Sledding, a white flurry of glitter
Glass trees throw soft needles a-sprinkle
A blissful silver rocket. It all flies by
Sparkles of diamond on the ceiling or sky
Radiant light, its fate to be wrinkled
by the dim labyrinth of this shining prism.
Gray aurora, dancing in the diamond rain
Iron curtains hide the truth
Glass and pains of steel, in a prism of gray
Do you see windows or mirrors?
All I see, a magnificent pane
A merry toast! To all I say cheers,
with a smile worth its years.
Lift your brittle glass as you would lift a curse.
And drink heartily from the once molten, crystal sand.
Drink the guile and drink the hate
Drink the lies of shame and berate
Drink to see that a flower in gray
is a prism for life, not a fancy bouquet.
They came for us with tanks and guns.
We stood our ground—the old and young.
All our troops had mustered round
our Capital--Sacramento town.
A New Republic, we’d declared,
and its defense,
among all would be shared.
With the Bear Flag flying high
we all came to fight and die.
Young men in their combat boots
repelled the dictator’s first wave of troops.
Civilians came from South and North
to resist the fascist ruler’s force.
From Frisco and from San Jose,
from San Diego and L.A.,
from Calistoga and Marin,
thousands had come pouring in.
Then US bombers burned the city,
for the orange Fuhrer had no pity.
They won the battle, but we all know
from history, how these things go.
An occupation cannot last
against a people whose strength holds fast.
The tyrant’s troops will tire, while we
will fight on, until we’re free.
It's inevitable. We aren't all the same country anymore. A country of 300 million cannot be a democracy. California has more than 30 million people and can grow its own food. Why would they stay?
The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard.
Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots.
Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced.
The guitars go off and the ritual begins.
First they assemble in the heart of the pit.
In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army.
Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal.
I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art.
We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption.
While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense.
While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording.
While you send more people off to war for another countries resources.
These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.
A brazen face of might
With eyes that shine
Like neon lights at night,
Her body veiled in armor
As the world attacks
And she fights back,
With words of wisdom
As well as her fists.
Choose your words, Pick your Battles, Leave no one behind, & Eviscerate your opposition when necessary.
Holding down a button
Until everything turns
Black as pitch
Is just like clutching
Until they can't
Move another inch.
So much life and vibrance
Flashes across this screen,
Yet it seems to tear
At its fragile seams.
Technology is quick,
It's capabilities are ample,
Yet my mind has gone slow
From ingesting only samples.
It is time for me to quickly depart,
For using you has made me
is a confiding smile
that reaches from
deep within the heart
An outstretched hand
up and out
to give a life forsaken
a new start
To seek and search
a brightly shining path
Yet then to look behind
and back again
to be assured that all
will know the way
is a knowing look
a glance from eye to eye
A slight inflection
of radiant joy
in the tenor of a sigh
The quietly warm
and whispered word
with a gentle breeze of hope
Revolution is a beautifully
harmonious triumphant tune
that just won't leave
Speeding away from gravitational orbit
The moon ablaze as gazes glare from the cockpit
A jacket of jet leather with patches abound
The Dead Kennedys and Franz Ferdinand
Keeping political war on Earth's ground
Flying away into the plains of space
As the plane of time gives hearty chase
Hollow youth filled with snippets of old age
As their battlecry channels an inner rage
Death to all earthly matters that muddle our future
The neon glow hums as the last remnant of a culture
So make way for this warrior who shall bring us all closure
Rebelling like a banshee set ablaze over Orion's shoulder
Ensuring the enemy's final haze destroys their dying composure
There were dividing lines
and mariners gate
soft, subtle lines
that spoke of origin
and biting union
it was all
alive and living
dead or dying
deep in a pack
of pint size resistors
hell bent on the
and cannabis tower
jumping the rush
with *** shots
and transient floaters
marked rebellion at the gates
(skullduggery and taunt
high on their favor list)
jack straws and flat paddles
for the evening charade
beakers and flailing hands
from the foot washing baptist
(the pleasant street conservatives with their
own something to say…“there’s gonna be hell to pay!”)
to this sentiment
(evident in the pump house stride)
the river winds
into the night
as the huddling packers
and **** backs
chase the evening hours
it’s a bitter sweet
end of an era;
those traction bars
and nickel bags
be the rage