#sedate
We, these wing'd
Wicked things
Filth and fiends
Fearless and free
Terrors that soar
Waking you
From fevered
Dreams
Mayhem
On a whim
Fugitive as
The wind
Christened
In sin
Do you truly
Know your
Wolves within?
We are you
The madness
That lurks
Within your
Deepest animal
Mind; begging
To be free
Aug 28, 2023
Aug 28, 2023 at 1:37 PM UTC
I am lately entranced by neo-noir,
The criminal mysteries of Europe
And the wilds of Canada and Britain.
There is rarely running, screaming
Or endless car chases through
London, Ottawa or Ystad,
Unlike the reckless pursuits
In Manhattan or L.A. streets.
These detectives don’t sashay
In long coats or wear black leather,
(Except for a couple).
They wake up hung over,
Like Wallander, or grieving
Like Perez from Fair Isle
And Matthias, self-exiled to Wales.
Bodies surface or are found
In gorgeous forests.
The detectives overcome depression
To quarrel with irrational superiors
(Who may themselves be guilty),
Yet they don’t yell like sergeants
In the gritty precincts of NYC.
They drive their Volvos through
Rolling fields of rye and rapeseed.
And even the mysterious quarries
Where bodies are found in Poland and Wales
Are beautiful—not like the junkyards
Of Barstow or east coast borderlands.
Some detectives are lucky, like Matthias,
In hiding in Hinterland.
He walks the shores of Aberstwyth
As Wallander does the fields of Malmo.
When suspects are caught, they aren’t beaten.
Their jails are neat and clean;
The prisoners get mattresses, pillows and TV!
The police question suspects casually,
As if they would rather be in bed.
The female cops are clever and quiet;
They rarely show their anger
When chided or ignored,
But carry on with dignity
And show the others
How work is really done.
At last, the assailant is charged,
Sun sets through the mist,
Sheep graze on manicured fields.
Village streets glow with low light
Reflected off rain-washed stone.
But despite the ambiance, people die
In weird ways: falling off of towers,
Shot while picnicking in costumes,
Lynched by a group of church goers
Floating past in a lake or river,
Or set on fire in a flowery field.
It’s as if the deaths are staged,
To match the serenity of the old world.
The slow machinations of justice
And drained eyes of the officers
Comfort me like a sedative
Always there, watching over their flock
As soothing as a soft, wool blanket
Hiding a frightened child.
When I am asleep, let
Matthias run along the cliff,
Let Wallander drink his wine
While Endeavour swoons to opera
And Cardinal stands in the birch grove,
All as semi-sedated sentinels
In the dusk or midnight sun.
I only ask that American blues
Take a page from these good constables
Across the sea or north of the border;
Imagine the settling peace
In the wide, new world,
If people of color were never smothered,
Or shot when carrying a phone
And people protesting were not gassed,
But spoken to with weary eyes
And a mind prompting peace officers
To listen, protect and serve.
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 7:31 PM UTC
Have you ever tasted
being caught inbetween?
Had your soul
half stained, half clean?
I doubt you'd understand
how I stand so tall,
when you cause
everything around you to fall,
only so many stabs I could take,
Now it's you I forsake,
served you your own
medicine on a plate,
now you know I'm not
a piece of cake.
You're dreaming if you
thought you could
get the best of me,
you went too far and
dug our grave too deep,
you don't know what's
inside my skin,
you despise my strength
from within,
so now devour the
mess you're in.
You know I've had enough
and I don't want to know
if you've been crying,
I'm done self sacrificing,
You thought you could
break me,
but you could never sedate me,
You could never ruin someone
so tough.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC
High pitch community
From one single tone
Can go from home
To a killing floor
Made all the more harrowing
Toxic trauma of the mind
Freeze up they said
Yet we push on
And we pushed hard
We pushed it too far
Then let down our gard
And now the lights flicker from green to red
A premonition of bloodshed
Locked inside the voice of
A brother or a friend
Neither one is talking now
Survive it says
Static cuts through
And the line drops dead
Outside my head the night goes on
Cheery faces basking in the light
Permissive out of innocence
Enjoying spite out of spite
Who is right
It doesn't matter
My eyes burn bright
But no one can hear
Screams are echoed all around
But transaction leaves my words devoid
Bliss is heard amiss, above
We coveted and now we pay
The price of our sin
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 6:45 PM UTC
My cheeky smile is secretly vile
I'd **** you in an instant
The hate I create you cannot sedate
I'm honestly quite twisted
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC