Ignorance
is a sharp stark
spear to my
blood gorged heart,
the mess where I store
all the artifacts
I abhor and adore.

It is a corner covered in
all the tools used
for bludgeoning
all of my resistance
to a pulpy gore.

A set of stupid statues
sitting in a row
not seeing, hearing,
or speaking what we know.

The bane of my breath,
more horrid than death,
as I dull then destroy
that aspect which annoys
me greatly.

As I read and study,
veils remove themselves,
waters recede and I see
the once drowning
clown version of me
empowered to be
a lot godlier.

I am awed by
the forest green
glowing sheen
of spring’s clean
reflecting force,
as I am defecting
before the door
slams shut
on my creative luck.

I can overdo it,
get convoluted
till my rhymes
become diluted,
and my thoughts
become polluted
with alien intentions.

Swearing I am
too sophisticated
for those who
are frustrated
when they read me,
but they can
see through
the tricky ****
I try to do.

If it is
a zero-sum game
then I lose,
when I choose
to slowdown
and work through
the background noises
everyone else
forget to listen to.

In fact, I
overestimate,
exaggerate,
to inflate a debate,
that does not
exist in this place,
to try and say
something worth
expressing in
a beautiful verse.

But I am just
playing with words,
and they do not
love or need me,
nor does my
poetry or
my society,
both will survive
without me.

You’re preposterous
when you foster this
archaic hatefulness.

If you want to wait a bit
I’ll debate your rhetoric,
and we can fix that logic.

I’d like to settle it
if you listen my friend
so we can begin again
to set a healing trend
and mend the bonds
broken by those who conned
Americans into believing
that the poor people
were the ones deceiving
everyone.

I’m not settling
for a world that is
less than unified.
I won’t let my
compassionate love
be denied the right to thrive,
this is spot on which
I live or die for what is right.

And if you refuse to listen
I’ll just write another version
of the same poem.

Current movements
move men
to acts of destruction.

When acting on passions,
we ask people in passing
if this wit with which
we communicate
is enough to elaborate
our currently confused state.

The saturation of the markets
marks this as some capitalistic *******.

Mixed messages of messed up maxims
and the memes of mad men, fallen children,
and land barons,
of the lost bounties
once saved for sharing
the hearts made for caring,

but we will rebuild good will
in these soiled fields
by replanting the seeds of those
who rode the roads
from which we came,
who plucked the rose
from which the thorns grew;
Then bleeding passed along
the wisdom that they knew
could help us be better.

You don't bend
or work to make amends
with old friends.
You just muddle through
to the bitter end
cause it's a quitter's trend
that's got you shuffling
from one day to the next,
one nap with no rest
blank sheets cause your tests
are nothing.

I'm not winning by spinning
weird rhythms in the ninth inning.
This isn't a champion’s beginning
for some super sports saga.

There will be no happy ending
as the credits roll on to an upbeat song.
I maybe strong, but this world is wrong,
and a heart that beats for justice
will certainly get crushed quick.

On the uptick, I’ll fix my own ****
and get on with living in the world
that greed and ignorance broke.
As innocence gets crushed under the yoke
of the a cross our leaders swore salvation brought.

The chaos is a creation
of indistinct figures,
these fallen formations
of monstrous
proportions,

abstract static
beats that are
automatic,
matter of facts
that lack
any clarity.

I am looking for
something
that is more
of a rarity
than diamonds
and gems,
some truth
staring back at me
that unclenches my teeth
and takes the scream
out of the pillow
I laid my face in.

That yankee
dandy daydream
isn’t satisfying,
it’s really
only a rally for
rich men
who are lying.

So, why the ****
do I keep on trying,
keep on crying
for some sort
of order,
the kind you
proport
angels report
to a higher being,
when I haven’t seen
******* thing
to make me believe
god exists.

So, as the bullets rip
through innocents
and right wing pundits
spin this creeping chaos
to suit their purpose,

I propose we end this
illusion,
this great god and state delusion.

A sickle moon and star so
far
Together a little token
precious symbols from the sky
Millions followers have spoken.
Love and Peace the goals
they are
Never more another war.

May we have peace on earth.
Shell✨🐚

(C) April 14, 2021 Solange Loe-Sack-Sioe

Picture yourself as a prophet of sorts
trying to revive a dying discourse,
writing enlightening verses while
studying to improve your own style,
thinking, reading, eating, and seeing,
digesting then changing what you are believing
in the face of new knowledge that you are receiving.

Imagine yourself struggling to create
poems and ideas that counteract hate,
to fight off the arrogance of those who just take,
whilst battling against your own arrogant state.

Picture your paradise then deconstruct,
look inside out so your mind doesn’t get stuck,
remembering we all can work to be better.
Humanity can be an alphabet of good intent
if each vowel and consonant is well spent,
written and given like a love letter
proclaiming life can be something greater.

Rest for a moment and dream for a second,
remembering diversity is the stream that we spring from,
it is the catalog of songs that sing some
beautiful intentions and creations into existence,
the inspiration that keeps us moving forward
as earth, space, and grand mind explorers.

Take my hand metaphorically speaking
and rise from the shadows of pain that were keeping
our brothers and sisters in pain from the chains of oppression.

Its’ a strange game, but let’s play love tag
and give our hearts and art away to say
it is time to change and make this world
a far grander place.

I’m not ready to go,
but got lost in the flow.

I’ve estimated
I will be decimated
by the next disaster
humanity has created.

I’ve wasted time
trying to find
the truth behind
these divided minds,
whiles other have
just retroactively justified
their hate crimes.

It seems peace
is only a dream
that I find
when I let myself
go to sleep
along with
the rest of the
waking walking
sheep.

I'm tired, old, and worn out,
still sternly considering my doubts.
Getting ready to pass on a torch
that I haven't even earned
cuz I barely ever marched for
the lessons that we’ve learned.

Now, I write not to delight
but for new insights,
to question why
and ask my friends again,

“Who taught you to hate,
to sit and separate
yourself from the sacred state
of that which elevates?”

I wrote these words before,
but the broad brush is poisonous,
steals the joys from all of us.
That wonder in the face of the unknown.
Instead, of facing strangers
who are dangerous to our stereotypes,
we hide behind the night
of ignorance and blatant lies.

The broad brush is poisonous
cuz you're not using it to paint masterpieces,
or to see underlying complexities.
You’re just glossing over that beautiful diversity,
while stultifying, and simplifying
others to binary identities
based on gender and race,
so you don't have to face uncertainty,
in a very uncertain time and place.

I'm an outlaw
that's been living
with the doubts,
I've been given.

See me persisting, insisting
in my right to be existing.

I'm quizzical right now.
Though, I know this is a particular predicament,
this weird temperament probably isn't permanent.

Still, I am fixated on how my mind has mutated.
How this larva like version me has pupated,
preparing to be updated from my previous caterpillar state.
How I refuse to let my butterfly mind
be mutilated by those who have hated
every ounce of human empathy
I have seeded as an artist seeking a harvest
of love and compassion that needs reaping.