"ambitioned" poems
whispers of mauve shadows concealed by a tinted haze of amber colored macaroni.
sometimes I glance towards the east and my rocking chair creaks and until my ambitions and dreams have evolved into an Ameoba of intelligence, the table is still set for ambitioned dance
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
It was immaterial who had fired the first proverbial shot in the great Schenectady logomachy.
What was immediately clear, however, after the proverbial dust had proverbially settled
was that the battle had left no survivors.
Proverbially.
And what had begun as a simple ballot measure to rebrand the municipal mascot
had ended in the annihilation of every intellect in Schenectady County.
And much of the East, West, and No Coast regions of the United States.
The grass roots campaign to replace the Schenectady Patriot with the Schenectady Concientious Objector
(a figure no less devoted to country, but more "free thinking," its proponents would argue)
had gathered unexpected steam when introduced to the public at large
in a tweet by the nation's commander in chief.
The inevitable result being a relentless and fast paced evolution of the story
by all-day-all-night-all-the-time news producers.
All using the same words with different tone and inflection.
And the relitigation of every detail
by 37% of American households.
Including 6% that didn't actually give a **** but enjoyed participating.
So what had been good natured
and modestly ambitioned
civic badinage
progressed through all the stages of twenty-first century newspeak
familiar to the politically observant of the time.
With any nuanced or genuine debate
relegated to micro-audienced podcasts
and IRC channels scattered about the internet.
And when the measure passed.
As part of a pendulum swing greater than itself.
The victors
taken by surprise
and frayed at all edges
by the death threats and vitriol visited upon them in the preceding weeks
felt sure
that everything would be better off simply left alone.
While their detractors
apoplectic
foretold the end of civilization.
And prepared accordingly.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 6:02 AM UTC
I was a small soul; my family was too.
Life in the adjacent northwestern was deviant, souls had nowhere to go.
Livelihood is grim in the old-green warm.
God will provide, my mom said.
My parents ambitioned a greater life for me and my brothers.
It's the classic fable- an alluring call of intergalactic aliens.
We packed our things and headed towards the Big Apple
God will provide, my mom said.
I came to the US when I was 8, I did not know my fate.
Mouths moved differently to what I thought was great.
We possess nothing, our family was afraid.
God will provide, my mom said.
We slept on the floor; the nights were cold.
Alone, me and my brothers were.
The American dream is towards where we go.
God did provide, my mom said.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 11:04 PM UTC