they're living in flowers
up high and across the sea

while we avoid potholes
and bugs just to scrape by

You tear our kind away,
those pesky weeds        
                                    that stunt
your plump full seeds  -
that steal and cause decay.
You landed by fortune,
fortune of the windy chance -
you earned it. What is different is dangerous
less valued - not worth a glance.

Warm soil in-between your fingers,
You have power here in the garden,
Pulling and wrenching the stems from
home
We’re unwanted, not needed
Not useful, not beautiful,
Not enough,
                      but too much.
                                    

Strong weathered fingers grip our necks,
Trampled under steel studded boots,
We seep into the soil disappearing,
Just like you wanted us to.
Suffocating ignored as grassroots,
condemned to be always taboo.

Weeding is good, you say.
Weeding is important.
It keeps the garden healthy, comely,
presentable.
We’re the intruders, thieves!
in search for better light.
Worn down we grieve.
why do you see not our might?

A garden improved

Standing up I arch my back,
rusty and cramped.
Tiresome work removing the
unwanted.
My hands scratched and torn,
the limp bodies neatly packed,
the garden is reborn.


The flora look uniform now
no insulting dark stems,
only the long strong boughs
of rightful King Oak,

and no more of them.


But a king without his subjects is a peasant.
With our loss fades your treasured soil,
your sterling root networks anchoring your  
flowerbeds of wealth.
We are the pests,
we stole your soil,
so why does it grow grey?
You wanted growth
I heard you say.
You can’t have both.

What a nuisance.
Us or the decay?

So I am a pest, you say?
Well, to that I say, we pests always grow.
Your tulips and rose corrode,
but you reap what you sow.
No matter the hate that spits our existence,
the sharp teeth of the chainsaw or
poisonous pesticide bidding good riddance,
we are green, and life sustaining, and we are resistant.

The aim is not good riddance,
but co-existence.

To you, their rights
are a minority priority

You're entitled, spoon fed
Gorged with greed
a coralling disease

Dormancy
a fence that protects you,

but a barbed wire noose
                           wrapped
                           round their throats.

You're just another ring
in the chains of oppression

Grass, truly greener
when one side's left to rot

But, then again  
that is exactly what you profit off

"America I've given you all and now I'm nothing."

Nothing.
An empty chair in town hall.
A piano with no white keys.
An asterisk in the legislation, if I'm lucky.
I ate your bread,
attended your circuses,
burned my bridges for promises you made.
I remember I saved four-thousand dollars
after college and believed I had foresight.
You burned it all before me
and then pierced my eye with your sword of justice,
placed me on the scales and found that
all your wealth weighs more than I do.
The American Dream!
Yet, how am I to dream if I cannot see?
And do you feel heavy?
No, I don't believe you do.
You have your patriots to prop you up when you begin to slouch.
And good on them for being more blind than I am,
or good on them for otherwise.
But that is not the American dream, is it?
I think not, but then again, who am I?

Earlier in the morning
I’d read the movements of a stalwart blackbird
flicking dead leaves on my concrete driveway,
gleaning for grubs

Later, as I unloaded the weekly food shop,
substitute, as it was, for fun,
I heard an imperious cry,

scrolling up, the fork-tailed red kites circled
in a sunshine that denied pathetic fallacy

and the screech they made meant nothing

They tell me to be quiet.
Quiet enough my presence doesn’t make a ruckus.
Small enough that my presence is untouched.
Shrinking into spaces that they wish I was forgot in.
They tell me I speak too loudly.
Take up too much space in the room when I make a proclamation.
My dad was the first man to teach me women shouldn’t talk back.
With every slap to the face my voice grew deeper.
My brother said if I didn’t put myself in a corner, they would do it for me.
With every push I learned to stand my ground.
My mom told me that my slick tongue made me unbearable to men.
So, it grew sharper to lash at those who spite my freedom.
Legs crossed, dressed pressed, and hair slick back in a pony.
Sit pretty but not enough to leave them tempted.
The only wise thing I ever learned from my parents was to carry a key in my hand.
Check your car before getting in.
Walk at night only in company.
Carry your phone, but don’t talk on it.
I always wondered how the world has groomed woman but never refined their men.
Never directed my brother that no meant boundaries.
Never spoke of respect as if its given and not earned.
Never addressed that a woman was object of desire but not possession.
Speak up woman, but not louder than those men around you.
Assert yourself but never over the men.
Be strong, firm but mend as I need you to when I need you to.
If I was to vocal, I was a ***** & if I was so quiet, I was a door mat.
If I was too conservative, I was a ***** and if I was to provocative, I was a *****.
If I was to a leader, I was bossy and if I followed, I lacked a backbone.
I wondered what strength I had in being all of that at once.
How I could be the ****** and the maker.
This was the closest to god I ever felt.
& it makes me wonder if god was a woman too.

You’ve recalled what it’s like to be cold
in this blustered autumn wind
your fingers may be privileged
to flick a switch on central heating
and ignore the insistent, shivering world
while it continues to divide and burn

3600 seconds, golden rich kids among bottle
scavengers, everybody hustlin', revenge?
the lights of society don't shine bright on them
collected bottles for a meal, irrelevant sunsets

the beauty of life decreased, dependency diaries
let lights loosely shine on these teenage giants
memories are opening up like red clouds, floating
in a time lapse, they will remember, in pride

honor and dignity, the one who splits the ocean
creates a shelter for the brothers and sisters
reckoner: burnings sandstorms, playful twisters
the one who smoothens a path to golem land

honey, milk and fruits, get rid of urban metal
come to us, be with us and stay with us
infinite loopholes, adults, kids and groups
the holy swoosh of a curl, your healing, stay

as you are walking through the ocean
as your brothers and sisters are with you
whiteblue words, you catch sentences like air
as you become a part of golem land

of us