Aweeeesome free verse poetry...

Sep 2021

Lori Jones McCaffery

Built on land stolen from the natives
On the back of blacks who were
stolen from their own land.

Indigenous slaughtered like the buffalo they herded
Rounded up and marched into unwanted corners
There to starve until oil was discovered
And it became time to march them again.

Blacks who were declared to be less than human
Denied the right to do anything but work.
Families that were like grapes in a cluster
Ripe for the picking off of the best ones
And no thought given to those left behind.
Premiums paid for those enceinte,
Harbingers of the two-for-one sale.

Righteous blindness is a national disease
That overlooks the broken teacups
In the mad pursuit of tea.
That cannot see the trampled flowers
In the race to make perfume
That reeks self satisfaction
At the carnage left behind
And waves the flag of liberty
At those the cause enslaved.
ljm

Self righteousness has no place in American History.

Sep 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 791

Peasant eyes
tell pleasant lies,
but journeymen
are mastering men,
commanding them
to do their darkest
bidding,
leaving dreamers sitting
sad and dismayed
as the con artists run away
with the heart of what makes
love and language great.

Sep 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 790

Do not let me
be vexed by
exemplary
poetry.

Cause I am
lyrically
fantastic,
like other
lexical lovers,
and word writing
art brothers.

I love the
sweet
syllabic
ecstasy
of channeling
language
for my own
enjoyment.

It is pure
play
and self-pleasuring,
as I go one
measuring
my verbal dexterity
in combination
with clarity.

There is
a sad disparity
in what I write
and what gets through
to the masses who
find my art
hard to digest.

It is a self-serving mess
in which I express
an observance
of the madness
of merely writing
and not expecting
others to grasp
half of it.

#writing #poetry #poem

Sep 2021

Graff1980

A Deadman's Game

The wind whistles hard
in my own backyard
with a haunting tune.

No birds fly by in
the afternoon wind
cause the sky’s ashen
and the past won’t come
back in a flash again.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

Corpses sit in their
own piles of ****,
with no one left to
remember all of it.
The rot and the rage
killing king plague
that took over this place.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

Poison in the ground,
silence is the sound
that’s most harrowing,
rivers run their course
but time finds hope
always narrowing.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

I will be the last
child to tell you of
our strange tragic past,
the final recorded
voice that afforded
no hope or recourse,
cause life is the wife
from which we all got
a final divorce.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

Sep 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 788

I’m already unmoored.
My heart turns sunward,
as my eyes look onward
towards towering distances.

As glowering visages
scowl inwards,
poisoning their innards
with all that stress,
walling in hate
and dying in that
disgusting place.

Cowards cower
loosing seconds,
minutes and hours
to the anguish of
forgetting how to love.

But I am
the whispering
walker waking in
the early morning
and working on
my poetic warnings.
Even though, my boat
is already untethered
and I have already taken
off in this wild weather.

I say what I can,
give them a piece
of this tired mind,
and leave mankind.

My ship takes sail,
as they let themselves
sink into their own hells.

Sep 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 787

I’m so deluded
cuz I self-secluded,
claimed I wasn't included,
but I avoided the party.

I was the ghost only partly here,
whining about my fear
of dying alone
when I stayed at home
on purpose.

I'm the one that didn't call
friends or family at all.
Guess, I was too afraid
to get on the ball and fall,
better to choose to be by myself
than be rejected by everyone else.

Sep 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 786

They say it is time
to arm up your guards.
The enemy won’t get far
if we protect our own
front yard.

I say this isn’t
the battle that you think it is.
This isn’t a war you can win
with more violent actions.

They say
the enemy is at the gate
and this fight is what
will finally make us great.

The tools of destruction
won’t serve you here,
but words of compassion
and knowledge
will make our purpose clear.

They say to teach the history of race
will bring shame to our white face.
I say we need to learn,
so we can work to earn
the better world our children deserve.

That which divides
weakens all sides.
That which brings us together
bring hope into all lives,
cause we can unite
in love and understanding.

Sep 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 785

**** your high society
and your sense of propriety.
It violates human decency,
suffocating what's unique in me.

So, I prefer the freaks.
There is beauty
in the scars underneath,
the experiences that free
true artistry and empathy.

I don't behave properly
and could never be that stodgy,
dodgy trickster that tries to
live up to a standard no one fits in.
I'll take the stew of life and mix in
different perspectives,
cuz I'm not made for
your standard objections,
or corporate objectives.

Rules and norms are always changing
relatively rearranging
base on social standings
and mood fluctuations;
So, I will pass on all of that.

It is better to know up front
that I don’t fit in,
so there’s no way I can win.
Especially when,
I can't be classified as a normal guy.

Hell, I don't know why
someone would even try.

Sep 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 784

They try to keep
the deep blue deep
inside a plastic cup,

but I open my eyes,
point them towards
the turquoise sky
flying but never
getting high enough.

Break the clouds,
pierce the veil,
reveal the stars
that cook themselves
like I do.

Circle the curve
of time and space,
faster than the pace
I make to take
first place
in life’s race.

Inside my skull
a universe unfolds
as I write new rules.

Falling faster
as the atmosphere
incinerates my skin.

What horrible pain,
what a terrible shame,
but like the phoenix
I want to burn
and rise again.

Sep 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 783

I am not the mystic sword
imbued with powers
and stored in a
gray scarred stone,
not wielded well
but a time worn,
battled weary blade.

There was no fate
for which I was born.
Instead, I was
weighed down
by a heavy heart
pumping out
uneven beats
of poetry
to the point of
collapsing.

The future was
not something certain
but patterns
easily perceived
recognizing what
I’ve seen,
I kept trying to
tell you the truth
and it broke me in two.

Like the oracle,
I saw through
to what life had in store
if people refused
to really use
the brains they
were given,
but no one
would listen.

So, with a tattered scabbard
my edges were dulled.
I lost my sharpness.
My bladecont.
reflected all the world’s darkness.
Until I could no longer see,
past the fog that caused this
tragic madness.

Aug 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 782

There’s a cauldron bubbling
with all that’s troubling,
doubling dangerous ideas
that might someday
thrive here.

There’s a hub bub dubbed
frivolous, a contrivance
sprung from some pittance,
some door that was locked before
but now welcomes admittance.

There’s a dream between us
fanciful as a carnival
and as adventurous
as a traveling circus.

Soft slippers swirling,
dancers twirling and whirling
like a whirlwind of
brown hair spinning.

Inspiring spiraling spires,
while neurons fire
arms flail in exaltation,
an ecstasy of what could be
culminating in brand new dreams.

These rare things,
like gems sparkling,
go on harkening
to some happy future
whilst dulling the pain
of past darkness.

Is it strange to say,
I rarely feel this way?
Is this hope and joy,
that has been deployed
for my own amusement?

Aug 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 780

The corporate Kool-Aid
is not made to save
but made to play
big money games.

Business interests,
all of those investments
put men in bad positions.

Twisted ambitions
move forward towards
more and more
without exploring
what the opposite
of profit is for.

Infinite growth of capital
is impossible.
We will fall
like dominoes.

To gain people must be adept
at acting bereft
of any decency
of behaving without any empathy,
and if they get caught
other enemies of humanity
will grant them clemency
because they make the policies.

What was once illegal
becomes law you see,
but only for the real wealthy.

It is a sick form of necromancy
that resurrects bad aspects
of previous political ideologies,
and condemns good men
and women to poverty.