve said too much.
i’ve opened my dreams
and fantasies
to your silence.
    and i wonder

who stole your heart?
who left you broken
on the floor with lost innocence,
flayed skin
    bloodied bones
        with chains and locks
            on all your doors?

this cruel life.
    thief
        painmaker
my hands around his neck.
it's for my relief,
i know i can't save you.

oh no, i’ve said too much
now you know my anger,
opened my hatred
to your silence
        and i wonder

if you ever dream of me
    the way i dream of you?
smiling,
    barefoot
running carefree
through a field of wild flowers-
red poppies
    blue bells
        yellow daffodils
            violet snapdragons.
just happy.
cause then i would come to you.
find my way to
    your touch
        your warm embrace
            your strawberry lips.

oh no, i‘ve said too much.
i’ve opened my desires
    dreams
        fantasies
to your silence.

Aztec Warrior 1.3.16
...thanks for reading...
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
POEM 106**
“Lose Yourself to Dance”

It’s a new year
so ‘lose yourself to dance’;
wild gyrations laughing
at hips swaying the air
in riotous tones
and happy feet.
‘Come on, come on
everybody on the dance floor’,
yes, even you
with those doubts and fears,
let me dance away your tears,
just ‘lose yourself to dance’.
~~~
I know the world’s a mess,
that we live in light and dark,
inner turmoil
of what we are becoming;
self conscious insensitivity
to atrocity after atrocity,
wondering,
have we lost our humanity?
~~~
As the world,
our lives,
teeter in this chaos
let’s   STOP!
And lose ourselves to dance.
‘Come on, come on come on,
everybody on the floor’;
bodies afire with rebel music
we won’t live their way any more.
Let’s dance in our gardens,
plant our seeds,
harvest a world
without their criminality.
~~~
‘Lose yourself to dance’.
Yes even you
with all your fears,
all those self-cultivated doubts
pass them through music’s prism,
a mirror of refracted life,
a pathway to hope
and our humanity.
~~~
Come on, come on, come on
it’s a new year - 2016
everybody on the floor
join me in rebellious dance!

Aztec Warrior 12.31.15
First off: HAPPY NEW YEAR poets of HP!!!  A bit of explanation. This poem is inspired by several things all at once. First is reading a poem by Vicki ("in the savage garden") and I used some of her ideas in this poem; second is listening to this song by Daft Punk, "Lose Yourself To Dance" (the link is :  https://youtu.be/t-8rvk40qss ) hope you enjoy it; and third in a few short hours it will be 2016!!!  So I hope everyone enjoys the poem and has a very happy, healthy new year!!!
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
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