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dichotomous Jun 2020
We never stopped inflicting
The wounds our grandparents gave us
They withheld the inventing
Despite dulled knives
And cold summers
Running their course through weakened veins
And softening our skin into old newspaper
Mia Oct 2019
It seems their words are printed                          
The big bold headline
On the Sunday Newspaper
The ink pressed thick and heavy

You can make a new start
Work hard and be diligent

It doesn't matter
That I've read this issue before
Its edges are torn
and its words rub off on my hands
I am referenced to its headline
As though I could study with fresh eyes
My years are not enough time

You can make a new start
Work hard and be diligent

Call them old fashioned
It is engraved on the newsprint
Their minds as well
Trusted old media
But how can a lifetime
Be told in five hundred words?
How can an article
Compete with a memoir?
They see the headline
Hefty and salient
Typed in bold letters
But they can not see through my eyes.

You can make a new start
Work hard and be diligent

I am young
Inferior
But I am not illiterate
Paintings aren't judged
By blind critics
Even then
I memorized the Pledge
And The Cat in the Hat
Before I dotted my "i"s

You can make a new start
Work hard and be diligent

Buried in soil
That floods my open grave
They scold me still
They breach the surface
Why can't I?
But they have shovels
I have fingernails

You can make a new start
Work hard and be diligent

It seems their words are printed
The big bold headline
On the Sunday Newspaper
My fingers smudge the ink

You can make a new start
Work hard and be diligent
A fortune cookie poem
He chokes
paper and
inhibits law  
there in
habitual way
as he
lumped this
load on
my community
with popular
dogma still
ministry of
the house
though the
township nigh
but a
hospital standard
A word on healthcare
allure Feb 2019
I thought I saw the best in you
but you brought out the worst in me
I thought you were what I wanted
but you were nothing near what I needed
love and infatuation are two different things
and obviously we weren't on the same page
I was the front page headline
and you were in the comics
your games and lies that made me cry
now lie in the obituaries
just like my feelings for you

c.p
Charlotte Dec 2017
The world watches you fall,
the largest proven oil reserves
but you couldn’t call out to your brothers
acknowledge your mistake
so that you may grow.

You **** children,
hunger grips every mother
and fathers struggle with
children of eight trying to earn a wage.

Your country is ****** up
holding it pride to its chest
waving the flag never admitting that
their force has killed eight thousand
or that their children are in hospitals
starving.

Kenyerber Aquino Merchán,
less than two starved to death
because hospitals have no formula
to feed the innocent.

Spine and rib cage protruding,
mourners with wildflowers from the hills,
and relatives cut out a pair
of cardboard wings from
empty white ration boxes.

Let you pass away,
sleeping now under my wings,
we’ll conger the wind
and ease the president's pride,
he is hiding under the cover
cowering the corner -
he has no one else to blame.
I broke down in tears writing this - I wrote it because of this article https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2017/12/17/world/americas/venezuela-children-starving.html - I don't know how to help because the president refuses to accept international help apart from loans from Russia which barely hold the country a float. So I did the only thing I know how to do to help - write.
mark john junor Sep 2017
news paper pages
scatter along a ***** wind
some caught in fences separating
some free to climb into the forever of
deep blue sky pure sunshine
washed clean of the sins printed on its page
only photographs remain
a black & white image of the old man
feeding pigeons along the empty path
that lead him there

news paper pages
forever silently burning in a collapse of worlds
so old the smoke has died away
pages with masterful words written
never finding lips to uncage their meaning
a beauty of phrase that has never faded
a chain link barrier between what its
long dead author spoke eloquently
and the world disguised by years of dead dust
only photographs remain
a faded image of an old man
walking the sunset
a scattering of bread crumb's
stretching back along his trail
leading not into the living sky
forever shifting between dark and light
but into the dusty caverns of twilight
forever twilight

by candle light
he will pour over the things he never spoke
wishing only for a voice once more
a way to tell her
about all those yesterdays ago
the why's and whatnot's
that he fiddles with
like wooden toys ever more finely crafted
never to knowing play
never to escape the gathering dust

here he sits
in his comfy chair
tea and biscuits gone cold
and his lips ****** with gentle care
words written on discarded news paper pages
like bread crumbs scattered for
birds that never come
© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
Mane Omsy Sep 2016
Are these light rays
Making me uncomfortable?
Hard to wake up early
Hate to be awake early
All I'll have to do is get clean
And search for happiness

Why the newspapers worry me?
Early in the morning, I'd read
On the first page, controversies
Deaths and accidents, black news
Where did the psychologists go?
Get me stronger every dawn
Just to be happy and energetic every morning
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