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Irate Watcher Aug 2014
Upon typing
the last verse
she jumped
from the chair
forgetting to close
the windows
and ran through
the wooden halls
of the country house
outside into the
joyous wildflowers
swaying like pendulums;
The afternoon breeze cool
and **** like green apples.

Joy was skipping
until the summer air
froze her heated throat.

Clouds brimmed purple
dewing her nose,
head buried when
droplets fell,
summer's ecstasy
melting into lukewarm pools
on a trail leading to
fallen firs.
Worried the curtains
at home were soaked,
pummeled
by clear pellets,
she was lost.

No friend to tease,
pine needles
from tangled hair.
Irate Watcher Dec 2017
Maybe the impulse
to remark is not poetry —
Maybe it is
sitting perfectly still
in a leather chair
to look down
and see hands
not there.
Irate Watcher Aug 2014
Close the tab —
I want to be a writer.
Not because I'm mightier
than you,
but because it's all
I know how to do.
Sigh...
Irate Watcher Aug 2014
The most beautiful hour in L.A.
is 3 A.M., when,
petals
of lavender
peep through
wooden blinds,
lulling restless minds
laid on Egyptian
Cotton candy
clouds amuse me.
Because as I close my eyes,
I realize,
that here,
there is no starry night
because this beautiful haze
is light pollution.

But pollutions' hue calms
a city mind.
Like sirens quell
eager ears,
And liquor tickles
tantalized tongues,
And words flow
from numb knuckles,
And insomnia wets
drying eyes,
I,
am struck,
that this lavender haze
helps me see
that too much
is always what I need.
Irate Watcher Aug 2014
1991

I realized
We were both born
in rotting soil,
plastic toys fed
by Arabia's oil.
Eyes closed,
ears behest
to broadcasts, we,
could NOT protest.

That was the beginning
of our mass destruction,
but cribs offsides,
we slept soundly,
thanking our stars,
proud to be Americans.

10 years dormant,
the lyrics laid,
enough to stick,
but their irony to fade.
Until grade school,
recess goaded,
as burning buildings
on our side exploded.
The imminent threat preloaded,
in airports we shed shoes,
forever coded.

The broadcast — our center
was the theorem
that planes, oil, and Arabs
risked everyone's freedom.
But when we raised hands,
to ask why, teachers said
hail red, blue,
and especially white.
We forgot our roots,
because the Ellis Island trip
was obviously cancelled.

So we read headlines,
instead of Orwell,
the day 911
called for a police state.
Trusted the government
and ****** Muslims,
the day turbans
meant hijacking planes.
Pledged allegiance
disguised as freedom,
the day war
was declared
on Saddam Insane.

Our flag revealed
a sham feeding flames,
angst-ridden
teenagers
we became.
With raised middle fingers,
instead of hands,
to Green Day lyrics,
**** Amuricans.

Because only idiots
press a red button twice,
when mass destruction is the price.
And only villains
make children orphans,
while victims drown
in New Orleans.
And only gluttons
eat caviar with silver spoons,
tainting forever
a nation's youth.

Entrenched in dunes,
we boarded blind,
to debt,
death, and
jaded minds.
Blamed by perpetrators
in dollars and change,
for a guerrilla war
fought in vain!
Voted Obama,
with Osama slain,
and soldiers withdrawn,
we hoped for change.
PLEASE, we cried,
JUST STOP!
We are CHAINED —
to a bulldozer
that has NO BRAKES!



So the broadcast said recently:
We are losing control
of the Middle East. And
Al-Qaeda is far from weak —
ISIS: THE PHOENIX OF HUMAN GREED,
We just turned off our TV's
and looked up,
the kids who gave up,
thanked Musk — our atlas,
not yet shrugged,
whose vessels of stars
will rocket toward Mars,
from this godforsaken
civilization
built on hate.

And when you tell me, ***,
"We were both born in 1991,"
I can only sigh,
and breath sympathy,
for our dark history.
Thank you Justin for inspiring this poem. I am performing it next Tuesday at Da Poetry Lounge in LA so any feedback is appreciated :)
Hey man, are you lonesome?
Do you wonder where the lights go?
Have you settled for what you hate?
Tell me everything man,
show me your pain.
Irate Watcher Aug 2014
She meets a man at In-N-Out.
He sits down, and she quickly tunes out.

Moves phone from the once vacant seat.

Don't worry, he said
I won't take your things.
Oh  — I was just moving it...
from your seat.

Averts eyes. Looks at feet

It's my first time here — I drove from Ohio.

Closes open apps.

Wait — you drove to LA to try In-N-Out?
Well, no, I'm headed to Vegas, but I
was curious what all the fuss was about.
It's 4 hours from here, and I have time to ****."

Opens Instagram.

You mean to Las Vegas, not Ohio, right?
Oh no — yea, Ohio is a 24-hour drive.

Tapping feet. Two people in line.

God, it's crazy here! (said w/incredulous chime)

Busy? Hah — try dinnertime.

Tags @innoutburger on marquee.

They told me I'm number 26 in line.

Misses his smile at the receipt.

I'm number 18.

Looks at feet.

But I just heard them say 23.
They'll call me.

Checks the time.

NUMBER 18!
I gotta run — that's me.

Well it was nice...

Leaves

meeting you.
Not a *****, just busy.
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