"attica" poems
Hear ye my statute, men of Attica--
Ye who of bloodshed judge this primal cause;
Yea, and in future age shall Aegeus's host
Revere this court of jurors. This the hill
Of Ares, seat of Amazons, their tent,
What time 'gainst Theseus, breathing hate, they came,
Waging fierce battle, and their towers upreared,
A counter-fortress to Acropolis;--
To Ares they did sacrifice, and hence
This rock is titled Areopagus.
Here then shall sacred Awe, to Fear allied,
By day and night my lieges hold from wrong,
Save if themselves do innovate my laws,
If thou with mud, or influx base, bedim
The sparkling water, nought thou'lt find to drink.
Nor Anarchy, nor Tyrant's lawless rule
Commend I to my people's reverence;--
Nor let them banish from their city Fear;
For who 'mong men, uncurbed by fear, is just?
Thus holding Awe in seemly reverence,
A bulwark for your State shall ye possess,
A safeguard to protect your city walls,
Such as no mortals otherwhere can boast,
Neither in Scythia, nor in Pelops's realm.
Behold! This Court august, untouched by bribes,
Sharp to avenge, wakeful for those who sleep,
Establish I, a bulwark to this land.
This charge, extending to all future time,
I give my lieges. Meet it as ye rise,
Assume the pebbles, and decide the cause,
Your oath revering. All hath now been said.
3.6k
sweeps across the floor
like the hem of a rag
on a doll-faced *****
as the lights are dimmed
in this picket-fenced Attica.
To him, the raindrops taste like whiskey
so who's to blame him
for being a drunkard?
He will not take such condescension,
and so he shall pass it onto you
like a hot potato;
just say the third-degree burns
came from hugging the stove.
For you, life is not a Lifetime movie
looking at your bruises in the mirror
to a Celine Dion power ballad;
the days are a beach of intenstines
set alongside waves of toxic waste,
the moon now a mood ring
sitting atop the knuckles
of your vengeful king.
This decade of brutal purging,
atonement for sins not yet committed,
has felt as consuming
as his figure those Thursday nights
when he's stalking for his property,
and you're close-mouthed
under the bed,
looking through barely a slab
of this virtual reality,
at the iron-fisted giant
who would nurse your neuroses
if he'd stop bashing your face in.
Your expectations for the outcome
laced with Disney Princess satin
arrange themselves in a cross-legged noose
(the "O" stands for optimism),
for all this atonement
must be the beaten path
to the Garden of Eden.
You should just remember.
The men still pulled the lever,
licking the flames
as Joan of Arc sang her finale.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
"BUG"
I saw a Bug Battle,
in the cracks of the street Blood and Struggle
Their plastic screams and cellophane curses were almost like yours and mine.
Until a brave one crawled to my ear,
and he told me of his trial in the street crack theater,
I grinned as if I cared, he smiled like he had the time
He said "in whose camp does your banner fly, and can I have you on my side?"
He loaded a Pistol while I replied:
I said: I'm anti-pro no shout catechist, so keep your pamphlets political activist,
You take your cause for lack of a purpose in life,
pursuit of happiness, "eudemonia" good spiritedness
you're living proof that ignorance aint bliss
Pray "Libira nos a malo!" and Free Tibet!
But you never prayed for the souls with affixed Bayonets;
so I wave like the man being shot from the cannon;
born on this chunk of warm rock hurling through nothing;
who only on the front of spirit can fight;
Storm the Bastille of desperate life;
and dance in the street every night till the day I die.
The Bug Replied:
Know All, Know all, in the dialog to win,
two grants are a Franklyn one Lincoln's just a fin?
Posit value for this bug since you're so well balanced,
gaining perspective from the outermost valence;
you never killed what you eat and confuse "labor with action,"
but you think you're to evolved to fight for my faction;
We're currency baby as we live and breed,
BASTILLE for you ATTICA for me!
better get in the frae my anti anti teacher
before it ***** you along with every other fighting creature;
I'm going back to me cell where I breathe a little freer;
but let me give a final though like I'm Jerry Springer:
If happiness is purpose than you can call my purpose love,
to survive I fight the Battle and to me you're the bug.
Thunderstruck, I sat on the curb,
realizing I could be a "social surd;"
then I saw my small confessor get killed in a raid;
I would have stomped out his assassin if I wasn't so afraid;
instead I rose to my feet, and walked straight home,
locked myself in, and wrote out this song,
I think of the bug while I'm dancing in the street,
every time my neighbor throughs a sneaker at me;
I feel his wrestles spirit longing to fight,
while I'm drinking and singing in the middle of the night,
than it hits me:
The bug was right
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
two hits
and I'm gone
holding my high
from dubai to discovery bay
I met John
on his black harley
along the way,
my nowhere man in ponytails
chasing Jesus off the charts
he gave me
his bloodied lens
and a dime
I peered through bullet holes
in his heart
and saw the devil
and the glazed eyes of Mark
frozen in time
like grime and graffiti
on the walls of Attica
he gave me
his smoking gun
and a pen
"Imagine......"
