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Lvice Feb 2017
One day,
       Someone will kick me in the stomache
And leave me breathless

And we will grow up-
  I will remember it
But they may not
  
  The feeling will leave footprints on my ribcage
  That will turn to mud
  On hardwood kitchen floors

We will fight
  And probably cry,you more than me
But oh can you imagine the happiness you bring!

One day you will lay your head
On the place that first knew your heartbeat

And we will both be home
Ken Pepiton Apr 2022
Shame on you, says who,
I ask me?
I know, me, eh, watchman,

what of the night, one day comin'
not like the rest, the other days,
I mean,
says he, who watches
sunsets and refuses to count planets
as stars, see.
position your watcher to see the expanse,
as a vast dome,
set above us, to mark up, when first we learn
from  down, up look, learn to stand
reach for those, we think as
crawlers we all was, mewling crawlers we was,
beggars as near as history can sort out,
then come war and
we was elevated, first rank, lowest, but in
the fight for the oath of allegiance,
as yet unclear what that is, but
discipline is how a killer is formed from sod.

All the busters. and buddies, and cowpokes
learned to march and listen for that certain sound
- the certain call to fall back, listen, listen

run away and live to fight another day,
or stand and die, for king and country,
God is watching,
what you choose,
- boys of my sort were fed Imperial War movies,
- I cried in Gunga Dinh and
- for the coward in three white feathers
- Saturday Matinee as a class, we all cheered
- when the bugle announced the cavalry,
- the men on horses, to whom all boys look up.

enemies surround you, Jesus winks, and you choose,
forgive my debts as I forgive my debtors,
love my enemy as my self

oops. Imagine the madness in self hate,
eek out a living untangling the knots that bind your
estimation of the cost to form you,
from the dust, believe the scientist, you are star
dust, powers less but to spark a thought

and fit it to a what if… just now

imagine you hold such truth as self evidence,
you accepted the way life is true,
and lived after then to now.
In you, living reading you.
Silent spring or no, who can say
time tells on mortals who promise proof.

Happy Spring, says the sign in the post office,
and I think, yes,
that is the whole idea, life goes on lying about hell.

After ignoring the referee's call to reboot, perplexity
sweeping for all the lies you know you told,
- once those cease to reflect back on me
then the ones you learned as true, are easier to see,
the lies you learned as true, are dull at night…

playing hide and seek with nameless cousins
who used a sigking's x.

Think the child's thought. Am I lying, we all die.
No king's x in war, kid.

Magic steals attention, and returns it as surpassing
in children's laughter,
- it was all a video game, Slime Rancher
my house. 2022… background noise
laughing chilren
the actio-teleo go rhythm in wonder we lose
wanna bet, nobody has a hell for *** smokers,
not really

--- casino virgins, too holy,
but for the buffet,
some may take the free play, say
take the devil's money and pay back

-- what our fathers took, but
we never stole, we took as given, for being born
as 'merican takers, useless eaters,
lest we plow,
and plant
as given, granted
by the same authorities who
used our sons as Maxim fodder, over there,
over there, we all sing,
the yanks are coming, rah rah buy bonds,

bitter, hell no, sweet, remembering
those red buddy poppies,
a man with no legs
gave one to me,
once around 1951, when I was as tall as he,
he was sitting, like his legs was out in front,
but there was a basket with those poppies,
no legs, so no feet, no shoes.
I think it was an old Easter basket,
filled with red paper poppies with green paper
wrapped around a wire stem,

he was old as my uncle Malcom, who also
went to France, and also remembers
those red paper poppies, I suppose.
The idea beneath the hopes some claim. I suppose.
Renae  Apr 2020
Silence
Renae Apr 2020
Is golden
So they say
Stay quiet
Or give yourself away
They say
Obey
Don't ask
Or give yourself away
Silence is a killer
It lets the bad guys
get away
Wolves will come to the field
If the sheep begin to play
Silence is a killer
for the chilren
locked away
For the wives who want
relief
But are scared of what to say
Silence is like eggshells
Lying on the floor
You do not know where to step
when careful
won't calm the mental roar
Silence is the worst
No fear
Or overwhelm
Or anxiety or pandemics
Or is it just a scared society....
that puts you
in the ground
TOD HOWARD HAWKS May 2020
As the wave of Coronavirus rolls toward us, we rush into the arms of
our beloved ones to protect them, to hug them, to tell them how much we
love them. This apparition of potential death threatens all us indeed,
but paradoxically, at the same time, it is perforce bringing families
together, both genetically and non-genitically. Certainly grandfathers
and grandmothers, wives and husbands and their chilren, aunts and uncles
and cousins and nieces and nephews form centripetal emotional groups that
are held tight be love. Dear friends, co-workers, golfing buddies, Thursday night poker players, congregations of different religions, various fraternal organization, sowing and knitting gatherings-- every imaginable kind of
group will bond. Out of this worldwide castastrophe, the whole world
could learn the limitless scope of love, and when we discover a vaccine
for it, or when the pandemic finally dissipates, humanity could remain
bonded by love, and there would finally be Peace on Earth, forever.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Colulumbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawwks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.

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