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 Dec 2016
Alan McClure
There is always someone
to say, "Ah, but..."
when we weep
at little tragedies.
Striding gurus
whose far-reaching sight
passes over little corpses
to seek out the Big Picture.
And you dry your eyes
and you feel foolish
for thinking little ones matter.

Big names are tossed around.
Patterns passing back
through blackened ages
History degrees
dusted off,
chins stroked,
lofty knowledge
powerfully deployed

Churchill manifests
all black and white and grim.
Roosevelt and Stalin,
and this is why,
and that is why,
and further back
to Empire and beyond.

Until it all makes sense.
It's good versus evil
eternal, universal
and nothing to be troubled by.

But still
the little corpses
in your path.
 Dec 2016
Ju Clear
***
Just found you have passed
Tears in my eyes as I write.
*** ,Lou and bob too
Your  sounds raised me

You thou *** I would joke about
"not more slit your wrist music "
Forgive me *** I was a kid
Your melloncolly lyrics so fluid and honest
You are the godfather of my lyrical raising .
Fair well my friend
hallelujah
Wrote off the top of my head when I found out of *** passing inspired by my mum and dads hippy raising  one love
 Dec 2016
Valsa George
Secure within the mother’s womb.
Sheltered from all storms of life.
Swimming,
Swiveling,
and
Sustained.

The countdown begun-

A wide world awaiting,
Eager faces looking,
Windows opening,

to
Colour,
Scent,
Sound,
Taste and Touch.

But,
Expectations shattered,
Exasperation heightened,
Execution begun,
Excruciation settled,
and
Expulsion confirmed!

Chopped to pieces,
Down to trash.
‘The most unkindest cut of all’!

Betrayal!
Horrid Betrayal!

Through eons,
History repeats.
‘Am I my brother’s keeper’?
The Son of Man –
sold out,
with a kiss.
Et tu, Brute!
Nipped in the bud.... ! How many such cries die out unheard !!!
When a mother's womb turns the slaughter house, it is the bitterest betrayal !!
 Dec 2016
Cynthia Jean
paid mercenaries

these are not riots

this violence is all paid for

you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls

you are stirred up pawns

you have been pawns
for a long, long time

voter puppets of the democratic party
not ever expected to think for yourself
so easily used
and manipulated

kept in a different type
of slavery

shaped and honed and fed
like cattle
in a stall

to be used only as
inseminators
(let's create more voters)

not allowed to be fathers
(let's **** the family)
(family?)
( what's that?)

fatherhood
a forgotten trait
only progenitors
raised by generations of women
on the dole
fathers not allowed
in the home

used, used, used
can't
won't
see it!

stirred up in the cauldron of anger

who are the real haters????

???
??? whose lives matter???
???

only those killed and used for media attention

and believe me, they are used by everyone
from the president on down

never waste a good crisis
and
when necessary
create
one

do the large numbers
of
brother killing brother
matter?

and why not?

we don't hear about those numbers
on the nightly news

guess those lives must not matter

do the lives lost
the babies killed
the genocide of planned parenthood
one in every neighborhood
do they matter?

do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?

no one speaks of them

why not?
why not?
why not?
why not?
why not?
why not?

because brother against brother
and baby genocide
don't matter
to the media

HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

they all fall in line with Bill Gates
population control
anyway

only the deaths
used for
exploitive
incendiary
political purposes
matter

to the elitists
the George Soros types
and the media

pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=­slaves
pawns=slaves

generations of pawns
whose usefulness
will soon be over
being used one more time
to start all these fires

where will these pawns be
when the fires go out?

who will bother
to pay them
to feed them
then?

their usefulness
to *****'
will be over
then.

I cry for the pawns
for my brothers and sisters
for all the fatherless
children.

a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.

a life is worth so much
a life is worth so
a life is worth
a life is
a life
a
.
.
.
.
.


Cj 2016
 Dec 2016
Leonard Cohen
Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song
I said to Hank Williams: how lonely does it get?
Hank Williams hasn't answered yet
But I hear him coughing all night long
A hundred floors above me
In the Tower of Song
I was born like this, I had no choice
I was born with the gift of a golden voice
And twenty-seven angels from the Great Beyond
They tied me to this table right here
In the Tower of Song
So you can stick your little pins in that voodoo doll
I'm very sorry, baby, doesn't look like me at all
I'm standing by the window where the light is strong
Ah they don't let a woman **** you
Not in the Tower of Song
Now you can say that I've grown bitter but of this you may
be sure
The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor
And there's a mighty judgement coming, but I may be wrong
You see, you hear these funny voices
In the Tower of Song
I see you standing on the other side
I don't know how the river got so wide
I loved you baby, way back when
And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed
But I feel so close to everything that we lost
We'll never have to lose it again
Now I bid you farewell, I don't know when I'll be back
There moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track
But you'll be hearing from me baby, long after I'm gone
I'll be speaking to you sweetly
From a window in the Tower of Song
Yeah my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song
 Dec 2016
Leonard Cohen
It's coming through a hole in the air,
from those nights in Tiananmen Square.
It's coming from the feel
that it ain't exactly real,
or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.
From the wars against disorder,
from the sirens night and day,
from the fires of the homeless,
from the ashes of the gay:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming through a crack in the wall,
on a visionary flood of alcohol;
from the staggering account
of the Sermon on the Mount
which I don't pretend to understand at all.
It's coming from the silence
on the dock of the bay,
from the brave, the bold, the battered
heart of Chevrolet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the sorrow on the street
the holy places where the races meet;
from the homicidal *******'
that goes down in every kitchen
to determine who will serve and who will eat.
From the wells of disappointment
where the women kneel to pray
for the grace of G-d in the desert here
and the desert far away:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on
o mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
past the Reefs of Greed
through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on
It's coming to America first,
the cradle of the best and the worst.
It's here they got the range
and the machinery for change
and it's here they got the spiritual thirst.
It's here the family's broken
and it's here the lonely say
that the heart has got to open
in a fundamental way:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the women and the men.
O baby, we'll be making love again.
We'll be going down so deep
that the river's going to weep,
and the mountain's going to shout Amen!
It's coming to the tidal flood
beneath the lunar sway,
imperial, mysterious
in amorous array:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on
o mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
past the Reefs of Greed
through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on
I'm sentimental if you know what I mean:
I love the country but I can't stand the scene.
And I'm neither left or right
I'm just staying home tonight,
getting lost in that hopeless little screen.
But I'm stubborn as those garbage bags
that Time cannot decay,
I'm junk but I'm still holding up
this little wild bouquet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
 Dec 2016
tm
melanin molasses, the sweetest courtship attracts the ones who have never glittered
white bullets love to kiss black skin
black on black crucificton, a gospel orchestrated by the higher powers
****** puddles lay with the concrete during the darkest hours
night bullets play white doves during the matrimony of the bottom barrels life and its fast stint.
honeymoon candles lit by the masters matches, africans seek this artificial light in times where heavens white lights could greet them with a smile and roses that are wilted.

- t.m
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