~ P (Pablo)
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
I’m busting out of this oppressive penitentiary of negativity
I’ve got the determination to transform my laughable dream into an applaudable reality
I refuse to be held here for another second
No locks, no cameras, no rubber rooms or electric chairs will hold me
I’m free
No blockade of words can cause me to halt
Opportunity is knocking heavily at my door
I open the mahogany entryway and welcome it inside
I make it tea and have a deep conversation about things to come
“You’ve been in the dog house for too long”
“Yeah, but every dog has its day”
It’s calling to me
Time to initiate my aspirations
Cheers to the future
So long to the past
Now I am here
On a paramount path
The path is made or salty tears, perspiration and sacrificed blood
The satisfying end justifies the brutal means
Not a soul had a single ounce of faith in me
Naysayers only bring you down
Now I’ve made it
Their mouths drop in disbelief and can’t seem to make a sound
Escape the prison of “won’t”, “cant” and “never”
And all those who doubt you are prison guards, liars
Breakout from the discouragement
Then set the jaundice jail on fire
Never needed them
Self-proficient
Shut up
And open your eyes
And observe closely
As your callus skepticism dies
Thank you for keeping me in the dark
I’d have no reason to reach for the light other wise
I look at you fall as my dreams rise
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
My child doesn’t need to behave.
Yours can be consigned to a grave.
My child is a bully, and that’s OK
Yours shouldn’t be in public anyway!
My child should go to any school he wants
Others only if they don't choose to flaunt.
Too bad if yours suffers misery,
We whites will just re-write history.
We prefer blacks go away and roam
Because we won’t finance their home!
We point to ugly days like Attica
Then tell them to go back to Africa.
Don’t bother with a Freedom Bus!
Equal rights is only for us!
Interracial relationships sicken,
Just a case of the plot thickens!
None of this outrage would be true
If it was what whites get subjected to!
All that crap about White Supremacy
Has not one claim on legitimacy.
It’s totally wrong down to the ground,
Just an excuse to keep others down.
Criminalizing rights protestors
Is a social outrage altogether!
People at this stage in history
Still so unevolved is tragedy.
To even utter these hateful words
Are among the ugliest ever heard.
They only have themselves to blame
That they still remain the same.
It’s up to them to accept the challenge
And work to put mankind in balance!
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 9:30 AM UTC
The historical marker, doubtless wearily press-stamped
By some inmate at Attica or Dannemora,
Refers to the relic as St. Leger’s Tower,
Though those old-timers who have not died off or fled south
Prefer the name “Barry’s Folly”,
As the general in quesiton was reported to have claimed
That it would stand, like Empire itself,
***** and unsullied for a dozen centuries,
Indeed several hundred years beyond as well.
All that lingers now is the main of its foundation,
Topped with no more than an uneven row or two of brick,
Sitting squat and forlorn like some drowsy and unconcerned sentry
Standing guard for the nearby entrance
To an old, long since abandoned cemetery
Where the stones of the war dead and early settlers
Have been washed clean of names, dates, and epitaphs
By the tainted, corrosive rains
Which once rolled in from Gary, Flint and Hamtramck,
And further up the hill, a weathered and peeling billboard
Invites those unwitting travelers who have wandered off the Thruway
To experience the magic of Herkimer Diamonds.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC
**** they may as well have started holding hands
And making paper dolls together,
The way they carried on
Back in the neighborhood after push came to shove,
Like none of it ever happened:
All the times they spit on us,
The constant **** and ******* and goya,
The ass-kickings if we went one alley too far.
Peace didn’t last; hell, it couldn’t
It’s just the way things have to be, man.
If I ever got in front of some parole board
(Not that I’ll ever have that chance,
As I ain’t goin’ anywhere unless they send me
To Auburn or Attica for some change of pace)
This is what I’d tell ‘em:
You come home to your nice house
In your tidy little sub-development
After a day at Corning or IBM,
And you find out that some punk
Has ******* one of your daughters
And stuck a shiv into her quarterback boyfriend,
What are you gonna do if you find him
Hiding in one of your neighbor’s rosebushes?
Exactly. Save the taxpayers the expense of a trial.
Musta been a year, maybe eighteen months ago,
This bunch of goody-goody types,
All social workers and sweet boys,
Show up here to put on some **** play
Where this guy’s uncle kills his dad
And starts puttin’ the blocks to his mom,
And for hours it’s nothing but yak, yak, yak.
And I’m thinking Man, could you just ice the guy, already.
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen ‘Nardo’s ghost
(Let alone that ****** Polack’s one)
But if he ever shows,
It ain’t gonna be to accuse me of nothin’;
No, he’d smile and shake my hand,
Because I did what the code said you gotta do.
Just what the code said.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC