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Ken Pepiton May 25
That hawk,
the one who sometimes attracts my attention,
by
repeating a pattern of swooping ellipses, as if

signaling me,
I'm witcha man, I fly by each day to say,

look up, I'm witcha man, which

is what my lizard brain would say, I think,
if it had words,

to express awareness of the pattern seeming
meaningful

enough
to
warrant a closer look.

Ah, I see. The hawk is not signaling me, she is hunting
my neighbor's range fed chickens.
At a glance, I figured it out.
Frankie Gestone Jul 2019
When the dust clears and you are near
The air brushes a wind straight through your hair
Sensations I cannot explain, sunshine or rain,
I see you see me call your name
In silence, the desperate call, I wait each night
If the stars align, and Jupiter meets Saturn, then it is the time
The gate will open and you will meet the lover’s nest
The owl awaits and watches the hawk below Venus once the sun sets
Andrew Rueter Apr 2018
We are all birds of a flock
That is pervaded by hawks
Predators who sympathy block
Until it's in conflict we're locked
Brought on by hateful conclusions
Conjured from shameful delusions
Trying to avoid societal fusion
Based on a diabolical illusion

They claim to love the man who digs the ditch
But this comes off as a hollow pitch
Because they all seem so rich
And say that the poor have a glitch
And their worst nightmare would be to switch
They're aware of other's values and interests
But they ***** their brothers like ******
Using hatred and ignorance
To make up the difference

They're so jingoistic
Creating misfits
To shift focus
Away from them
They're the locust
That chew the stem
Obtaining the power of love
Inside of their glove
That they use to shove
A misappropriation
That strangles a nation
At the rate of inflation
Yet the hawks show elation

When the going gets tough
We hear the same old stuff
Something about 9/11
Or who gets into heaven
They find simple answers
For complex issues
I hope their sinful cancer
Happens to miss you
But their negativity takes many forms
Anything from budgets to bullet storms
Tearing down bountiful fields of corn
To build another convenience store

These vultures keep consuming
While resources dwindle
Their desperation causes fuming
So they cheat and swindle
Surviving by eating the dead
That died from violent words said
Coming from the greedy vulture's head
Until every single animal has viscerally bled

These hawks used to look so regal
Until we experienced chemotherapy
Now they've become bald eagles
Always trying to steal my hair from me
But we're different species apparently
Because I have no feathers to offer
To further fill their nest egg coffers
So they forcefully take what they want
And then their shameless riches they flaunt
Using perceptions of status to tease and taunt
Hoping we'll forget they're the ghosts that haunt
A world of immutable truths
Even the richest can't elude
They build a curtain that's crude
To protect their fortunate brood
Fearing it will be dismantled
By an activist carrying a candle
So the vast majority can get a handle
On a future other than slavery
But to finally fight back
Requires the utmost bravery
And it's courage we lack
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
b Jul 2018
i never understood,
until now,
the appeal of
dying old.
on a porch swing,
dog at my lap
brew to my right.

it seemed so
useless to me.
until i saw
the sun set
a second time.
i never catch
a first glance.
i grow fond
for a second look.

i am so tired
of the hawks
that are bound
to my chest with
wire pulling my
baby skin away
from me. i am
too scared to
let them leave
my sight.

i have kept
fright inside for
too long. i
thought i had
something to lose
but that already
left too.

all the
good things
in life have
somewhere to be

and i am
in my childhood
bedroom weaning
off the milk.
writing poems
for no one.
for myself.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
The invasion of other countries
Has to come to a full stop.
You’re making us the Evil Empire
By playing at being traffic cop.
We are stuck in a sick cycle
Of meddling in the internal affairs
And financing revolutions and wars
In countries where nobody asked us there.

You’re evil
And even more so;
Pure evil
Because you don’t think so.
At least that’s what you claim
But you’re as phony as your fame.

You tell the voters one set of lies
And secretly agree on others.
Your backroom manipulations
Kills our sisters and brothers
While hiding behind patriotism
The overseas battles of duplicity
Are not about threats to us here,
But are about oil and ethnicity.

You’re evil
And even more so;
Pure evil
Because you don’t think so.
At least that’s what you claim
But you’re as phony as your fame.

You take advantage of the state
Of poverty out nation is suffering
That you politicians caused
By removing our safeguard buffering.
You are doing your best to remove
All the national checks and balances
So you can ***** our world at large
That has no recourse for grievances.

You’re evil
And even more so;
Pure evil
Because you don’t think so.
At least that’s what you claim
But you’re as phony as your fame.
Brent Kincaid May 2015
The rich get richer
And the poor get *******.
That’s my definition
Of the common word: ‘lewd’.
The richest country
In the whole world today
And we can’t make crooks
In politics go away.

We could feed everyone
And give them a home free
With what the military
Pays in armorer’s fees.
We could use the cash
We waste to wage the wars
To rebuild our highways
And our bridges once more.

We could fix the laws
So politicians don’t get rich
And make it legal
To fire a crooked sunsabitch.
We change thing easily
So one issue got one bill
And declare this horse trading
As antique and over the hill.

Then make sure everyone
Was covered for insurance
And give our veterans
Comfortable benefit assurance.
We’d have enough money
To do some helpful research
To knock crooked companies
Off their comfortable evil perch.

We could stop sending cash
To countries that are bad guys
Then stop using rhetoric
That is a xenophobic disguise.
We could do all this stuff
In a matter of a few short years
And make sure our children
No longer have to live in fear.

— The End —